Offprint from:
SOUTH ASIANS IN THE DIASPORA histories and religious traditions
EDITED BY
KNUT A. JACOBSEN AND P. PRATAP KUMAR
BRILL LEIDEN • BOSTON 2004
© Copyright 2004 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands
SOUTH ASIANS IN THE DIASPORA
NUMEN BOOK SERIES STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF RELIGIONS edited by W.J. HANEGRAAFF
advisory board P. Antes, M. Despland, RI.J. Hackett, M. Abumalham Mas, A.W. Geertz, G. ter Haar, G.L. Lease, M.N. Getui, I.S. Gilhus, P. Morris, J.K. Olupona, E. Thomassen, A. Tsukimoto, A.T. Wasim
VOLUME CI
SOUTH ASIANS IN THE DIASPORA histories and religious traditions
EDITED BY
KNUT A. JACOBSEN AND P. PRATAP KUMAR
BRILL LEIDEN • BOSTON 2004
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data South Asians in the diaspora : histories and religious traditions / Knut A. Jacobsen and Kumar P. Pratap p. cm. — (Studies in the history of religions ; v. 101) Includes index. ISBN 90-04-12488-8 (alk. paper) 1. South Asians—Foreign countries. 2. South Aians—Social life and customs. 3 South Asians—Religion. I. Jacobsen, Knut A. II. Pratap. Kumar P. III. Series. DS339.4 S67 2003 909’.04914—dc22 2003065319
ISSN 0169-8834 ISBN 90 04 12488 8 © Copyright 2004 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Brill provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910 Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands
STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF RELIGIONS NUMEN BOOK SERIES 8 K.W. Bolle. The Persistence of Religion. An Essay on Tantrism and Sri Aurobindo’s Philosophy. Repr. 1971. ISBN 90 04 03307 6 17 Liber Amicorum. Studies in honour of Professor Dr. C.J. Bleeker. Published on the occasion of his retirement from the Chair of the History of Religions and the Phenomenology of Religion at the University of Amsterdam. 1969. ISBN 90 04 03092 1 19 U. Bianchi, C.J. Bleeker & A. Bausani (eds.). Problems and Methods of the History of Religions. Proceedings of the Study Conference organized by the Italian Society for the History of Religions on the Occasion of the Tenth Anniversary of the Death of Raffaele Pettazzoni, Rome 6th to 8th December 1969. Papers and discussions. 1972. ISBN 90 04 02640 1 31 C.J. Bleeker, G. Widengren & E.J. Sharpe (eds.). Proceedings of the 12th International Congress, Stockholm 1970. 1975. ISBN 90 04 04318 7 34 V.L. Oliver, Caodai Spiritism. A Study of Religion in Vietnamese Society. With a preface by P. Rondot. 1976. ISBN 90 04 04547 3 41 B. Layton (ed.). The Rediscovery of Gnosticism. Proceedings of the International Conference on Gnosticism at Yale, New Haven, Conn., March 28-31, 1978. Two vols. 1.The School of Valentinus. 1980. ISBN 90 04 06177 0 Out of print 2. Sethian Gnosticism. 1981. ISBN 90 04 06178 9 43 M. Heerma van Voss, D.J. Hoens, G. Mussies, D. van der Plas & H. te Velde (eds.). Studies in Egyptian Religion, dedicated to Professor Jan Zandee. 1982. ISBN 90 04 06728 0 44 P.J. Awn. Satan’s Tragedy and Redemption. IblÊs in Sufi Psychology. With a foreword by A. Schimmel. 1983. ISBN 90 04 06906 2 45 R. Kloppenborg (ed.). Selected Studies on Ritual in the Indian Religions. Essays to D.J. Hoens. 1983. ISBN 90 04 07129 6 50 S. Shaked, D. Shulman & G.G. Stroumsa (eds.). Gilgul. Essays on Transformation, Revolution and Permanence in the History of Religions, dedicated to R.J. Zwi Werblowsky. 1987. ISBN 90 04 08509 2 52 J.G. Griffiths. The Divine Verdict. A Study of Divine Judgement in the Ancient Religions. 1991. ISBN 90 04 09231 5 53 K. Rudolph. Geschichte und Probleme der Religionswissenschaft. 1992. ISBN 90 04 09503 9 54 A.N. Balslev & J.N. Mohanty (eds.). Religion andTime. 1993. ISBN 90 04 09583 7 55 E. Jacobson. The Deer Goddess of Ancient Siberia. A Study in the Ecology of Belief. 1993. ISBN 90 04 09628 0 56 B. Saler. Conceptualizing Religion. Immanent Anthropologists, Transcendent Natives, and Unbounded Categories. 1993. ISBN 90 04 09585 3 57 C. Knox. Changing Christian Paradigms. And their Implications for Modern Thought. 1993. ISBN 90 04 09670 1 58 J. Cohen. The Origins and Evolution of the Moses Nativity Story. 1993. ISBN 90 04 09652 3
59 S. Benko. The Virgin Goddess. Studies in the Pagan and Christian Roots of Mariology. 1993. ISBN 90 04 09747 3 60 Z.P. Thundy. Buddha and Christ. Nativity Stories and Indian Traditions. 1993. ISBN 90 04 09741 4 61 S. Hjelde. Die Religionswissenschaft und das Christentum. Eine historische Untersuchung über das Verhältnis von Religionswissenschaft und Theologie. 1994. ISBN 90 04 09922 0 62 Th.A. Idinopulos & E.A. Yonan (eds.). Religion and Reductionism. Essays on Eliade, Segal, and the Challenge of the Social Sciences for the Study of Religion. 1994. ISBN 90 04 09870 4 63 S. Khalil Samir & J.S. Nielsen (eds.). Christian Arabic Apologetics during the Abbasid Period (750-1258). 1994. ISBN 90 04 09568 3 64 S.N. Balagangadhara. ‘The Heathen in His Blindness...’ Asia, the West and the Dynamic of Religion. 1994. ISBN 90 04 09943 3 65 H.G. Kippenberg & G.G. Stroumsa (eds.). Secrecy and Concealment. Studies in the History of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Religions. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10235 3 66 R. Kloppenborg & W.J. Hanegraaff (eds.). Female Stereotypes in Religious Traditions. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10290 6 67 J. Platvoet & K. van der Toorn (eds.). Pluralism and Identity. Studies on Ritual Behaviour. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10373 2 68 G. Jonker. The Topography of Remembrance. The Dead, Tradition and Collective Memory in Mesopotamia. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10162 4 69 S. Biderman. Scripture and Knowledge. An Essay on Religious Epistemology. 1995. ISBN 90 04 10154 3 70 G.G. Stroumsa. Hidden Wisdom. Esoteric Traditions and the Roots of Christian Mysticism. 1996. ISBN 90 04 10504 2 71 J.G. Katz. Dreams, Sufism and Sainthood. The Visionary Career of Muhammad al-Zawâwî. 1996. ISBN 90 04 10599 9 72 W.J. Hanegraaff. New Age Religion and Western Culture. Esotericism in the Mirror of Secular Thought. 1996. ISBN 90 04 10695 2 73 T.A. Idinopulos & E.A. Yonan (eds.). The Sacred and its Scholars. Comparative Methodologies for the Study of Primary Religious Data. 1996. ISBN 90 04 10623 5 74 K. Evans. Epic Narratives in the HoysaÏa Temples. The R§m§yaÖa, Mah§bh§rata and Bh§gavata Pur§Öa in HaÏebÊd, Belår and AmÜtapura. 1997. ISBN 90 04 10575 1 75 P. Schäfer & H.G. Kippenberg (eds.). Envisioning Magic. A Princeton Seminar and Symposium. 1997. ISBN 90 04 10777 0 77 P. Schäfer & M.R. Cohen (eds.). Toward the Millennium. Messianic Expectations from the Bible toWaco. 1998. ISBN 90 04 11037 2 78 A.I. Baumgarten, with J. Assmann & G.G. Stroumsa (eds.). Self, Soul and Body in Religious Experience. 1998. ISBN 90 04 10943 9 79 M. Houseman & C. Severi. Naven or the Other Self. A Relational Approach to Ritual Action. 1998. ISBN 90 04 11220 0 80 A.L. Molendijk & P. Pels (eds.). Religion in the Making. The Emergence of the Sciences of Religion. 1998. ISBN 90 04 11239 1
81 Th.A. Idinopulos & B.C. Wilson (eds.). What is Religion? Origins, Definitions, & Explanations. 1998. ISBN 90 04 11022 4 82 A. van der Kooij & K. van der Toorn (eds.). Canonization & Decanonization. Papers presented to the International Conference of the Leiden Institute for the Study of Religions (lisor) held at Leiden 9-10 January 1997. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11246 4 83 J. Assmann & G.G. Stroumsa (eds.). Transformations of the Inner Self in Ancient Religions. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11356 8 84 J.G. Platvoet & A.L. Molendijk (eds.). The Pragmatics of Defining Religion. Contexts, Concepts & Contests. 1999. ISBN 90 04 11544 7 85 B.J. Malkovsky (ed.). New Perspectives on Advaita Ved§nta. Essays in Commemoration of Professor Richard De Smet, sj. 2000. ISBN 90 04 11666 4 86 A.I. Baumgarten (ed.). Apocalyptic Time. 2000. ISBN 90 04 11879 9 87 S. Hjelde (ed.). Man, Meaning, and Mystery. Hundred Years of History of Religions in Norway. The Heritage of W. Brede Kristensen. 2000. ISBN 90 04 11497 1 88 A. Korte (ed.). Women and Miracle Stories. A Multidisciplinary Exploration. 2000. ISBN 90 04 11681 8 89 J. Assmann & A.I. Baumgarten (eds.). Representation in Religion. Studies in Honor of Moshe Barasch. 2001. ISBN 90 04 11939 6 90 O. Hammer. Claiming Knowledge. Strategies of Epistemology from Theosophy to the New Age. 2001. ISBN 90 04 12016 5 91 B.J. Malkovsky. The Role of Divine Grace in the Soteriology of “aÒkar§c§rya. 2001. ISBN 90 04 12044 0 92 T.A. Idinopulos & B.C. Wilson (eds.). Reappraising Durkheim for the Study and Teaching of Religion Today. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12339 3. 93 A.I. Baumgarten (eds.). Sacrifice in Religious Experience. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12483 7 94 L.P. van den Bosch. F.M. Müller. A Life Devoted to the Humanities. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12505 1 95 G. Wiegers. Modern Societies & the Science of Religions. Studies in Honour of Lammert Leertouwer. 2002. ISBN 90 04 11665 6 96 D. Zeidan. The Resurgence of Religion. A Comparative Study of Selected Themes in Christian and Islamic Fundamentalist Discourses. 2003. ISBN 90 04 12877 8 97 S. Meyer (ed.). Egypt — Temple of the Whole World / Ägypten — Tempel der Gesamten Welt. Studies in Honour of Jan Assmann. 2003. ISBN 90 04 13240 6 98 I. Strenski. Theology and the First Theory of Sacrifice. 2003. ISBN 90 04 13559 6 99 T. Light & B.C. Wilson (eds.). Religion as a Human Capacity. A Festschrift in Honor of E. Thomas Lawson. 2003. ISBN 90 04 12676 7 100 A.E. Buss. The Russian-Orthodox Tradition and Modernity. 2003. ISBN 90 04 13324 0 101 K.A. Jacobsen & P.P. Kumar (eds.). South Asians in the Diaspora. Histories and Religious Traditions. 2004. ISBN 90 04 12488 8 102 M. Stausberg. Zoroastrian Rituals in Context. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13131 0 ISSN 0169-8834
CONTENTS
Introduction ................................................................................ Knut A. Jacobsen and P. Pratap Kumar
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I. JAINS AND BUDDHISTS The Jain Plate: The Semiotics of the Diaspora Diet ................ Anne Vallely (Re) Creating Transnational Religious Identity within the Jaina Community of Toronto ............................................. Mikal Austin Radford Sri Lankan Theravada Buddhism in London: Religiosity and Communal Activities of a Diaspora Community ................................................................. Mahinda Deegalle
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II. HINDUS Becoming a Colour of the Rainbow: The Social Integration of Indian Hindus in Trinidad, Analysed along a Phase Model Diaspora ...................................................................................... Martin Baumann The Hindu Diaspora in The Netherlands: Halfway Between Local Structures and Global Ideologies ..................... Corstiaan J. G. van der Burg
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Tamil Hindu Places of Worship in Germany ........................... 116 Brigitte Luchesi Establishing Ritual Space in the Hindu Diaspora in Norway ................................................................................... 134 Knut A. Jacobsen
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The Hindu Religious Traditions in Minnesota ........................ 149 Indira Y. Junghare Reversing the Gaze in America: Parody in Divali Performance at Connecticut College ......................................... 161 Lindsey B. Harlan The Swaminarayan Movement ................................................. 180 Rachel Dwyer
III. CHRISTIANS Transformation of Marriage Patterns in the Kerala Diaspora in the U.S. .................................................................. 203 Anna Lindberg Rethinking Hybridity: The Syro-Malabar Church in North America ....................................................................... 220 Clara A. B. Joseph
IV. MUSLIMS Negotiating Identities: The Case of Indian Muslims in South Africa ........................................................................... 243 S. E. Dangor Structural and Cultural Racism in the Educational Underachievement of British South Asian Muslims ................. 269 Tahir Abbas Embracing Allah and Sexuality? South-Asian Non-Heterosexual Muslims in Britain ....................................... 294 Andrew K. T. Yip
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V. PARSIS AND SIKHS The Zoroastrian Diaspora ......................................................... 313 John R. Hinnells Mobilising seva (”Service”): Modes of Sikh Diasporic Action ... 337 Anne Murphy
VI. SOUTH ASIAN COMMUNITIES: SOME KEY ISSUES Taxonomy of the Indian Diaspora in South Africa: Problems and Issues in Defining Their Identity ....................... 375 P. Pratap Kumar Punjabi Religion Amongst the South Asian Diaspora in Britain: The Role of the Baba ............................................... 393 Sandeep Singh Chohan Haunting Stories: Narrative Transmissions of South Asian Identities in Diaspora ............................................ 415 Kirin Narayan Performances of Multiculturalism: South Asian Communities in Sydney ............................................................. 435 Christopher Hartney Hindus and Sikhs: Community Development and Religious Discrimination in England and Wales ............... 454 Paul Weller Future Prospects ......................................................................... 498 Knut A. Jacobsen and P. Pratap Kumar
Contributors ............................................................................... 501 Index ........................................................................................... 507
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INTRODUCTION KNUT A. JACOBSEN AND P. PRATAP KUMAR
South Asian Diversity South Asia is a separate and recognisable cultural region but this does not imply a homogeneous cultural form. On the contrary, South Asia is among the most diverse regions in the world in terms of ethnicity, language and also religion. South Asians identify with different nations of origin, speak different languages, and belong to different religions. South Asia is divided into six modern nation states: India, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Nepal and Bhutan, and while India is the most pluralistic and diverse of the nations in the region, all of them are further divided by ethnic, linguistic and religious identities. More than fifteen hundred mother tongues are spoken in South Asia and more than fifteen languages are official. South Asia is the home of several of the great religions of the world. Jainism, Buddhism, Hinduism and Sikhism originated here, South Asia was for many centuries a major Muslim civilization, and Christianity has flourished here for more than 1500 years. South Asia is also the home of the remnants of the ancient Iranian religion, Zoroastrianism. Many of its followers settled in India when Islam expanded eastward. Parsi presence in Europe and North America is part of the South Asian diaspora because their experience is filtered through a South Asian lens (see article by Hinnells in this volume). In fact, all the religious traditions in South Asia, whether they originated outside South Asia or inside, have the South Asian stamp in their many manifestations. What exactly this South Asian cultural stamp is, might be elusive, but it nevertheless forms an important link between the religious traditions of South Asia. Religion has been a decisive force in South Asian history and continues to be a significant factor in the life of South Asian individuals and groups whether living in South Asia or in the diaspora. In this book, the social, religious and cultural reality of people in the diaspora belonging to all these religions and originating from four of the South Asian nation states (India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka) are analysed from various angles.
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The Range of South Asian Diaspora Traditions The South Asian diaspora is a significant global phenomenon. Large scale emigration from South Asia in the last hundred and fifty years has established a series of diaspora communities worldwide. Emigration from South Asia and establishment of South Asian settlements abroad can generally be divided into two periods (Vertovec, 2000). The first period lasted from 1830s to the independence of the South Asian nations. This period is characterised by movements of people from South Asia to other British colonies. This emigration was to a large degree organised by the British colonial administration and was a response to the economic needs of the British empire. The abolition of slavery in the British empire in the 1830s created a need for a new workforce and contract labourers (‘indentured labour’) from India were recruited to fill the gap. Beginning in the 1830’s, the European colonial powers recruited labour in South Asia to work on plantations, build railways and do other work, and placed them all over the world: East Africa, Fiji, Guyana, Mauritius, South Africa, Sri Lanka, Surinam and Trinidad. Traders and small-scale entrepreneurs often followed the movement of labour. The great majority of these emigrants never returned home. In this period, Indians also moved to Malaysia and Burma. In Sri Lanka, in addition to the diaspora Hindus, groups of Tamil speaking Hindus had been living for many hundred years. The second period, from 1947, is characterised by the movement of people from South Asia to Europe, North America, Australia and the Middle East. New opportunities for work and education, and desire to escape political repression, persecution or civil war have been the two driving forces in this diaspora. Millions of South Asians have emigrated to the West in order to improve the life of themselves and their families.1 In addition, a large diaspora outside of South Asia 1 This obviously has a parallel to another phenomenon in South Asia, the movement of people from the periphery to the centres, that is, from the countryside and villages to the cities. In South Asia the movement of people from villages and countryside to the great cities has been a dominant phenomenon in the last fifty years. While this is not usually theorised as a diaspora, the movement of people from South Asia to the West, on the one hand, and from the rural to the urban areas in South Asia, on the other, might be understood as two aspects of a similar phenomenon: people moving from the countryside to urban areas, from the periphery to the economic, political and educational centres, a phenomenon often called urbanization. Some have also moved directly from the South Asian countryside to Europe. This is
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has been created by people of South Asian origin who have become victims of political unrest or civil war. Large parts of the Hindu diaspora in Europa are made up of such groups: Indians from East Africa who had to flee in the early 1970s, Tamils from Sri Lanka the majority of whom have arrived in Europe after the civil war broke out in Sri Lanka in 1983, and Sikhs from India. Many of the members of this diaspora became victims while living outside of India (in East Africa, Sri Lanka and Fiji). Large parts of the Sikh diaspora of the 1980s, however, were motivated by opposition to, and the repression of, Sikh political ambitions by the Indian state. Desire to escape political repression, persecution or civil war has caused large internal movements of people within South Asia as well. Refugees from India and Pakistan after the division of India in 1947, Tamil refugees from Sri Lanka in India, refugees from Kashmir, and Hindus leaving Bangladesh for India because of discrimination are among the most significant movements of people inside South Asia for these reasons. Three groups of South Asians in the diaspora today, therefore, can be distinguished. Firstly, descendants of the indentured labour settlements. Secondly, persons who, after 1945, but the large majority after 1965, have settled in the West or the Middle East as a response to new employment or educational opportunities. And, thirdly, persons, who often while living in a minority situation, have been victims of discrimination and persecution or whose political ambitions have clashed with the nation state. In this book we have articles on the South Asian diaspora in South Africa and Trinidad and on the second time diaspora South Asians from Surinam and East Africa in Europe and North America. The majority of the articles are about the second and third groups of South Asians in the diaspora. Most of the chapters in this book analyse the South Asian diaspora of the second period, after 1947. The diasporas of the first and the second period are strikingly different. The difference between the quarantined life of the 19th century plantation workers cut off from the rest of the society and the 21st century transnational diaspora in the United States, Canada or
the case with many of the Pakistani Muslims in Europe, especially those arriving in the 1960s and 1970s. Since it has been possible to reach Europe (but not North America) by travelling overland, the less economically privileged groups of emigrants have often settled in Europe, while a higher percentage of the South Asian urban elite, the middle and upper class, has settled in North America.
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Northern Europe is significant. For the early emigrants, leaving South Asia often meant that they afterwards would have minimal contact with their previous home. Communication with South Asia was slow. Letters from India would take many months and most emigrants did not ever return to visit their families. Some diaspora groups lost the ability to speak any South Asian language. Today, telephones are available in most places in South Asia and internet is also becoming available. Travel to South Asia by plane from North America or Europe takes less than 24 hours. Those who have emigrated to Europe and North America during the last three decades, do not therefore experience the same isolation and deep loss of homeland as previous generations. Relationships with family and friends in India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, etc. or in other diaspora communities can easily be maintained and many travel to South Asia for vacation, pilgrimage or for other purposes more or less regularly. Kinship groups have often settled in different countries and constitute transnational networks. In the future, such transnational networks will probably be of increased importance for the formation of global cultural and religious identities. Thus the diversity of the South Asian diaspora communities around the world today is remarkable. Their histories of establishing and discovering themselves in the new found lands are very different. They range from first generation South Asians who are still finding their feet to generations that have lived in these various countries for more than a century and even longer. They range from green card holders to citizens of these countries. Some have emigrated more than once and therefore have acquired complex hybrid, dual or multiple identities. Some are descendants of indentured labourers and some are more recent professionals and job seekers. Some have remained content in their professional and financial achievements while others have fought racism and apartheid. For many the countries in which they find themselves are their birth places and they have developed strong bonds with those countries and cultures. No matter how they got to where they are now, there is a common thread that links all of them. And that is their never ending search for ways to preserve the cultures, religious beliefs and practices of their forbears. In that endless search, many of them have reinvented traditions or transformed traditions in order to adapt themselves to these non-South Asian cultures.
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Religious Pluralism in South Asia and in the Diaspora Diaspora has created numerous South Asian communities around the world. The South Asian diaspora is not a uniform phenomenon, but reflects the dramatic modern history of South Asia and the diversity of the geographical region of origin. The range, the depth and the diversity of beliefs and practices both across and within religious traditions of the South Asian diaspora community around the world are remarkable and much of the diversity of religious life of South Asia is replicated in the diaspora. In the diaspora, much work is invested in establishing religious institutions for the preservation of the religious traditions. In addition, the religious institutions in the diaspora often attain new functions. Religious traditions gain increased value as preservers of cultural traditions. In diaspora, temples, mosques and gurdwaras are centres of culture as well as centres of religion. They become places for people to meet others who share the same cultural background. In diaspora, such meeting places are essential for the preservation of cultural identity and for the interpretation of religious values in a new cultural and social contexts. Not only the religious, but also the cultural and national diversity of South Asia is reflected in the religious institutions of the diaspora communities. Pakistanis, Indians, Bangladeshis, and Sri Lankans keep their different national identities in the diaspora. Each nationality often establishes separate mosques and temples. Hindus from India will often establish separate temples according to their regional traditions despite being from the same nation. In the case of Indians, the diaspora will to some extent bring them together with feelings of being in a common diaspora, but as they are part of different linguistic, religious and regional traditions and share different histories and social identities, they often establish different religious organisations. Tamil Hindus from Sri Lanka and the North Indian Hindus often have separate temples. They constitute two quite different diasporas, and two different national, cultural and linguistic traditions. Besides, the unique situation for the Tamils from Sri Lanka, their diaspora being caused by the civil war and their political ambition of increased self-rule for the Tamil areas, means that many of their concerns are quite different from the North Indian Hindus (Jacobsen, 2003). If one were to go round and ask the diaspora communities as to why they do what they do at the temples, shrines and festivals, the
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most common response that is given is that they want to preserve their culture and maintain it and pass it on to the next generation. So, in a direct sense religion is the most readily available resource in peserving their culture for posterity. It is the most strikingly obvious phenomenon that provides a sense of who they are and where they came from. Religious beliefs and practices become a marker of identity and ethnicity in the new cultural context. The most common feature that has been noted in countries where South Asians have gone is their eagerness to build religious centres to provide for their various practical needs, such as performing rituals for large gatherings and for personal rituals from naming a child to burying or cremating the dead. To begin with, these religious centres might have been conceived for their practical needs, but once built they quickly became centres where ethnic identities are shaped and maintained. As such, these centres of religion are at once markers of identity and sources of conflict and tension but they also enrich the cultural landscape of the new world.
Meaning of Diaspora South Asians do not constitute a single or homogeneous diaspora. Some of their diasporas are ethnic, some national and others, perhaps, religious. But the word diaspora is applied to all of them. Much has been said already by many scholars as to how the once limited term diaspora could be expanded in its meaning to include many other groups and in this case, the South Asians in diaspora. Whether or not the term captures the range and the diversity of life experience of so many different cultures and peoples, in the last two decades the term has emerged as a useful organising category with reference to those whom one could have called expatriates, emigrants, refugees, slaves, indentured workers and illegal aliens. Some of these diaspora South Asians are happy to have left their country of origin, some have maintained strong emotional bonds with it, some wish to return some day, at least for a holiday and some have mixed feelings. In our book, we have included all of these people under the category diaspora. Whether they are made to feel welcome in their countries of living or not, it is certainly in their otherness to the host culture that they know they are a diaspora community. They are the ‘other’ and perhaps that is the new meaning of the term diaspora.
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Issue of Identity in the South Asian Diaspora One of the key issues that South Asians face in the diaspora is the continuous struggle to maintain their unique identity in a foreign cultural context. Several of the essays presented here do touch on this issue. But what is the issue about identity? It is about people having to let go of some of their cultural past and assimilate some of the new cultural ethos and in the process their having to choose between the two worlds. It is the difficulty about what to let go and what to keep! And what to assimilate and what to avoid. It is about their loyalty to their cultural past. It is about what to pass on to their next generation. It is a fear about whether or not the next generation will have something to hang on to in the face of the overwhelming attractions of the new culture. It is about stereotyping themselves and the fear of being stereotyped. It is about prejudicing others and being prejudiced and in the process perpetuating the stereotypes. These are some of the issues that any diaspora community is bound to face. All of these contribute to how they shape their identity and emerge as a self-conscious ethnic group in the middle of several other groups, some of whom might themselves be immigrants. At the end of all of it, it is also about providing some justification for their being in the new world and making claim to their being equals among all the others in that society. It is about their ambivalent sense of belonging.
Some Theoretical Issues In the last couple of decades many studies have been undertaken by scholars from a variety of disciplines, such as language specialists, religionists, political scientists, sociologists, anthropologists, historians and so on. These studies have provided a rich cross disciplinary perspective on the various diaspora issues. Thus, the theoretical issues that emerged out of these studies have naturally been formulated in a variety of ideological frameworks. Colonialism, post-modernism, feminism, globalisation and multinationalism, fundamentalism, and nationalism are some of the ideological frameworks in which theoretical issues have been formulated. What then are these theoretical issues? The first and foremost one has to do with the theoretical implications for category formation in traditions of cultural studies. For
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instance, the appropriation of the term ‘diaspora’ for the phenomena beyond the Jewish experience has implications for how we organise the data in cultural studies. There is now more or less consensus among scholars to expand the original meaning of the category and apply it to a variety of human experiences that lead to people moving beyond their birth home or ancestral land. Whether or not these communities have the intension to return to their ancestral land, or to simply keep focusing on their ancestral land for identity reasons, the category ‘diaspora’ can lend itself to these changing scenarios and most scholars are using the term in this way. The scholars in our volume also do the same. But there is a larger theoretical issue involved in expanding the meaning of a category that one time had a certain ideological underpinnings. In other words, the category ‘diaspora’ is now taken beyond the Jewish notion of land to incorporate a modern sense that has to do with globalisation and multinationalism. It is this bigger theoretical issue of what does land, ethnicity, citizenship, nationality mean in the context of globalisation and multinationalism that needs to be explored further. Materials in this volume can enrich such a larger theoretical discussion by providing useful cases in point. Another theoretical issue that emerges out of the diaspora studies and most certainly from the materials provided in this volume has to do with religion and its study. This volume in particular is dedicated to highlighting the religious diversity that exists within the diaspora communities. This diversity is further accentuated not only from across religious traditions but also from within a single religious tradition. What is more interesting is that the religious traditions, beliefs and rituals practised among the diaspora communities around the world do not necessarily come from classical texts and sources. In South Africa and other former British, Dutch and French colonies the kind of Hinduism that is practised is largely derived from what religionists and anthropologists have identified as little traditions or folk and village traditions. The so-called Brahmanical sources are not very relevant in understanding the nature and the character of this Hinduism. This raises a fundamental theoretical and methodological issue for scholars of religions in particular and for cultural studies in general. That is, in the context of the emerging data from the diaspora studies, how do we study Hinduism, how do we define it, what would be the source materials, who are the custodians or spokespersons of these diverse traditions? These are the kind of theoretical
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questions that now need to be raised in order for us to rethink on these fundamental definitional issues. These issues are also common to other religions such as Islam, Christianity, Buddhism and so on. In other words, there is a paradigm shift from the old orientalist ways of constructing the meaning of these South Asian religions and the source materials to study them, to a more grass-root level understanding of religion where practitioners draw their religious understandings not necessarily from the classical texts but from what their forebears have passed on to the succeeding generations. Materials in this volume most certainly provide an insight into such religious diversity which calls for both methodological as well as theoretical pluralism in the study of South Asian religions. Other broader issues have to do with globalisation, localisation, postcolonialism and perhaps neocolonialism. Such historical processes raise issues of how the diaspora communities readjust their traditions, how they invent or reinvent new traditions and how such new ones are made sense of in the context of the older traditions. Such historical processes also call into question the notion of orthodoxy, for what is called an orthodox position of today might have been once a fluid tradition that evolved over a long period of time. In other words, it is a fundamental theological problem that can unsettle the orthodoxy of the day. Both historians and theologians alike are wary of such issues as they cut to the very core of a given tradition. Then there are other social issues that need theoretical reflection. Fundamentalism, nationalism and ethnicity are often intrinsically tied with religious practice. In the context of diaspora, it is easy for people to pledge loyalties to their religious traditions and carry over to their host country the issues and problems that are historically unique and peculiar to South Asia. Whether it is the Srilankan nationalism vis à vis the Tamil ethnicism, or Kashmiri issues, or Hindu-Muslim fundamentalism, in so far as these issues are fuelled by religious beliefs and practices, they do not simply remain South Asian issues per se, but do become serious and integral issues in the diaspora. They seriously affect the harmony not only among the diaspora communities themselves but also the relations between the other groups in the host country and the South Asian diaspora can become very tense. A case in point is the growing Muslim fundamentalism in the West and the Hindu response to it outside South Asia. In other words, the nature of Hindu-Muslim relations in the South Asian context is often not very different from its manifestation in the diaspora.
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Not all issues of theoretical nature can be exhaustively identified here. But suffice to identify the above as some important ones and scholars in the field may identify and analyse such and other issues in the light of the materials presented here.
Organisation of the Book The essays of the book are organised in sections covering the seven religions of South Asia. We have organised these sections in the chronological order according to the period in which these religions became established in the South Asian landscape. We start with the South Asian Jaina and Buddhist diasporas. They are the oldest religions to become formulated in the way we know them today. The next section is the Hindu diaspora. A good deal of what we call Hinduism today might have been more ancient than Jainism and Buddhism but we have placed Hinduism after them because the formative period of Hinduism is later than the formative period of Jainism and Buddhism which build on the coherent teachings of their founders. After the articles on the Hindu tradition in the diaspora follows the South Asian Christian diaspora, the South Asian Muslim diaspora, and the diaspora of the Parsis and the Sikhs. Three papers analyse South Asian Jains and Buddhists in the diaspora. The essay by Anne Vallely analyses the symbolic meaning of food in Jainism, the Jaina dietary discourse, and the various reinterpretations of the traditional meanings of food in the Jaina diaspora in North America. Since consumption is such an important way to signify identity in North American culture, consumption and non-consumption of food take on a new significance, exemplified by Vallely in her article by a group of Jainas visiting a McDonald’s restaurant ordering and eating meatless hamburgers, thus symbolising in one act of eating both their Americaness and their Jaina identity. Jain dietary discourse is also in increasing degree being transformed into a discourse of environmentalism, animal rights and societal transformation, while previously it was tied primarily to asceticism. The narratives of the Jainas of North America, ‘having arrived here, but never left there,’ are the focus of Mikal Radford’s essay. Through the narratives we learn about their diasporic experience, the growth and consolidation of a diasporic community and the strategies used to conserve their religious tradition. Establishment of temples becomes
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of primary importance in the Jaina diaspora. The traditional interdependent dynamics of the monks and nuns and the lay community are almost absent in the North American Jaina experience, and many Jainas therefore rediscover their religion through their children. Also in the Sri Lankan Buddhist diaspora the temple has become a powerful tool to create a sense of community. Mahinda Deegalle’s article traces the history of Sri Lankan Buddhist diaspora in England and focuses on a Sri Lankan Buddhist centre in London. Deegalle describes how the folk dimension of Sri Lankan Buddhist culture such as paritta recitation and worship of the Sinhala pantheon, was instituted in the Buddhist centre as a response to popular demand, making it a truly Sri Lankan place of worship. Deegalle notes that while Buddhist monks often disassociate themselves from the worship of deities, the diaspora situation in England has created new needs that the Buddhist monks have had to respond to. In the diaspora, the temples take on new functions such as creating a sense of community and belonging. The concern for the upbringing of the children, and the drive for recognition and acceptance, Deegalle notes, are the main reasons to visit the temple. The seven papers on Hindus in the diaspora focus on various aspects of identity formation, establishment of religious institutions and sacred places, and the creation of many little Indias in the new places of living. Two papers analyse Hindu communities that originated in the first period of the South Asian diaspora. Martin Baumann argues for a five phase scheme for the Hindu diaspora in Trinidad. He is especially interested in the gradual de-identification with the religious and political norms of the land of origin and the emphasis on becoming a full member of the society they live in. This five phase development may not be valid for the post-1947 diaspora situation also because of globalisation, new means of communication, and so on. The conclusion, however, that identificational differences in religious terms do not by necessity have to impede processes of integration and national identification might have cross-cultural validity. Corstiaan J. G. van der Burg discusses the current status of the Surinam Hindus who arrived in the Netherlands 25 years ago. He analyses this group of ‘twice migrants’ from three perspectives: as a minority group in the Netherlands, as a community shaped by a particular cultural and social history, and as a local variant of a world religion influenced by global Hindu trends. All these three perspec-
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tives are necessary to give a more complete picture of the development of this Hindu community in the Netherlands. Two papers discuss the Sri Lankan Tamil Hindu diaspora in Europe. Brigitte Luchesi’s paper analyses the Sri Kamadchi Ampal Temple in Hamm-Uentrop, the first Tamil Hindu temple in Germany planned and constructed as a temple from the start. She shows how the establishment of Hindu temples in the diaspora in Germany is an indication that the refugees had lost hope of returning to Sri Lanka and that they were preparing to stay in Germany. She also argues that it can be understood as part of a larger phenomenon: the wish of more publicity and the claim by immigrants for more public space. Knut A. Jacobsen describes the institutionalisation of a Sri Lankan Tamil Hindu festival of a sacred bathingplace (tirthotsava) in Oslo, Norway. In a remarkable way, at the day of the festival a beach at a lake in the wilderness just outside of Oslo becomes transformed into a Hindu tirtha with all the ingredients: divine power, beautiful nature, purifying water and bathing devotees. That sacred tirthas in this way can become established also outside of South Asia challenges us to rethink the meaning of India as the sacred land of the Hindus and the meaning of sacred space and place in Hinduism. Hinduism has within a few decades become a major religion in the United States. The situation for the early immigrants in the 1960s and 1970s is strikingly different from the second (or third) generation Hindus of the early 21st century. Two papers on Hindu communities in the Unites States illustrate this difference. Indira Y. Junghare is interested in how Hinduism in Minnesota represents a diversity of ethnic and regional groups and also has adopted unique American regional characteristics. Junghare notes that public observances tend to be closer to the Pan-Indian or Sanskritic tradition, while private ritualistic practices differ according to the background of the family in local and regional practices. The position of the second generation Hindus in the US is quite different from the first generation. Theirs is a diaspora of birth, not of choice. Lindsay Harlan analyses how the dilemma of South Asian students being positioned between cultures is expressed in a remarkable Divali performance at a Connecticut college. She shows how parody is used in this self-representation of Hindu students as a form of cultural critique both of the host society and of the country of origin. The Hindu diaspora in Britain has to some degree been dominated
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by a few influential religious movements. One of them is the Swaminarayan movement, a movement popular primarily among the Gujarati speaking Hindus. In her paper, Rachel Dwyer argues that this movement is a form of transnational Hinduism, a form of Hinduism that is global in nature. In the diaspora in Britain, religion increasingly forms the defining feature of the new identity and this has strengthened the Swaminarayan movement. Christianity has been part of the South Asian religious landscape almost from its origin and is an important religion also in the South Asian diaspora. There has generally been a lack of attention to Christian diaspora groups in the international research on religions in the diaspora. This is the case also with the South Asian diaspora. In this book, we have two papers on Christians from South India in the diaspora. Anna Lindberg’s study of marriage patterns of persons with a Malayalee Christian identity in the U.S. has led her to argue that Christian Malayalees in the U.S. to a larger degree keep their regional Indian ethnic identity than do Hindus, who instead construct an Indian national identity. Malayalees are one of the largest groups of Indian immigrants to the U.S. constituting 300 000 of the 1.7. million Indians counted in the U.S. census of 2000. Since they belong to the religion that dominates the U.S., ethnicity becomes crucial to keep a separate identity, while for Hindus religion becomes the identity marker. The concept of hybridity has recently been promoted to challenge the understanding and politics of multiculturalism. Clara A. B. Joseph responds to the challenge of Homi K. Bhabha’s theory of hybridity. She traces the history of the Syro-Malabar Church, the second largest Oriental Catholic church, and its presence in North America to assess Bhabha’s argument that success lies in a ‘culture’s hybridity’ and meaning in the ‘third space’ or ‘in-between space’. The South Asian Muslims are spread world wide, and in some countries, such as England the majority of the Muslim immigrants come from South Asia, that is, mainly Pakistan and Bangladesh. S. E. Dangor’s essay traces the history of the South Asian Muslim diasporic identities in South Africa from the first indentured workers and traders to the contemporary situation. The Muslims and Hindus from their arrival behaved as a single community, Dangor argues, and they even attended each others festivals. From the 1960s, however, the Muslims began to identify more with the Muslim world than with India, faith rather than ancestry became paramount. This, Dangor
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documents, was due to the emergence of Muslim organisations. Dangor also shows the tension between the South Asian Muslims and the African Muslims in South Africa. Two of the articles on the South Asian Muslim diaspora deal with some problematic issues of being Muslim in the diaspora in Europe. Tahir Abbas questions the view of some educationists, who view underachievement as a function of the nature of the ethnic minorities. Using the theory of antiracist and multicultural education, Abbas shows that the social and cultural nature of the ethnic minorities does not inhibit their educational achievement. Abbas instead explains the underachievement as a function of racism, that is, as a function of the expectations of the teachers. Andrew K. T. Yip deals with the difficulties faced by the Muslim homosexuals in Britain, who try to reconcile their sexuality to religion. Two strategies are followed. The first strategy critiques tradition by separating Islamic and cultural practices. Yip notes that while the first generation tends to follow the oral tradition, the second generation, not being proficient in the native languages, depends on written sources, thus getting a textual approach less entangled in cultural practices. The second strategy attempts to reinterpret Islamic sources that apparently censure homosexuality. Part five contains one chapter each on the Parsis and the Sikhs. Zoroastrianism is among the oldest living religions, but it entered South Asia in the tenth century as Zoroastrians travelled from the province of Pars (and therefore were called Parsis) in Iran to Gujarat. Sikhism originated in India in the sixteenth century. John R. Hinnells gives a detailed exposé of the two modern Zoroastrian diasporas. The first from Bombay to England and other countries of the British empire from the first half of the nineteenth century was marked by success in trade and the Parsis made a great contribution in the societies they settled. The second from the 1960s especially to Britain, North America and Australia is marked by educational interests and success. Hinnells discusses a series of issues facing the Parsis such as their diminishing numbers, the increasing number of intermarriages, perceptions of discrimination, leadership and the role of priests, a growing sense of distance between religious beliefs and practices, and the perception of India as the ‘motherland.’ The Sikh diaspora has several unique features. One such feature, it has been suggested, is the role of the diaspora in giving shape to the idea of a Sikh nation. Anne Murphy argues that the traditional Sikh
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conceptions of seva (‘voluntary service’) is a constitutive aspect of Sikh subjectivity in the diaspora. Both transnational orientations and local concerns are expressed in seva in the diaspora. She identifies three aspects of seva: kar seva, philanthropy and civil rigths. Philanthropic engagement is one of the important diasporic financial interactions with Punjab and, therefore, has possible political interpretations and ramifications and may even be understood ‘as efforts at describing a national and separatist space for Sikhs, in the Khalistani vein.’ Finally we have added a section that pays attention to more generic issues of the diaspora. Identities of South Asians in the diaspora are often pluralistic and shaped by the competing religious and ethnic values of the sub-groups and also gender values. P. Pratap Kumar investigates the taxonomy of South Asians in South Africa. He shows how criteria used for classification, such as culture, language, religion, economy, gender, politics, etc. often depend on the classification’s perceived function. The author concludes that recognising the pluralistic nature of the South Asian community and developing some sort of pragmatic identity by mutual negotiations are of vital importance for the South Asian community in South Africa. Sandeep Chohan argues, quite correctly, that the research on the South Asian diaspora has focused primarily on the formation of distinct religious communities (Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims), and neglected regional religious beliefs and practices. Some of these regional religious forms attract both Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs. Chohan’s paper concentrates on Punjabi traditions of healing, exorcism and holy men or babas. These babas do not represent any single religious tradition but provide places of worship for people regardless of the religious category they belong to. For the believers, religious boundaries are not as restrictive as in the academic world, Chohan argues. Further research is needed on regional religious traditions in the diaspora. The concept of ‘performance of multiculturalism’ refers to public debates and controversies. Analysing such performances and their misunderstandings and cultural assumptions can give access to the attitudes of the diasporic communities and the host communities and provide a deeper understanding of the process of struggle of the South Asians in the diaspora for ritual space in the new society and culture. Christopher Hartney describes such a struggle in Sydney, Australia. Hindu and Sikh temple building activity in Sydney is analyzed as examples of the performance of multiculturalism. South Asian communities often wish to express their religious identity in tra-
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ditional buildings and Hartney describes the tensions this has created, tensions, he argues, that have strained the multicultural process. In her contribution, Kirin Narayan investigates how in diasporic contexts families’ stories about the homeland of the parents, both family histories and folk narratives and mythologies, are transmitted to children born or brought up outside of South Asia and how they contribute towards constituting South Asian identities, or revising or transforming these identities. Diaspora being a form of displacement, Narayan argues that storytelling in a diaspora context may be seen as a form of emplacement in a situation in which ‘there is never just one home.’ Paul Weller notes, as do many other authors in this book, the increased significance of religion as a key marker of self-identification during the last decades. In debates of religious discrimination, the focus on the Muslims has caused the experience of other religious minorities such as Hindus and Sikhs to be overlooked. This chapter therefore relates the experiences of these groups as reported in questionnaires on discrimination and unfair treatment. Ignorance about Hinduism among the British is experienced by the Hindus as a form of religious discrimination. Ignorance can also be an important contributor to the creation of institutional contexts in which discrimination can flourish, the author argues. All the contributors give an overview of the South Asian diaspora in the area they cover in their article. The book therefore also traces the histories of a great number of the South Asian diasporas around the globe.
References Jacobsen, K.A. (2003) ‘Settling in Cold Climate: Tamil Hindus in Norway.’ In Martin Baumann, Brigitte Luchesi, Annette Wilke (eds.), Tempel und Tamilen in zweiter Heimat. Hindus aus Sri Lanka im deutschsprachigen und skandinavischen Raum. Würzburg: Ergon Press, 363-377. Vertovec, S. (2000). The Hindu Diaspora: Comparative Patterns. London: Routledge.
PART ONE JAINS AND BUDDHISTS
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THE JAIN PLATE: THE SEMIOTICS OF THE DIASPORA DIET ANNE VALLELY
Abstract Food is a system of communication, and North American Jain dietary practices symbolise the ‘consumption’ of two sets of values – one rooted in ancient ethical principles, the other in modern North American culture. This essay explores the semiotics of the Jain diet: the symbolic function of food within the Jain diaspora community. It is an examination of the ways in which competing discourses about identity are articulated through the consumption and renunciation of food.
Going to Burger King A group of five young Jains and myself filed through the open glass doors and headed straight for the counter. Even though this was the first time any of us had set foot in this particular Burger King, none of us paid attention to the surroundings, or to the menu posted high on the back wall. We were already on terra cognito. The young woman behind the counter looked up: “How can I help you?” she asked, in a expectedly unctuous way.“6 whoppers – no meat, 6 fries and 6 cokes – anyone want diet?” Amit asked turning toward us. When the food arrived, we slid into one of the large beige vinyl booths. Green and red cardboard containers soon littered our table, and we got down to the business of eating. Nothing set us apart from our fellow patrons – not the language we spoke, not our style of dress, nor – seemingly – our dietary practices. To paraphrase Roland Barthes, the hamburger is not just a foodstuff; it is an attitude. It is not substance so much as a circumstance, an occasion for spending time together in a particular way (Barthes, 1997). Eating at an icon of American popular culture was reassuring: vegetarianism need not banish one to the periphery of mainstream society. And yet, in spite of this apparent oneness, what was not consumed
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was of pre-eminent significance to the group: through absence, Jain identity was affirmed. This interplay between consuming/not consuming (of foods and of ideologies) is central to the Jain diaspora’s negotiation with the dominant culture of North America. Food is a broad medium for symbolic expression, and the “Have It Your Way” Jain meatless whopper speaks volumes. It narrates a story about a new community well on its way to establishing roots in North America, taking part in the dominant culture and sharing in that culture’s norms and values through consumption. It also proclaims the resolute and constant Jain commitment to non-violence, as established through individual moral conduct, narrated or “written upon” the body. The meatless burger symbolises the acceptance or ‘consumption’ of two sets of cultural values: a concrete example of a transnational community reinventing itself in a new multi-religious and multicultural landscape. This essay is an exploration of the ‘semiotics of the Jain diet’: the symbolic function of food within the Jain community in North America. It is an examination of the ways in which competing discourses about identity are articulated through the consumption and renunciation of food.
Background on Jainism The Jain tradition has flourished on the Indian subcontinent since the 6th century BCE and, although numerically a minority, remains a thriving religion with a distinctive identity within the larger Hindu culture. Jainism’s unique ethical system is centred on the ascetic ideal of world renunciation and of absolute non-violence. The tradition, commonly encapsulated in the aphorism “Ahimsa Paramo Dharma” (non-violence is the highest form of religion) has devoted more attention to the theory and practice of non-violence than has any other religious philosophy. The goal underlying the ethic of ahimsa is spiritual liberation (moksha), and Jainism is often characterised as a “path to liberation” (moksha-marga). In India, the Jain ethical worldview is expressed through affiliation with a particular ascetic order (sect and ascetic lineage) that serves as the primary means through which their identity, as well as their social borders, are established and maintained.
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Since the 1st century C˚E˚, the Jain community has been divided into two major sects – the Shvetambar (‘white-clad’ or clothed) and the Digambar (‘sky-clad’ or naked). The names are derived from the comportment of the ascetics: the Shvetambar ascetics wear white robes, and the Digambar monks wear no clothes1. Both lay and ascetic Jains are defined by their sect affiliation, reflecting the absolute centrality of the ascetics in the constitution of Jain identity in India. Within this overarching sectarian division are a large number of subsects, derived from various ascetic lineages. Given the ideological and concrete links between mendicant and lay life, and the pivotal role the ascetic model plays in sectarian identity, important differences emerge within the diaspora community, where there are no monks and nuns, and where the relationship with the ascetic ideal is being re-conceived. The actual number of Jains living outside of India is uncertain, and has been variously estimated from, as low as 70 – 80, 000 (Dundas, 1992), to as high a figure as one million (Jain Centre of Toronto, 1998). Those who argue for the higher number claim that Jains have often displayed a degree of fluidity in religious identification. For instance, until recently – and only after considerable campaigning by Jain leadership – it was not uncommon for Jains to record themselves as ‘Jain-Hindu’ on census enumeration. That Jains have, in certain contexts, defined themselves as a sub-sect of Hinduism (as have Sikhs), or have emphasised caste over Jain identity, demonstrates the complex nature of religious identity, and has made the tradition difficult to pigeonhole (see Dundas, 1992). Today the Jain diaspora is comprised of members from both the Shvetambar and Digambar sects; from a wide number of gacchas (ascetic lineages) and castes; and also from all regions of India. At the turn of the 20th century, however, the vast majority of immigrants, travelling mainly to East Africa, were Gujaratis and Shvetambar image-worshippers (Dundas, 1992). Due to political instability in East Africa, Jains began emigrating to Britain and North America in the late 1960s. Banks (1991) estimates that as high as 80 per cent of the Jain population of Britain today is Gujarati. A similar pattern emerged in North America, with roughly half the population arriving via East Africa and England; the other half arriving directly from
1
Women are not permitted to take full monastic vows in the Digambar sect.
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India – and where the vast majority are Gujarati Jains. Dundas writes that among the first wave of Jain immigrants to East Africa, caste connections were the basis of support networks and played a more important role in the successes of the migrants than did their identity as Jains (1992:232-3). However, since the emergence of communities in Western Europe and North America, there has been a strong movement to establish an international Jain community and an inclusive religious identity across caste, sectarian, and linguistic lines. Jains, like the larger Indian immigrant group of which they are a part, constitute a new community in North America. While Jains have been emigrating to Canada and the United States since the late 19th century, their numbers until recently were small. No self-perpetuating community existed until the mid-1960s when immigration laws (formerly restrictive to non-Europeans) opened up to Asians. In the early years of immigration, home temples served as places of worship and social gathering. Since the community was small in numbers and limited in financial resources, affiliation with the larger Hindu community was common. Jains shared in the construction of ecumenical Hindu temples, and installed their own murtis (idols) within them (Williams, 1998). However, by the 1980s, the Jain community was sufficiently well established in various urban centres throughout North America to justify the creation of their own societies and temples. There are presently fifty-seven Jain societies in North America, nearly all of which include members from both the Shvetambar and Digamabar sects. In the large Jain urban centre of Toronto, where after fourteen years of Digambars and Svetambars sharing one temple, a separate Digambar temple was established in 2001. This development has not been without controversy. The youth, in particular, who have little knowledge about neither sectarian differences nor interest in maintaining them, opposed the separation of communities. Pathshala (religious education) classes were launched on a regular basis in the 1980s, to teach young Jains about their tradition. And the Jain Study Circle, a national organisation, fulfils a similar mandate, publishing a quarterly journal on Jain doctrine and practice. In addition the Jain Association of North America (JAINA) was founded in 1981 and organises biennial convention that regularly attract thousands of participants. All Jains, whether Shvetambar or Digambar, lay or ascetic, residing in India or abroad, share a common philosophical and ethical commitment to non-violence (ahimsa). Ahimsa informs their interac-
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tions with the world around them, their choice of jobs and – most conspicuously – their diet. Diet and ethics are intimately connected. For Jains, diet is ethics “inscribed” upon the body; the body is the locus for constructing and expressing an ethical way-of-being in the world. Diet informs the Jain habitus: the juncture between theory and practice, the place where ethics and worldview become embodied and enacted.
Food, Ethics & Identity Roland Barthes argues that the manner in which a culture expropriates living creatures is a highly integrated form of communication, conveying the beliefs, values and ethical principles that underpin the entire culture (1997:22). Traditional Jain dietary discourse communicates a singular desire to detach oneself from worldly existence, and pursue a path of self-realisation (i.e., the moksha-marga). Dietary discourse must be distinguished from actual food habits of Jains, which reflect a great number of values. Indeed, food is chiefly used to express the values of family, sustenance and nurturing, of sociability and festivity etc. But, in India, these dietary practices are not typically articulated through the idiom of Jainism. While the actual uses of food in the Jain community reveal a myriad of values, those categorised as ‘Jain’ denote a very particular, and unmistakable ideological orientation (Mahias, 1985). Marie-Claude Mahias identifies a central dialectic in traditional Jain dietary practice between “déliverance” (world renunciation) and “convivialité” (world affirmation), expressed through “religious rules based on renunciation of food and the social rules based on consumption of food” (Cort, 2001:130). The vast majority of Jains are lay followers who esteem the ascetic ideal but who are fully engaged in social life, devoted to family and committed to financial success. They embody in their persons the competing worldly/transcendent values. The two sets of values are juxtaposed, each referencing, delimiting – and thereby elucidating – the other. Their identity as “Jains” is firmly rooted in the values and practices opposed to the ‘worldly’. Mahias writes, Jainism makes an effort at compromises, within limits, for those engaged in worldly life, but it never takes charge of the positive aspect of the situation. It stipulates what cannot be eaten, it does not say how
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to nourish oneself. It prescribes for the severance of family ties, it does not indicate with whom one can wed. It forbids the destruction of life, it does not teach the means to enrich it (translation mine).2
In North America, by contrast, dietary practices defined as “Jain” do not constitute a singular discourse; they reveal ‘semiotic density’ (see Khare, 1992), communicating a variety of values at once. Meanings around foodstuffs remain hinged upon the worldly/transcendent dialectic but are reshaped in accordance with the imperatives of the diaspora community. Jainism is no longer defined primarily through interdictions, but straddles both sides of the dialectic, encompassing social, ethnic and religious identity. As will be discussed below, the family is no longer the primary reference for the worldly, and the transcendent is no longer anchored to the ascetic path alone. The worldly is more remote, the transcendent more immediate. Jain dietary discourse is simply a culinary expression of the philosophy of ahimsa (non-violence); ethics is made concrete through dietary practice. Jainism teaches that every living being has a perfect, eternal soul (jiva), and that all souls deserve compassion. All are in a state of spiritual impurity, bound to earthly existence because of karmic shackles. The universe is filled with pitiable souls, who are bound to remain in physical existence because of ignorance of the basic causes of their captivity. Jainism teaches that the universe is composed of two elements: jiva (sentient being or soul) and ajiva (a non-sentient matter, which Jains call karma). Ajiva attaches to jiva, obscuring the true and omniscient nature of the soul, and causing it to be cast into an endless succession of births and deaths. Liberation is a state of bliss and omniscience, but this can occur only when the soul frees itself from its ruinous captivity. This is not a simple task: the connection between jiva and ajiva is beginning-less, and is sustained by passions – attachment, aversion, greed and envy. It can only be severed through sustained and rigorous efforts at detachment from worldly life. Jain moral practice is characterised by the cultivation of self-restraint – the essence of detachment from the material world of karma – and by the a deeply held compassion for all 2 ...[L]e jainism tente des compromis, dress des limites à l’intention de l’homme engagé dans les affaires du monde, mais il ne prend jamais en charge l’aspect positif de cette situation. Il dicte ce qu’il ne faut pas manger, il ne dit pas comment se nourrir. Il ordonne de rompre les liens familiaux, il n’indique pas avec qui se marier. Il interdit de détruire la vie, il n’enseigne pas les moyens de commercer et de s’enrichir (1985:286).
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living beings. Jain ethics is enshrined in the mahavratas – the five ‘great vows’ that work to “fence in” or limit worldly entanglement (Jaini, 1979:170). Non-Violence (ahimsa), is the first and most fundamental vow. It demands non-violence in thought, speech and action, and is believed to be the foundation upon which the remaining four derive, namely Truthfulness; Non-stealing; Sexual restraint and Non-possession. The name Jain derives from the Sanskrit word Jina, meaning “conqueror”. The Jinas are the great spiritual masters who have ‘conquered’ all passions and who teach the doctrine of non-violence before attaining enlightenment. Jains believe that all living beings – humans, animals, plants, and single-sensed beings – have a soul worthy of respect, and deserving of compassion. Consequently, ahimsa is the central and defining ethic of Jainism, which informs all aspects of the ideal Jain life. Jain dietary discourse is an expression of the ideology of the mokshamarga – the path of liberation. It communicates a desire to distance oneself from the violence inherent in sustaining life. Jeremy Rifkin states that “Eating, more than any other single experience, brings us into a full relationship to the natural world” (1993: 234). Similarly, Anne Murcott claims that “food is an especially appropriate ‘mediator’ because when we eat, we establish, in a literal sense, a direct identity between ourselves (culture) and our food (nature)” (cited in Rifkin, ibid.). In Jain idiom, eating constitutes a link between the jiva and ajiva, and binds us to samsara (worldly existence). It follows that efforts to defy or sever this link would take the form of food avoidances. Jains have long recognised that eating is as much about death as it is about life: in order to sustain life, life must be destroyed. The act of eating necessitates an involvement with, and exploitation of, life. Lay Jains accept that a certain amount of violence is unavoidable in the preparation and consumption of food. Although they make a distinction between “necessary” and “unnecessary” violence, their rigorous application of the doctrine of non-violence, even to minute life forms, is remarkable. Padmanabh Jaini writes, In their belief in the inviolability of all life, the Jainas extended their dietary restrictions to various types of vegetable life as well. In their attempts to categorise those types of plants which could be consumed with relatively little harm, the Jainas developed a whole science of botany which was rather unique in Indian religious history. For exam-
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ple, eating fruits and vegetables which contained a large number of seeds (bahubija), such as figs or eggplants, was restricted: this was in distinction to fruits that had only a single stone, like mangoes, or vegetables that did not contain individual seeds, such as grains, legumes, and leafy vegetables, which the Jainas did not limit. At the same time, however, the Jainas recognised that plants were the lowest form of life – since they possessed only a single sense, that of touch – and belonged to different category altogether from higher animals. Hence, plants could be eaten, provided they were harvested and prepared with kindness and care (1990:6)
Ascetics, who have taken a vow of absolute non-violence, make no distinction between necessary and unnecessary violence. They seek to avoid all forms of harm, even against the simplest of beings (e.g. water, earth, fire, and air). As such, they neither purchase nor prepare food, and are dependent on the kindness of others for food offerings. Even then, the food they accept must not have been prepared explicitly for them as this would implicate the mendicants in the violence of food preparation. In addition, they will only accept food that is devoid of life (i.e., through boiling or peeling). By ingesting food that is no longer alive, the mendicants accrue to themselves no karma. So central is this preoccupation, that most lay Jains identify asceticism with fasting and food restrictions. R. Williams, in his book Jaina Yoga, asserts that Jain asceticism “lies first and foremost in depriving oneself of food.” (Cited in Cort, 2001:121). The ascetic ideal provides the archetype from which lay discipline is patterned. The code of conduct for lay Jain practice is laid out in a body of work known collectively as the Shravakacaras, which treats lay life as a progressive path leading to ever increasing stages of renunciation. This kinship between the lay and ascetic path is most quintessentially revealed through dietary restrictions. John Cort writes, “one of the key elements of lay practice is the upvas, which refers to any kind of fast.” (2001:128). Through bodily denial, one demonstrates the liturgical truth that the mendicant and householder are on the same trajectory. Jain dietary practice is centred on interdictions, restrictions, and avoidances: on fasting and on “foods not to be eaten” (abhakshyas). When Jains – whether in India, North America or anywhere in between, – abstain from eating root crops, fruits with many seeds, or if they perform period fasts and refrain from eating after sunset, they are using their bodies to speak the language of mokshamarga. The supreme expression of this is through the act of sallekhana, a ritual fasting until death, and, although infrequently undertaken, is
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considered to be the ideal death for both lay and mendicant Jains. If eating establishes a direct identity with nature, then sallekhana is the most powerful un-doing, rejection, and denial of that identity. It is a final severance of one’s relationship with worldly life. It is revealing that one of the definitions of moksha is anahari pad, “the state of not consuming” (Cort, 2001:78). Only when one is no longer compelled to consume, is one truly free. Of course, dietary restrictions are not merely symbolic; they are believed to be among the most effective methods for removing karmic ‘debris’ and for attaining a state of mental equanimity. For Jains (as for Hindus) mental and emotional states are considered to be intrinsically connected to the moral quality of what one eats (see Khare, 1992: 5). Bland pure foods help maintain the mind in a state of equanimity. Spicy foods excite the passions. Animal foods likewise aggravate the emotions. In addition, the fear and pain that an animal suffers during slaughter is believed to be, in some way, contained within its flesh and transferred to the one who consumes it, creating a latent and deleterious effect in the mind. Therefore, what one eats is never merely a material substance: it conjoins moral and cosmological qualities, and has a close relationship with the self. For many Jains in India, vegetarianism, in and of itself, is not a particularly powerful signifier of the moksha-marga, or of religious identity. Though certainly not universally embraced in India, vegetarianism is a common practice. This, however, was not always the case, and most Jains believe that it was largely due to their efforts that the practice of meat eating and animal sacrifice declined in popularity. Their historical accounts narrate the process by which early Jain communal identity, and ethical yearnings, crystallised around the rejection of the Vedic practices of animal sacrifice. And how in time, vegetarianism came to supplant animals as food in the diet of early Hindus. Jain history includes many celebrated accounts of prominent Hindus and Muslims being inspired by Jain teachings of non-violence. Padmanabh Jaini states, “[T]he privileged position accruing from being such a small minority appears to have given the tiny Jaina community a unique niche in Indian society, so that it was able to concentrate all of its missionary zeal on reforming the dietary habits of the Indians” (1990: 5)
According to Mahias, the brahmanical rejection of animal sacrifice and conversion to vegetarianism (whether or not due to Jain influ-
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ence) has had the consequence of making vegetarianism part of the dominant ideology, and not, therefore, associated with Jainism in any special way (1985: 284). However, what is identified as characteristically Jain are the “secondary interdictions” mentioned above (e.g., restrictions on eating root crops, honey, eating after dark, etc). According to Cort, these dietary restrictions “constitute one of the hallmarks of the tradition for most Indians”(2001:128). And, for Jains, it is largely in observing these supplementary food avoidances that they identify with, and make progress along, the moksha-marga (path of liberation). The moksha-marga framework structures the community in a particular way, imposing upon it a particular logic that endeavours to facilitate withdrawal from worldly life. This framework leads James Laidlaw to describe ahimsa as an “ethic of quarantine”. He argues that Jains’ elaborate practices of non-violence are not so much about minimising death or saving life as about keeping life “at bay” and essentially amount to an attempt at the “avoidance of life”(1995:159). In a similar vein, John Cort writes that “filtering” could be used as a basic metaphor for the Jain attitude toward diet and the entire biological world (2001:131). The metaphors of “filtering” and of “quarantine” nicely capture the essence of the moksha-marga, with which Jainism is so strongly identified in India. These metaphors do not, however, capture the essence of Jainism as it is practised and understood in North America. The Jain community in the diaspora is broadening the definition of what constitutes Jainism, redefining it beyond that of worldly detachment to include world-affirming values. Lay Jains everywhere have always been principally concerned with family, social bonds, social duty, and material well-being. What is distinct in North America is that these concerns are being addressed in the name of Jainism. In North America, there are no ascetic orders. Renouncing the world and taking refuge in a community of mendicants is not an option. While the possibility of leaving home to pursue the ascetic path in India is not without precedent, it is extremely rare. Perhaps because of the absence of monks and nuns, and of the structure that their existence imposes, the relationship with the ascetic model is not particularly significant for most Jains in the diaspora. Or perhaps it is because North American consumer society is a barren ground for an ideology that stresses selfrestraint and non-attachment. In this context, Jain ‘idiom’ expresses many aspirations, of which worldly detachment is but one.
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Diaspora Diet The paramount importance of diet in Jain ethics and identity has not diminished in the diaspora. In some instances, its importance may actually be magnified, given the predominantly meat-eating and meat-advocating culture of North America. I would argue that dietary practice remains inseparable from Jain metaphysics, ethics, and identity construction, but that the diasporic context simultaneously reinforces and transforms this connection. In addition, the same basic dialectic between the worldly/transcendent is at play, but, as mentioned above, the ‘ingredients’ of these opposed categories have been modified. Herewith I consider some of the ways in which this dialectic is being reinterpreted in the modern North American context, through an examination of the categories of the worldly and the transcendent.
The Worldly The worldly stands opposed to the transcendent as the central dialectic in Jainism, reflecting a soteriological path that seeks to disengage the true self (jiva) from the surrounding quagmire of delusion and karma (ajiva). In traditional Jain discourse, the family is commonly made to serve as the symbol of the “worldly.” Countless religious narratives depict family attachments as the source of spiritual enslavement. Food, among the Jains, as among all communities, is basic to the perpetuation of social ties. It symbolises togetherness and the aesthetic qualities of family, but these pleasures also represent the worldliness that needs to be renounced and transcended. The enjoyment of family meals commonly symbolises attachment, whereas the giving away of food (customarily to ascetics) symbolises spirituality. In the North American diasporic context, the family takes on a different set of symbols, serving as the basis for individual, religious and ethnic identity. Significantly, the family (and the family meal) are not the “worldly” to renounce, but constitute an essential part of being Jain. Jain identity in the diaspora is difficult to isolate from ethnic identity (e.g., Gujarati). By contrast, in India, where the surrounding culture shares the common language, social norms and even food preferences (see Mahias, 1985), differences are fewer, making their contours sharper, and easier to discern. In North America, treating
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religious orientation separately from cultural values and traditions is largely an academic exercise, divorced from the aesthetic experience of “being Jain.” Food acts as a conservative and powerfully emotional experience that communicates the values of family, tradition and ethnic background. Many Jain households in the diaspora continue to prepare meals that are peculiar to specific regions in India (e.g., Gujarati or Punjabi cuisine), and for second generation Jains in particular, these meals communicate their “Jain” identity as much as do fasting and food avoidances. Interestingly, the movement to foster a universal Jainism – which deliberately downplays the importance of sect, caste, regional and linguistic particularities – finds its greatest support in North America. And yet, the aesthetic experience of being Jain in North America invariably encompasses all these various identities. The ‘worldly’ against which Jainism stands opposed is, therefore, not the immediate and emotional bonds of the family. The family does not ‘jump sides’ of the dialectic, aligning itself with the transcendent, but it no longer provides such a fertile source from which to symbolise worldly attachments. The worldly is now symbolised by mainstream, popular culture – with which Jains enthusiastically, but selectively, participate.
The Transcendent and the Abhakshyas Vision TV, a Toronto based station with a mandate to profile Canadian cultural and religious diversity makes a short film on the Jain community. A young woman with a high profile in the Toronto Jain society is the focus around which the documentary unfolds. She is an ideal spokesperson: an attractive, articulate and accomplished young observant Jain. She is more traditional than many in her age group – she is a strict vegetarian, does not drink alcohol and will likely have an arranged marriage. We follow her as she goes to work in the morning, and observe her with her colleagues. At home, we meet her mother, with whom she is very close. Together they sit around the dining table to eat a meal. The young woman stresses the importance of non-violence and a vegetarian diet, and we watch as the camera scans the wide variety of foodstuffs on the nicely set table. What most non-Jains (the target audience for the show) see is a delicious variety of healthy vegetarian foods. What Jains would immediately notice, however, is the abundant presence of potatoes and onions – tabooed foods. It is revealing that a fairly religious family (one that frequents the Jain temple and
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maintains a home temple, speaks Gujarati, observes the religious festivals, and is actively involved in the Jain societies, etc) would prepare meals with root crops knowing that these dishes would be seen as “Jain food” to the audience watching at home.
John Cort writes that at the core of the Jain dietary ideology is the concept that certain foods are abhakshya, or “not fit to be eaten” (2001:128). The standard list of twenty-two abhakshyas dates from as early as the 11th century (Williams, 1963:110), and includes such familiar items as animal flesh, eggs, alcohol, honey and figs. Interestingly, Williams notes that these items were commonly used in Hindu propitiatory rituals, and that the Jain prohibition was, at least in part, linked to efforts of distancing themselves from such ‘impious’ practices. Other well-known items on the list are bahu-bija, i.e., fruits with many seeds, such as pomegranates; mulakanda, i.e., root crops, such as potatoes and onions; and ratri-bhojana, foods eaten at night. Although most Jains are aware of the general category and some of its contents (i.e., those listed above) few could list all prohibited items. Cort notes that the abhakshya list does not serve as a useful guideline for actual dietary practice (as, for instance, rules of kashrut do for observant Jews). Nevertheless, it possesses a vigour and authority derived from it being “an ideological, prescriptive framework”(2001:128). As such, it informs the ethos and orientation of the Jain diet, defining it within and around structured boundaries. And it is these ‘secondary interdictions’ that Mahais identifies as being central to Jain dietary distinctiveness in India. The presence of the monks and nuns in India plays a role in ensuring or enforcing proper dietary observance, since they will only accept as alms food that is deemed ‘admissible.’ Householders are generally very eager to offer alms, and many regulate their culinary practices according to these high demands, whether or not ascetics are actually present. In North America, in the absence of the mendicant community and in the absence of their real or imagined presence, no external regulatory force exists. Some Jains regularly avoid the abhakshyas (foods not fit to be eaten), while others observe these restrictions on specific occasions. In this sense, Jains in the diaspora are not unlike their counterparts in India. However, what differs is the cultural context of their practices. The abhakshyas are part of the moksha-marga religious identity– an impoverished discourse in mainstream North American society – and simply do not constitute a strong ideological force.
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In addition to their continued traditional (and limited) observance, there are at least two new developments with respect to the abhakshyas – one, I would argue, more significant than the other. These developments are not peculiar to the diaspora context, but are more conspicuous here. The first (and less significant) is the continued observance of the traditional abhakshya category, reinterpreted in terms of physical health. Jainism, in this discourse, is presented as a remarkably contemporary tradition, compatible with science and relevant for modern society. A recent book Jainism and the New Spirituality, by Vastupal Parikh (published in Toronto, 2002), serves as an example. In a chapter entitled “The Jain lifestyle and Contemporary Life,” Parikh examines the significance of Jain fasting and food avoidances. In discussing upvas (periodic fasting) he states: While [fasting] may be an effective exercise in the Jain pursuit of mindcontrol, the body also benefits from periodic fasting by allowing the digestive system to cleanse itself. As well, the liver is stimulated to release toxins, which then travel through the bloodstream, and migrate south to exit the body.
On unodarika (light eating): While this practice helps us gain self-control, it also promotes good health by enabling us to maintain a comfortable body weight, and reduces lethargy commonly experienced after heavy meals.
On garam pani (boiled water): This practice renders drinking water safe by eliminating bacteria, and heat-sensitive chemicals....Consuming un-boiled water, therefore, will be in the end more harmful both in terms of ones health and in terms of number of bacteria killed.
On ratribhojan (eating at night): Jains normally do not eat after sunset. This practice aids digestion and contributes to a more satisfying sleep and healthy body weight. (Parikh, 2002)
While the moksha-marga discourse is present, it is clearly subordinate to the concern with the therapeutic benefits derived from Jain practices. The second development within Jain dietary discourse is the emergence of a new “abhakshya“ category. It is gaining prominence among Jains in the diaspora (particularly among the youth in the UK and North America), and is rooted in a discourse of compassion and jus-
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tice. As with the traditional list, most Jains are not fully cognisant of its contents, but are aware of its presence, and its potential to re-orient the traditional diet. Its ideological framework is important and the discourse that it promotes is redefining what is, and what is not, “fit to be eaten.” Rather than the prohibition of eggplants and pomegranates, we find dairy products, rennet, gelatin, lecithin, and casein. The logic of these ‘abhakshyas’ is not self-control but compassion; not renunciation of the abstract and reified “worldly existence,” but the renunciation of very tangible forms of animal exploitation. Food here is a moral-material product that speaks the values of compassion and animal welfare. This is an increasingly conspicuous discourse within the diasporic community as many strive to position Jainism as an ecological/animal rights tradition. Although the values of compassion and animal welfare have always been integral to Jainism, they have tended to be treated as dimensions of the moksha-marga. The discourse of world detachment and self-control speaks of world transcendence, not world redemption. As such, it tends to discourage interference in worldly affairs because of the danger such involvement poses to the goal of self-realisation. By contrast, in the new discourse, the values of compassion and ahimsa are connected with societal transformation, and are less tied to asceticism. Its underlying rationale is presented in terms of avoiding animal cruelty, and not in terms of reducing karma, or gaining selfcontrol. It might reasonably be called “socially-motivated ahimsa.” Many Jains, for instance, support animal rights and environmental activism, which aim to dismantle long-established structures of society. Throughout Canada and the States, Jain youths attend weekend classes for religious instruction, called pathshala. Concerted efforts have been made to standardise the pathshala educational materials so that children acquire the same body of knowledge. They learn the basics of Jain philosophy, history and ritual practices. In addition to the traditional abhakshya items, they learn about the new category of foods that are “not fit to be eaten”. Pravin Shah, the intellect and vigour behind much of the pathshala material, has written a book devoted exclusively to “socially-motivated” issues. Entitled, The Book of Compassion, (and published by the Jain Study Centre of North Carolina), the table of contents reads like an animal rights primer. Indeed, the preamble is titled “Universal Declaration of the Rights of
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Animals”, and is followed by such chapters as: “Dairy Cows – Life, Usage and Suffering”; “Recycling Slaughterhouse Waste”; “Milk – its impact on health, cruelty and pollution”; “Alternatives to Animal Abuse”. Over 15 000 copies have already been sold (pers. comm.) Pravin Shah and others (e.g. Jain Spirit magazine, Jain Digest, Jiva Daya association etc.) who are vocal in promoting ‘socially-motivated ahimsa,’ are quick to note that only a small percentage of Jains fully observe the new category of “abhakshyas.” More important than the actual number of ‘confirmed believers,’ is whether or not this discourse of socially-motivated ahimsa will shape the ethos and orientation of the tradition, and become an “ideological and prescriptive framework” for dietary practices identified as Jain. R. S. Khare argues that food is a comprehensive cultural language that has “unusual powers of multiple symbolisation and communication” (1992:28). We have seen that for Jains, food is indeed multiple: it variously signifies worldly detachment, compassion, physical wellbeing, religious and ethnic identity. Yet another discourse, crucial for a minority community, is the language of cultural acceptance, conformity and belonging: a ‘language’ that can have a powerful emotional dimension for a community forging new ties. In North America, for instance, eating outside of the home, typically at fast food restaurants, is so common a practice that its all but signifies cultural membership. Despite the conspicuously Epicurean or ‘worldly’ nature of these eateries, as well as their association with animal products, Jains (by and large) do not boycott them. As we have seen, the Jain ethical orientation does not prevent Jains from directing their energies toward changing unjust political and economic structures within society, but its traditional orientation is individual, not social, redemption (see O’Connell, 1998). The body in Jainism has long been an instrument for purification and self-control – when Jains perform traditional upvas (fasts), they are demonstrating the dominance of the soul over the body. And for many in the diaspora, upvas remains an important part of their religious discipline. I consider this bodily orientation (with its roots in the tradition’s ascetic origins) has shaped Jainism in a very particular way, and continues to influence its development in the diaspora. The focus on the individual as the site for reform (personal or social) seems basic to Jainism; it has the status of an epistemological truth. Therefore, whether Jains treat ethics as primarily an individual matter (those on the moksha-marga), or direct their ethical commit-
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ments toward societal change, the individual body is the most potent symbol, and most important locus for action – the site for disengagement from the world and/or the site of social protest. For example, when a group of young Toronto Jains wanted to raise money for earthquake relief in Gujarat, they fasted. They used their bodies not as tools for personal spirituality, but for political ends. The Jain focus on the body as site of resistance and ethical practice seems to provide certain flexibility in relation to the “other.” For the most part, Jains have not used their dietary restrictions to separate the community from its non-Jain neighbours. Whereas Jain vegetarianism is a marker of social identity, it typically operates within and around the dominant society’s dietary norms, rather than in opposition to these norms. This non-confrontational stance vis-à-vis the mainstream food industries may reflect the Jain commitment to nonviolence in action, thought and speech. Or it may simply reflect the imperatives of a minority community, and its strategy of ‘cautious integration’ that has for long been part of the Jain social success. Scholars of Indian religions have sought to understand the resilience of the Jain tradition, and to explore the strategies or boundary mechanisms that have enabled it to withstand syncretistic, assimilative Hinduism. However, contemporary scholars wonder whether or not Jainism will be able to adapt to Western society without losing its distinctiveness. Perhaps lessons learned from one challenge help us to answer the other. Padmanabh Jaini, in an essay entitled “Jaina Society through the Ages,” discusses the success of the minority, antibrahmanical tradition. One of his hypothesises is that Jain success rests on its rejection of an “exclusivist” orientation vis-à-vis the larger Hindu society. He writes that the Jain acaryas (religious leaders) “. . . handled the task with considerable skill and wisdom, compromising often with heretical practices but always striving (and usually managing) to retain the spirit of their own tradition” (1979: 287). Jaini calls this a practice of “cautious ‘integration’ with the surrounding Hindu populace, and claims that the following dictum aptly sums up the Jain attitude towards cultural integration: All worldly practices [those not related to salvation] are valid for the Jainas, as long as there is neither loss of pure insight nor violation of the vratas (vows)...Thus the Jaina layman could, in general, adopt the dayto-day pattern of life in a given area – staple foods, gift-giving customs, holidays, clothing, and language – with a clear conscience (ibid.).
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We can, perhaps, observe the same pattern in the diaspora community –a flexibility in its transactions with the “worldly,” evidenced by the adoption of the “staple foods, gift-giving customs, holidays, clothing, and language” of North America, combined with the determined safeguarding of its ethics, which are grounded in individual practice.
The Meatless Whopper: Rapprochement with the Mainstream Sharing a meal at a fast food restaurant is a mundane, commonplace occurrence in North America. And it is precisely its ordinariness that makes it highly symbolic in this culture. It is a potent symbol of cultural belonging. Food is just another way of consuming in a consumer society. A hamburger is a commodity that signifies a particular lifestyle that is fast-paced, time-conscious: a society where speed and predictability are extolled as virtues. Food is more than ingredients. The hamburger is so inextricably bound to the values of the mainstream culture – viz., the free market, efficiency and technology, faith in science, etc., that not to consume a hamburger is to renounce more than a meat patty; it is to renounce an institution, and to all but abandon the dominant consumer culture. A meatless burger is still a hamburger. Embedded within it are ideas, values and identification with the dominant culture. These are consumed symbolically. The meatless whopper at Burger King discloses the uniquely Jain rapprochement with mainstream culture – one rooted in the dialectic of renunciation and consumption: of rejection and acceptance. The community’s preoccupation with diet has not resulted in a socially isolated community. Because of this, Jainism poses a potential challenge to the celebrated theories of anthropologist Mary Douglas. Douglas argues that the body is the most basic metaphor of the community, and that food restrictions reflect concerns about maintaining the boundaries of the social group (Douglas, 1970). Thus, in this view, restrictions on food have little to do with food, but are really about ensuring limited interaction with those outside the group, and with maintaining fixed social boundaries. The Jain pattern appears to present a paradox: mindfulness of food and body is maintained through an open, sympathetic and flexible relationship with the outside world. Food restrictions do not reflect social anxieties, rather metaphysical goals. Food remains a central ‘ingredient’ in the Jain way of being. And in
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spite of changes in the category of foods considered “fit” and “not fit” to be eaten, dietary practice remains inextricably bound to the ethics of non-violence. The Jain rapprochement with North American society is characterised by the interplay between renouncing and consuming food and ideology. Food is a system of communication, and the meatless burger symbolises the ‘consumption’ of two sets of values – one rooted in ancient ethical principles, the other in modern North American culture. Perceptions of the world are invariably reflected in its dietary habits. For Jains in North America, these habits reveal a commitment to non-violence, tolerance and cultural belonging.
Bibliography Babb, L. (1996). Absent Lord: Ascetics and Kings in a Jain Ritual Culture. Berkeley: University of California Press. Banks, M. (1991). “Orthodoxy and dissent: Varieties of Religious Belief Among Immigrant Gujarati Jains in Britain.” In The Assembly of Listeners: Jains in Society. Eds. Carrithers & Humphrey, 241-59. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. (1992). Organising Jainism in India and England. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Barth, F. (1969). Ethnic Groups and Boundaries. Boston: Little, Brown. Barthes, F. (1997) [1961]. Food and Culture: A Reader. Eds. Counihan and Van Esterik, 20-27. New York and London: Routledge. Bell, D. and G. Valentine (1997). Consuming Geographies: We Are What We Eat. London and New York: Routledge. Carrithers, M. and C. Humphrey (Eds.) (1991). The Assembly of Listeners: Jains in Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cort, J. (2001). Jains in the World: Religious Values and Ideology in India. Oxford University Press. Coward, H. and D. Goa (1987). “Religious Experience of the South Asian Diaspora in Canada.” In The South Asian Diaspora in Canada: Six Essays. Ed. M. Israel, 73-86. Toronto: The Multicultural History Society of Ontario. Doshi, A. (1993). “The Future of Jainism in the West.” Unpublished Youth essay contest entry: Group 2, College Age, Jaina Convention, Pittsburgh. Douglas, M. (1970). Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology. London: The Cresset Press. Dundas, P. (1992). The Jains. London and New York: Routledge. Israel, M. (1987). “Introduction.” In The South Asian Diaspora in Canada: Six Essays. Ed. M. Israel, 9-14.Toronto: The Multicultural History Society of Ontario. —. (1994). In the Further Soil: A Social History of Indo-Canadians in Ontario. Richmond Hill, Ontario: Organisation for the Promotion of Indian Culture.
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Jain Society of Toronto Souvenir booklet, 1995. Jain Centre of Toronto, 48 Rosemead Avenue, Etobicoke, Ontario. Personal communication. Jaini, P. (1979). The Jaina Path of Purification. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. —. (1990). “Ahimsa.” Inaugural Roop Lal Jain Lecture, Centre for South Asian Studies, University of Toronto. Jhingran, S. (1989). Aspects of Hindu Morality. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Kapashi, V. A. Shah, and K. Desai (1994). TextBook of Jainism. Level 1. Kenton: Middlesex: The Institute of Jainology. Khare, R.S. (Ed.) (1992). The Eternal Food: Gastrosemantic Ideas and Experiences of Hindus and Buddhists. Albany: State University of New York Press. Kumar, B. (1996). Jainism in America. Mississauga: Jain Humanities Press. —. (1996). Canadian Studies in Jainism. Mississauga: Jain Humanities Press. Laidlaw, J. (1995). Riches and Renunciation: Religion, Economy and Society among the Jains. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Mahias, M-C. (1985). Délivrance et Convivialité: Le Système Culinaire des Jaina. Paris: Éditions de la Maison des Sciences de L’ Homme. Modi, R. (1993). “Living a Jain Way of Life in the Western Environment.” Unpublished Youth Essay contest entry: Group 2, College Age, Jaina Convention, Pittsburgh. Murcott, A. (1986). “You Are What You Eat. Anthropological Factors Influencing Food Choice.” In C. Ritson et al., eds., The Food Consumer. New York: Wiley. O’Connell, J. (1998). “Jain Contributions to Current Ethical Discourse.” Roop Lal Jain Lecture, Centre for South Asian Studies, University of Toronto. Parikh, V. (2002). Jainism & the New Spirituality. Toronto: Peace Publications. Rifkin, J. (1993). Beyond Beef: The Rise and Fall of the Cattle Culture. Plume. Scapp, R. and B. Seitz. (1998). Eating Culture. State University of New York Press. Shah, P. The Book of Compassion. Jain Study Centre of North Carolina. Taylor, C. (1989). Sources of the Self. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press. Vallely, A. (2002). “Moral Landscapes: Ethical Discourses Among Orthodox and Diaspora Jains.” A Reader in the Anthropology of Religion, Ed. M. Lambek, 555-569. Blackwell Publishers. —. (2002). Guardians of the Transcendent: An Ethnography of a Jain Ascetic Community. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Williams, R. (1963). Jaina Yoga: A Survey of the Mediaeval Sravakacaras. London: Oxford University Press. Williams, R.B. (1998). “Asian Indian and Pakistani Religions in the United States.” The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, v 558:178-190.
(RE) CREATING TRANSNATIONAL RELIGIOUS IDENTITY WITHIN THE JAINA COMMUNITY OF TORONTO MIKAL AUSTIN RADFORD
Abstract According to Lavie and Swedenburg, transnational populations do not occupy a single cultural space; rather, identity formation is ‘enmeshed’ both in networks of the imagination that transcend manufactured restraints of political borders and the more tangible economic and cultural networks “that encompass both mother country and country of settlement” (Lavie/Swedenburg 1996:14). With this assertion as a starting point, this article explores some of the narratives and strategies used by members of the diasporic Jaina community of the Greater Toronto Area to (re) create and sustain a socio-religious ‘ethnos’ within North American society.
Introduction To be an immigrant is to live in the constant predicament of the exile, the predicament of losing the core of one’s being forever, asserts Edward Said (1984).1 Within the borders of a ‘new homeland’ that never truly accepts members of a diasporic community, a perception of ‘marginalisation’ on the part of the immigrant is exacerbated by sentiments associated with an unhealable rift between the sense of being (Self) and dislocation from native place. Living ‘betwixt and between’ two geo-politically bounded worlds (Turner 1969), the exile is constrained within a de-centred, liminal setting where, according to Said, all actions and expressions made in the new envi-
1 In this context, Said is equating immigration with the condition of exile whether the act of immigration is voluntary or not. In the case of the member of the Jaina community coming directly from India to North America, the act of immigration is generally voluntary. This is not necessarily the case for those members of the Jaina community who had to leave parts of East Africa during the days of the region’s political unrest in the 1960s and 1970s.
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ronment always occur against concrete memories of the old (Said 1984:159). In contrast to the model of the ‘immigrant in exile’, Amitav Ghosh (1989) has taken a different approach in his analysis of transnational identity formation. He claims that mass communication through a multitude of socio-religious and techno-economic networks has meant that refugees or immigrants do maintain a sense of ‘centreness’ because they never ‘truly’ leave the homeland (Ghosh 1989:7576). In his study of the South Asian diaspora, for example, Ghosh counters the model of the ‘de-centred exile’ by demonstrating that imagination, writing and interconnecting social networks allow a symbolic spatial structure of India, like an epic tale, to be infinitely reproducible by writers both inside and outside her geo-political boundaries. India is not, therefore, a ‘bounded space’ from which one is exiled or disengaged, but a homeland that perpetually ‘travels’ in the imagination of the migrant; a homeland that is constantly re-envisioned both by Indians located within the sub-continent and those elsewhere. From this perspective, members of the South Asian diaspora (immigrant community) are as much at the ‘centre’ of the Indian discourse as the president of the BJP in the Delhi parliament. The underlying question to be addressed, of course: Do either of these models accurately describe transnational identity formation within the Jaina community of Toronto?
Ending Fasts: Paryushana Parva, August 22nd Late summer’s sun began to cast long shadows across the floor of the garbha griha (inner sanctuary) of the Toronto Jaina derasar (temple complex).2 The day’s first failing light is offset by the soft warm glow backlighting the cotton curtain tactfully positioned to conceal the sanctified murtis (idols) from young prying eyes – “and from young prying
2 Another word that is commonly interchanged with derasar or garbha by certain members of the community to depict the temple building is mandir (from the Sanskrit, mandira, ‘building to house a deity’). In most cases, the word variation to describe the same object, subject or principle is based on the regional/linguistic and national origins of the individual or family unit. At times, this can make the study of a ‘single community’ that comprises several different regional groups with varied linguistic origins and religious affiliations (Jaina sects) somewhat difficult for both the observer and some of the participants.
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hands,” quietly chuckles the male pathshala teacher (religious instructor) 3 in my direction.4 Like one of those cosmic struggles portrayed in the Viyahapannatti, the two adult mentors create order out of chaos as they direct their young, restless and somewhat hungry charges to their sitting spots around the room. With toddler in tow, a young mother and I take the opportunity to grab a makeshift seat on the four steps leading down from the main hall of the Jaina Temple to the gently light of the garbha griha. We exchange warm smiles, and greet one another with the customary, “Jai Jinendra (Victory to those following the path of the Jina).” “Everyone, please sit down! Boys on the left, girls on the right,” requests the male teacher’s female counterpart. “I know some of you have been fasting today and you’re hungry, but as you can probably smell, food is being prepared. We will be eating before the sun goes down.”5 The promising aroma of food from the basement kitchen quickly diminishes as the air of the garbha griha becomes profuse with the sweet smell of burning Jasmine incense and the restless murmur of seventy eager children between the ages of five and seventeen years. The muffled sound of their parents singing stavans (religious hymns) and bhavanas (devotional songs) in the main hall next to the garbha griha signals the final hours (samvatsari) of the eight-day Paryushana Parva festivities. “Before we start with the Namaskar-mantra (the most auspicious Jaina prayer), let’s take a moment to honour this year’s tapasvis (those performing fasts). As you already know there were many who performed a one day, three day and six day fast during this holy season, 3 Pathshala classes are offered to both youth and adults, and provide formal instruction in Jaina principles and practices. In the South Asian tradition, they are held in a large room often attached to an upasraya (a place where ascetics stay), but in the Toronto community these classes are held in the temple basement for those living in the west end of the city (4th Sunday of the month), and in Sir John A. McDonald Collegiate for those living in the east end (2nd Sunday of the month). The adult pathshala class is held the 1st Sunday of the month at the Jain Centre. 4 Sanctified images of the Tirthankaras, the omniscient, liberated spiritual teachers of the Jaina community. 5 There are rules that meals should not be prepared after sundown. The origin and reason for the rule is quite varied. Some suggest that open cooking fires at night would attract insects to their death, and therefore, would cause himsa (harm). Others have suggested that eating late at night is bad for personal health. Most Jainas I have met, for whatever reason, attempt to uphold the rule when possible.
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but I want to give some special mention to those eight members of our community who performed athai tapas (fasting for eight consecutive days), and the one lady member who achieved kher samudra (fifteen day fast). Let’s remember their example as we recite our most auspicious prayer.” Taking the lead, the female pathshala teacher starts to chant the mantra. The others follow in unison.6 Following a short moment of silence after the prayer, the male pathshala teacher holds up an opulent gold-framed picture and asks, “Now, who can tell me who this is in the picture? Raise your hands if you know.” He looks at the room full of hands. “How about you, Sunil?” “It’s a picture of Lord Mahavir.” “That’s right, Sunil! Tell us why he’s so important, and what is so special about this year.” “He is the Jina who started our religion. And this year is important because it is his 2600th birthday.” “Excellent, Sunil. You’re right about it being the 2600th janma kalyanak of Bhagvan (Lord) Mahavir, but actually, Lord Mahavir did not quite start our religion. As some of you already know, he is the twenty-fourth Jina or Tirthankara of our religion. Remember last week 6 The Namaskara-mantra or Panca-namaskara is a salutation to the five (panca) classes of beings revered within the Jaina tradition: the Tirthankaras or Jinas (liberated souls who have preached the message of salvation), the siddhas (emancipated souls who have achieved liberation but have not preached the message of salvation), the acaryas (the head of Jaina orders), the upadhyayas (the ascetic teachers), and all the sadhus (Jaina male ascetics) and sadhvis (Jaina female ascetics). It is used to begin all social and semi-religious events in the Jaina Centre, and is used as mantra during prayers and meditation. Borrowing from P. Jaini (1979:162-63) and suggestions made by members of the Toronto Jaina Centre, the translation is as follows: namo arahamtanam I bow or revere the worthy ones who are the Jinas. namo siddhanam I bow or revere the siddhas, the perfected beings who have attained liberation (moksha). namo ayariyanam I bow or revere the leaders of the ascetic orders (acaryas). namo uvajjhayanam I bow or revere the mendicant teachers (upadhyayas). namo loe savv-sahunam I bow or revere all the Jaina ascetics (sadhus and sadhvis). eso panca namokkaro savva-pavappanasano mangalanam ca savvesim padhamam havai mangalam This fivefold salutation, which destroys all sin, is pre-eminent as the most auspicious of all auspicious things.
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when we had a class about the murtis we have in the temple? Who can tell me their names...Ajay?” “Lord Mahavir, Lord Parsvanath and Lord Rishabha.” Ajay’s classmates greet the answer with a soft round of appreciation. “Very good, Ajay. Lord Parsvanath lived about two hundred and fifty years before Lord Mahavir, and Lord Rishabha – or some of us call him Lord Adinath – was the first to reveal the Jaina way of life to us thousands of years ago. That makes our religion very, very old religion – a lot older than Lord Mahavir. That means our religion goes back to the time when people first began to live in India.” The student’s excitement is greeted with a question from the female teacher, “and who can tell me what these great teachers taught us?” A short pause, “now this is a bit more difficult. Perhaps some of the older ones can answer this. Yes, Mallika. You give it a try.” The energetic sixteen-year-old stood up and proudly announces, “They taught us that every living thing has a soul. We must respect all living beings, and not harm them...that our religion is ahimsa.”7 “Very good! Do you think this is why it is important that we must be vegetarians, even if your friends in school are not?” asks the female pathshala teacher. “Go ahead Indrani.” “Yes! We must not hurt any living beings. Eating meat means we have to kill the animals. That’s a bad thing to do. We harm their soul and we harm our soul if we have to kill them.” Another hand goes up. “Priya?” “My mom told me that’s one of the reasons we fast today – to stop the harm we do to other beings.” “That’s right, Priya. This time of the year is very important to us. It is a time when we reflect on our past deeds of the year, and we ask forgiveness from our community for any mistakes or sins we have made. It is also a special time because we try to live like our monks 7 According to pathshala instruction in the Jaina temple ahimsa (nonviolence) and peace for all living beings is the core principle among the five tenets of Jainism propagated by the first of the twenty-four Tirthankaras, Rishabha. The five tenets or basic anuvratas (lay vows/minor vows) of Jainism are: 1) ahimsa (nonviolence) 2) satya (truth in thought and deed) 3) asteya (nonstealing in thought or deed) 4) brahmacarya (sexual restraint) 5) aparigraha (nonpossession and not to acquire more than needed)
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and nuns. So when we come through the temple doors, we must leave the troubles and disputes of the outside world behind us. This is the time when we should concentrate on becoming better Jainas. Are there any more questions for now? Sima do you want to start with the hymn we learned in our last pathshala class?”
Moments for Thought As the tranquil drone of the children’s stavans (hymns) continue, it allows me time to reflect on the words of pathshala co-ordinator, Ramesh Varia. Five years to the day he told me that, “Paryushana Parva (Shvetambara) and Dashalaksana Parva (Digambara) are the most auspicious times of the year on the Jaina lunar calendar – especially for us in North America. It is truly a Jaina time – a time for us to remember – but continuing these traditions are also our gift to our children. In India this event coincides with the end of the rainy season. Traditionally it is a special time when the monks and nuns preach to us. Of course, that practice is a bit changed here in Canada. We don’t have the luxury of the monk’s sermons and advice here – their strict ascetic vows will not allow them to travel outside India – but this means that other aspects of the celebration and the gathering together of members of the community are all the more important. It is that time of the year when all Jainas in the community, even those that have been a bit tardy in coming to the Centre during the rest of the year, participate by taking some form of restraint such as fasting (upvas), perform pratikramana (ritualised confession),8 and get to hear special spiritual lectures from people well versed in the Jaina tradition. Most of all, it’s a special time for our young people – it’s a time for them to live the Jaina experience in our new homeland.” 8 For the entire period (eight days for the Shvetambaras and ten days for the Digambaras) members of the community have the option – depending on their spiritual and physical fortitude – of fasting every other day, eating only one meal a day, giving up certain food items, and so on. As described to me, all members of both communities fast to some extent on the last day of the festival. The Shvetambaras mark the end of the period with a public confession in which each member of the community confess their transgression (pratikramana) over the past year and beg forgiveness (kshama) from the community for those transgressions. Both communities also perform a local pilgrimage. For more on this ritual observance and pratikramana, see Cort 2001:147-162; Humphrey and Laidlaw 1994:38-39; Jaini 1979:216; Laidlaw 1995; Sangave 1980:234).
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As the youngsters begin their final stavan, Kumarji, my mentor, good friend and the man I often call my spiritual babaji joins the young mother and myself on the back steps of the garbha griha. Sharing smiles, he and I silently wait for the completion of the youth program. He had told me earlier that morning during our car drive to the temple that during the community meal he wanted to introduce me to some friends from the United States. They had come to Toronto – some coming as far away as Texas and California – especially for the Digambara Dashalaksana Parva celebrations starting that day.9 The stavans make me feel nostalgic. It’s hard to believe, but it’s been six years since Kumarji first took the ‘fledgling Ph.D. student under his wing’ and introduced him to the Jaina community.
Giving, Sharing, and Communal Tables The large basement hall of the Toronto Jaina derasar is quickly filling to capacity. The four antiquated fans, each situated in its appointed corner of the room, valiantly attempt to provide relief from the sticky August air. Teenagers sitting at one of the communal dining tables comment that the fans have seen their day, suggesting they do little to relieve the ‘claustrophobic’ ambience. There’s laughter, greetings and handshaking throughout the room. From a vestibule at the back of the hall – the source producing the symphony of sweet spiciness that permeates the air – a steady stream of cooks and family helpers pass great stainless steel containers of food from kitchen to serving table. (I’m reminded of scenes of the old bucket brigade putting out the raging house fire in days gone by). Eager children, ending what for many is their first religious fast, politely hurry through the food line and join their anxious friends sitting cross-legged on the large performance stage behind the food tables. My friends Prakash, Vastupaul, Bhanu, Surendra, and I are about 9 The Digambara sects in both North America and India are numerically a smaller group than those of the Shvetambara traditions. Because of the smaller numbers, not all communities can celebrate Dashalakshana Parva, nor could they afford to bring a pujari (ritual specialist) from India to conduct the complex puja rituals involved in this observance. The Toronto community is rather unique in that it has a numerically strong membership as well as having a prosperous and active community membership. Until they formed their own temple/centre community with a permanent pujari in residence, they would bring a pujari over from Delhi every year for Dashalakshana Parva.
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halfway through a line of about two hundred adolescents and adults being served the ‘first shift’ meal.10 Members of the ‘second shift’ wait patiently outside the main hall doors trying to catch a cooling southeast summer breeze coming in from Lake Ontario. Most are sipping the abundant cups of masala chai (spiced tea) and glasses of orange juice provided by the family sponsors of the banquet. Arriving at the tables laden with food, Prakash points with his plate towards the middle of the centre table. “Mike, be sure to get some of the home-made khichadi (lentils with rice) and baingan ka bharit (spiced eggplant). It’s delicious!” Rani, the author of the dishes and a member of one of the six sponsoring families,11 gives a broad smile in response to Prakash’s compliment. She ladles the aromatic preparations to my plate and bashfully adds, “...be sure to get Bimla’s chapatis and puri. They’re the best and go very well with my dishes.” Prakash takes only the khichadi and chapatis. Behind me Vastupaul passes the ladle used for serving the yoghurt to the young women next in line. She smiles politely. In the same manner as Kumarji’s daughter did a few years back at my first Jaina meal; she turns down the offer of yoghurt. “No thanks, I’m vegan.”12 As we continue down the food line she offers an explanation. “When I went to the Young Jains Conference in Chicago a few years ago, one of the guest speakers from the Jain Society of North Carolina – his name was Pravin Shah – told us about the violence against the animals used to produce milk products in the commercial dairy industry. ‘It’s not like in India where they would use a family cow for milk,’ he said, ‘here they use all sorts of chemicals, hormones, and illtreatment of the animals to produce milk.’ We were so sickened by his
10 Both Bhanu and Prakash were born outside India, and then migrated to Canada. In some of the literature the term used is the ‘1.5 generation’ as opposed to 1st or 2nd generation. Parminder Bhachu uses the term “twice migrants” to refer to those people who are born in one country and ‘linked’ in part to the ‘Indian-born migrant population.’ Many Jainas in the Toronto community are part of the 1.5 generation and this certainly affects their strategies of identity formation both religiously and culturally. 11 The sponsorship of meals at the Jaina Centre is not just a social act, but also an important religious act connected to Jaina concepts of giving and giving up material possessions – in this case food. 12 Unlike many vegetarians within the Jainas community of North America, the recent ‘vegan movement’ within the community now includes dairy products such as yogurt, cheese and ghee (clarified butter), etc., as abhakshyas (food absolutely not to be eaten). Members of the ‘vegan movement’ have also raised issues concerning the use of such products during ritual puja.
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description that many of us took a personal vow never to consume any dairy products. Some of us even made a commitment that we would make every attempt to get our parents to stop using dairy, and attempt to get other kids around the world to help form some form of boycott against the commercial dairy industry – we are even trying to get Indian Jains to become vegan.” She takes a short pause. “By the way, when you get a chance, you should try to meet with Pravin Shah and ask him about his work with the North American vegan movement. Now that’s Jainism in action.” The young woman passes the ladle to her younger brother who obviously has not yet been convinced by his sister’s vegan argument and places two helpings of the tart white liquid, along with a little rice, into a Styrofoam bowl. At the next table Raj spoons out the mung dal (lentils) with spinach and chana sabji (curried chickpeas). His wife Urmila does the same with the kobi-kanda sabji (cabbage and onion) – a favourite of mine since my first meal at Kumarji’s house. Prakash passes on the spinach dish. His plate is nearly empty – some khichadi (lentils with plain rice), a single chapati, and nareal ki chutney (coconut paste) on the side. Banu joins us in the food line. No one seems to object to the queue jumping. Over my shoulder Banu whispers, “Prakash’s doing ekasana (one meal a day) and won’t eat any spicy foods, and both of us won’t eat any green, leafy vegetables because we’re observing lilu shakha bandh (not eating green, leafy vegetables). Today’s a tithi day (religious days connected to lunar calendar).”13
13 In India fasting (tapas/vrats) is often performed in a bhojanshala, or special Jaina ‘ religious eating house’ (Banks 1992:92; Laidlaw 1995:217; Cort 2001:131-132). The Jaina Centre of Toronto has no special accommodation for such fasts as yet, but does make all efforts to provide temporary accommodation for those who choose to perform lengthy fasts. On other occasions both Bhanu and Prakash provide some detail about their food vrats (vows). The number of ekasanas an individual will perform in any given year depends on both the physical and spiritual fortitude of the participant. Sometimes, such as during the celebration of the Shvetambara’s Paryushana Parva or Digambara’s Dashalakshana Parva, individuals may perform two, three or more ekasanas during the eight or ten day period. Others may do such a fast only once a year. As well, both Prakash and Bhanu and others in the community adhere to the practice of lilu shakha bandha during a tithi, not eating green leafy vegetables on certain days of the lunar month. Each month consists of two fourteen day periods: the first two weeks, which ends on the night of the full moon, is called sud (bright half); the second two weeks, which end on the night of the new moon is called vad (the dark half). His explanation for lilu shakha bandh is that tiny insects may be hidden in the leaves of green plants such as spinach, may be accidentally eaten, and therefore cause himsa (violence) and its associated bad karma (see Cort 2001:131).
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Kumarji has been joined by his friends from the United States, and have saved our small group a table near the foot of the basement stairs. The banquet begins after a recitation of the Namaskar-mantra. “Mikal, I want you to meet some of my oldest and dearest friends. Like me, they were some of the first Jainas to come to Canada in the 1960s, then moved to the States. You should listen to their stories....”
A Shift in the Pattern of South Asian Immigration to Canada Prior to the Second World War, Canada’s immigration policy towards people of colour during the ‘First Wave’ of substantial immigration was, at the very least, considerably restrictive.14 The year 1947, however, was important for both Canadian nationals and those who had immigrated to Canada. The war had confirmed Canada as a sovereign nation, which led to the legal recognition of Canadian citizenship to those living in Canada (Order-in-Canada, P.C. 4849),15 and therefore eliminating the official designation of Canadians as solely British subjects. This meant that a few immigrants of South Asian descent who met the criteria outlined in the Act (those who had “lived here for many years”) were given the right to vote in Canadian elections. The reality for most of the early immigrants, however, was that the qualifications continued to be both restrictive and discriminatory (particularly for those of Asian or South Asian origin or persons of colour). Although there had been significant revisions to the Immigration Act of 1910, it was not until 1952 that a new Immigration Act was finally introduced to Parliament. Unfortunately for both the South Asian community and other potential immigrants of colour to Canada, the wording of the act meant that “Cabinet could prohibit or limit the admission of persons by reason of such factors as nationality, ethnic group, occupation, lifestyle, and unsuitability with regard to Canada’s climate, and perceived inability to become readily assimi14 For more on South Asian immigration to North America prior to 1947, see Bagley (1987), Bhatnagar (1984), Buchignani (1987), Coward (1987; 2000), Daniels (1995), Isreal (1993), Kanungo (1984), Petros (1993), Ray (1993), Sampat-Mehta (1984), and Wagle (1993). For examples on the theories of ‘Melting Pot’ vs. ‘Cultural Mosaic’ see D’Innocenzo (1992). 15 Thanks to the Canadian Citizenship Act passed in June 1946 (effective January 1, 1947).
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lated into Canadian society” (http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/department/legacy/chap-5b.html#chap5-11) – provisions that were clearly designed to exclude non-white immigrants. Although slow in coming, significant changes began to occur within the prevailing Canadian psyche by the late 1950s. For example, Prime Minister John Diefenbaker introduced a Canadian Bill of Rights in 1960 that rejected any discrimination by reason of race, colour, national origin, religion, or sex. The passage of the Bill meant that pressures were exerted on members of the federal government who attempted to justify the selection of immigrants based on race, national origin, or ‘types perceived to be radicals.’ Ten years after the passing of the Immigration Act of 1952, Ellen Fairclough tabled new regulations to amend the Act, which prohibited the use of race, colour and national origin as a criteria for the selection of new immigrants to Canada providing “(1) they had a specific job waiting for them in Canada or were able to support themselves until they found employment, (2) they were not criminals or terrorists, and (3) they did not suffer from a disease that endangered public health” (www.cic.gc.ca/english/department/legacy/chap6.html#chap6-1). The introduction of the ‘point system’ in 1967 – one hundred years after Canadian confederation – allowed all potential immigrants to be ‘given entry points’ based on merit, language and professional skills which eliminated the sole discriminatory provision in the Act that allowed European immigrants and immigrants from the Americas to sponsor a wider range of relatives. Former Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau’s adoption of a policy of multiculturalism on October 8, 1971 institutionalised the idea that to be Canadian is to share a proud heritage of diverse cultural backgrounds – the idea of the ‘Canadian Cultural Mosaic’ had finally been articulated. In 1988, both Houses of Parliament unanimously passed the Canadian Multiculturalism Act first introduced in 1985 and Canada became the first country in the world to legislate specific goals for cultural harmony. Immigration to Canada by people of Indian origin increased dramatically as is shown in the following from the StatCan archive (http://www.statcan.ca/english/freepub/11-516-XIE/sectiona/sectiona.htm#Immigration):
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1962 1967 1972 1977 1982 1987 1991
529 3966 5049 6772 7776 9692 12790
As demonstrated by these statistics, the beginning of the ‘Second Wave’ of South Asians began in the late 1950s and early 1960s in Canada. Several individuals within this ‘Second Wave’ were members of the Jaina religious faith. Statistics in the1996 Canadian Census indicate that 723,000 listed South Asian as the ethnic origin (http://www. statcan. ca/Daily/English /980217/d980217.htm), and it is estimated that 90,000 Jainas live in North America (Globe and Mail, August 28, 2000, R4). Although the 2001 Census figures are not complete at the time of writing, it is estimated by the community’s own accounts that over 3,000 Jainas live in Canada, and three quarters of those live in the Greater Toronto Area of Southern Ontario, Canada.16
So Who Was the First Jaina to Come to Canada? Seeing my empty Styrofoam cup, Kumarji hands the large, gleaming stainless-steel pot of tea in my direction. Most of the ‘first shift‘ was heading in the direction of the cool lawn beside the temple as the ‘second shift’ made its way past the food tables. “So who was the first Jaina person to come to Canada?”
16 I tend to think the Globe and Mail’s numbers of “American Jainas” is exaggerated. I based this opinion on the number of families registered in the Jain Directory of North America produced by the Jain Centre of Greater Boston. From my calculations the number of Jainas in the United States is probably closer to fifty thousand in number. As to why there are so many Jainas going to the United States rather than a Commonwealth country, from my discussions with both Canadian and American Jainas, the reason for the difference in population patterns are not due to the immigration policies of either country; rather, it is due to family migration patterns (where do relatives first settle, and they in turn sponsor other family members), economic opportunities, educational ties (where did they go to get their higher education), preferred forms of governmental systems (Canadian vs. American), and perceived quality of life issues (e.g., warmer climate, better health care systems, schools).
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“That’s a hard one to answer, Mike. The first Jainas to come in any large numbers – at least to live in Canada and the United States – were during the 1960s. I know there were a few who came here before that, but many of them were here on student visas and had to return to India or Africa after their visas expired.” “Tell him about Virchand Gandhi, Kumar,” interjects Ravi. “But Ravi, we can’t be sure that his trip to Canada is fact...” “Well, tell him the story anyway,” Ravi pleads. “After all, there is a possibility it happened.” With the laughter waning over Ravi’s comment, Kumarji continues the story. “This story is somewhat speculative, Mike, but we like to think that it’s an interesting speculation about who was the first Jaina to come to Canada – at least for a visit. Have you ever heard about the first Parliament of World Religions held in Chicago in 1893?” “Why, sure I have,” I respond, “Virchand Gandhi was the Jaina representative at that meeting.” “Exactly. As you know there were about 400 participants who represented about 41 faiths and religions attending that Parliament. Unfortunately, our monks and nuns could not travel overseas – you know, it’s because of their religious vows against travel – so the search began for one individual who could best represent the Jaina religious view to the World.17 The search was difficult, but it was finally decided that the best candidate for the job was the twenty-seven-year-old barrister, Sri Virchand Raghavji Gandhi – and before you ask, no, he was not related to the Mahatma. They were both lawyers, but that’s the only connection.” “Trying to read my mind again, eh Kumarji?” My Canadian “eh” and comment raises laughter at the table. “I’m doing a good job so far, am I not?” His eyes twinkle impishly as a smile crosses his lip. “...But back to the story. What we do know for a fact is that during his stay in Chicago, he was asked if he would like to travel to up-state New York to see Niagara Falls.” “I can understand that,” I interject, “When Dr. Nagaswamy was 17 After this discussion, I was told that at the 100th anniversary of the Parliament of World Religions, again held in Chicago, there were over 200 Jaina representatives. According to Sagarmal Jain there were “nine major presentations and thirty-three other lectures and organised Jaina meditation gatherings” (Sagarmal Jain 1998: Preface, ii), as well as many activities to promote the Jaina message of ahimsa and vegetarianism.
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over from Tamilnadu last year – you remember me telling you about hosting the visit by Tamilnadu’s Director of Archaeology by my University last year? – that was the first place he wanted to see after his lecture. He told me that the waterfalls hold great power and religious energy...” “Well, we can’t be sure if that’s the reason Sri Gandhi wanted to visit the Falls, but he certainly did visit them. Now here’s the speculative part. Where does one get the best view of either the American or Canadian Falls?” “The Canadian side, of course.” “Absolutely – and that’s not just my Canadianess showing, it is a better view by a long shot. Well, many of us have talked about this before, and we think that Gandhibhai and the tour group would have definitely come to the Canadian side of the Falls to get the better view. If that was the case, then Sri Virchand Gandhi was the first Jaina to come to Canada – at least for a visit. Of course, it is speculation, but other than that we can’t be sure of who was the first Jaina to come to Canada until those first few individuals came in the 1960s.” “Sounds plausible to me, Kumarji. More tea?” “Sure thing.” He pours the tea with a slight hesitation. “Oh, before I forget. I should mention that there were a few non-Indians in North America during the 1950s who embraced the Jaina philosophy.18 One of those – and I’m sorry, but I can’t remember his name right now – lived in Toronto and became a Jain through the activities of the World Jain Mission. I met him when I first moved to Canada. The others live in the States....
Remembering Early Days: “Getting Proper Food Was a Problem!” “Gosh, it was tough here in the early 60s. Remember those days Kumar? We had to leave our wives in India, and then try to get some sort of life established as mining engineers up in those small towns in northern Ontario and Quebec. Let me tell you, arriving in northern 18 In 1996 Kumar wrote the following: “Through the work of the late Dr. Kamata Prasad Jain, a noted Jain Scholar and founder of the World Jain Mission in India, we come to know Rev. Wayne Steele of New York, Dr. Gary Benjamin of State University at Buffalo and Mrs. Leona Smith Kremser of Oregon as some of the Americans who had embraced the Jain faith at that time. Of these names, only the last one, Kremser, is practicing Jainism and living in the state of Oregon” (1996:101).
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Canada during the month of November can be quite the shock, eh Ravi?” “You said it, Manish. But when I got here, it was full-blown winter. Remember, I arrived in Toronto in February of the following year...” That’s right, I’d forgotten,” chimes in Manish. “...Before I could even catch my breath and see the sights of Toronto, the mining company that sponsored my trip to Canada sent me up to Timmins. From there I had to grab one of the company’s ‘Bush planes’...” “You’re probably too young to remember this, Mike,” interjects Kumarji, “but in those days the only South Asians that could come to Canada were sponsored specialists for jobs such as mining, or students with temporary visas like our friends, Vastupaul and Jayesh.” Raj places another large stainless steel container of masala tea on our table. Ravi continues his story, “...It was cold that day, let me tell you. What they call the ‘Arctic Express’ was gusting out of the north and the snow was attempting to ground us in Timmins, but after a twohour delay our pilot was feeling pretty confident. So off he went. Hey, you know? The rumours are true, those guys will fly in just about any weather....” “At least I had to only take a train to Malartic, Quebec,” Kumar chuckles. “...The flight into the bush was a bit rough, but the hospitality of the Company Rep more than made up for it. Until I could get a place of my own, he and his wife put me up in their house. Housing in the ‘boom days’ of those mining towns was at a real premium. And you know what’s interesting; unlike some of the stories I’ve heard from other South Asians who came to Canada in the old days, my first experiences were pretty good. People were really kind. At least that’s the impression I was given...” “Same situation with me,” exclaims Manish. “...Like Kumar told you earlier, Mike, it was tough to adjust – especially being here without our families. Although we were given a warm greeting in those mining towns, arriving in central Canada in those days was not like going to western Canada. At least in British Columbia there were a few Sikh communities established. But in northern Ontario I was the only South Asian, let alone Jain, for a thousand miles in any direction. Of course our hosts tried their best to make us comfortable – and for the most part they succeeded – but it
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was very difficult to be a Jain and follow the Jaina practices we were used to in India....” “Actually, that’s something I wanted to ask you about,” I interject. “Earlier, when I was talking to Vastupaul and Jayesh, they mentioned that when they came as students in the late 1960s at least they could get together with other South Asian students who had come on student visas – that they could prepare their own vegetarian meals....” “Don’t forget that I told you that by the time we got here, the Beatles had ‘discovered’ the Maharishi,” Vastupaul jokes, “and many of the Flower Children and Hippies at the Universities were well on their way to ‘discovering’ the vegetarian lifestyle.” We all have a short laugh. “That’s were I was heading with my questions.” I turn my focus back to Ravi, Manish and Kumar. “From what I’ve seen over the past few years, the eating and non-eating of certain foods is extremely important to Jainas here in North America. Some members of the Society have even gone as far as to say that the vegetarianism – and of course, the emphasis on the underlying philosophy of ahimsa behind the food rules – is perhaps the most important act that distinguishes you from other groups in Canada. The point is, I know what northern Canada can be like in the winter months, and I know what type of food was available back in those days...” “I can see where this question is heading, Mike,” counters Manish. There is a moment of hesitation. He looks to the others at the table. Ravi and Kumarji give an affirmative nod. “People know that to immigrate and establish homes in a new land some personal sacrifices have to be made – you have to leave a familiar land, sometimes your family, yours friends, and even some wealth and property...” “Being a student was somewhat different,” adds Vastupaul, “because many of us intended to return to India with our new educations, we were not expecting the sacrifices to be for long.” “True enough,” continues Manish, “but for those of us who came here to stay there was a sense that our sacrifice was going to be a more permanent thing – at least in the beginning. What I think is important for you to understand Mike, is that most people tend to overlook the idea that sometimes you also have to make spiritual sacrifices in order to better things for those who are to follow – even if it means harm to our soul....” Ravi picks up on the thought, “All of us had to come to terms with
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the fact that we were not going to be able to eat the food that we were used to in India, Mike. Like we said, it was very difficult in those early days. Maybe that’s why it is so important to us now to maintain our traditions, to make sure our kids are given every opportunity to be committed Jainas in this country” “For example,” Manish continues, “ you already know that Kumar’s daughter is teaching on a remote Indian reservation up North. Now a days she and her new husband have no trouble getting South Asian vegetarian food, even in the remote community where they live. They are only an hour’s flight from Winnipeg, and now there’s a South Asian community there with plenty of stores that can supply vegetarian food and all the Indian cooking spices they need. She can even live this new type of North American Jainism you hear our kids talking about, the vegan Jaina.” “It’s the same with Prabhulala’s kids, and they’re living in northern Alberta,” adds Banu. “The reality, Mike” – Ravi picks up where Manish leaves off – “when we first came here, we had to survive. We knew that to eat non-vegetarian food was spiritually dangerous – the laws of karma and all that – but we also knew that we couldn’t live only on bread and water. What good would we be doing our families if we failed to make a go of this place? Of course our host families tried their best to help, but even getting simple things like rice up North was virtually impossible. We had to make a spiritual sacrifice and eat non-Jaina food. But we knew that these conditions wouldn’t last forever. That’s how it has always been for those who immigrate, and that’s one way we help those who follow us.” He smiles. “And it always helps to know that through rededicated religious practice – and believe it or not my children, thanks to their pathshala classes, are the ones to point this out to me – there is always salvation in the Jaina tradition.”
The Formation of the Jain Society of Toronto Although a few individual Jainas settled in North America prior to 1950, the first families began to arrive in Canada during the mid1960s (Jain Society of Toronto 2000; Kumar 1996). As traders, merchants, or professional administrators whose families had established themselves within the remnants of the British Empire, the majority
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immigrated from East Africa (approximately 50 per cent of the North American population), as well as India, England, Burma, south-east Asia, and Hong Kong (Kumar 1996).19 By the early 1970s, the Jaina community in Ontario had grown to become a recognisable group that actively participated in community services alongside other South Asian groups, societies, and religious organisations (e.g., Hindu). However, Jains soon realised the need for an organisation and Centre that would promote and encourage specifically Jaina spiritual and cultural concerns.20 On February 10, 1974 the first organisational meeting of the Jaina Society of Toronto was held at the home of J.D. Shah. Its mandate was to create a non-sectarian community in which all aspects of the Jaina faith could be developed and maintained for future generations in Canada (North America), and to formulate a strategy in partnership with the larger Canadian society through which Jainism could be promoted as a world religion actively participating “as part of the diversity of the Canadian mosaic”. (Personal conversations; Souvenir Address. Jain Society of Toronto’s 25th Anniversary Celebration 1999:33). In time they purchased a small Pentecostal church building on Parklawn Avenue in the Toronto suburb of Etobicoke (now part of Metropolitan Toronto). As the number of Jaina families in Ontario grew to 300 by the late 1980s, the Society agreed to buy a larger church building and its property at 48 Rosemeade Avenue in Etobicoke approximately five kilometres from their first temple/Centre. Possession of the building was obtained on September 4, 1990 and opening ceremonies for the present Jaina Centre were performed on Sunday, September 23, 1990.
19 The majority of Jainas from East Africa who immigrated to Canada are Shvetambaras who trace their ‘roots’ back to Gujarat. Political unrest in Africa – particularly Kenya and Tanzania in 1967-68 and Uganda in 1971 (Kumar 1996:101) – and the new provisions in Canada’s Immigration Act (1962) greatly accelerated Jaina migration to Canada (Petros 1993). 20 Prior to the establishment of the Jaina Centre, meetings and religious ceremonies were held in individual homes. As well, Hindu priests often performed events such as marriage ceremonies. As there is no traditional category of Jaina priests who can perform such rites, the Jaina community is trying to come up with a more permanent solution in order to meet both the growing community’s needs and Ontario legal requirements for such ceremonies.
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The Present Community The Toronto (Ontario) Jaina community is one of the oldest in North America, and presently has a membership register of close to 600 families.21 Regular activities within the Centre include Mahavir puja (veneration of Mahavira, the 24th spiritual teacher), abhisheka rituals (ritual of bathing the image) in both the Shvetambara and Digambara traditional styles (the two major sects of the Jaina tradition, and the Toronto Jaina Centre includes several of the various sub-sects), pathshala (classes in religious instruction for all of the traditional sects for both youth and adults), Rajachandra bhakti (Rajachandra devotion) ceremonies, samayika (meditation rituals), tirth yatra (pilgrimage), Paryushana Parva and Dashalakshana (eight and ten-day holy periods for fasting during the rainy season), and several other annual rituals, devotions and celebrations. The community also has several organisations connected with the Jaina Centre such as the annual IMJM (International Mahavira Jain Mission) youth and adult summer camps (spiritual retreats) first started by Acarya S. Kumarji, the Jaina youth group (JYOT), the young Jaina professional group (YJP) and the support group for Jaina women who have recently immigrated to Ontario. In addition to the larger Jaina Centre community (the Jain Society), there are two predominately Gujarati speaking Hindu Sanatan mandirs in the Toronto area that incorporate Mahavir icons in a place of honour amongst the other Hindu icons of their respective garbha grihas.22 There is also a small Digambara mandir consisting of predominately Hindi-speaking members (they are still affiliated with the Jaina Centre of Toronto). 1) Regarding the former, the Sanatan mandirs are located on the
21 According to the Jain Society of Toronto, its membership comprises the second largest Jaina Society in North America. The largest is the New Jersey/New York Society. Recognition is given to Dr. Narendra Sethi, a professor at Columbia University, for establishing the first Jaina Centre in North America. 22 When I attended some rituals at the Sanatan Mandir of Toronto and asked the Hindu president of the Society why a Hindu society would include an icon of Mahavira in their pantheon, he respectfully explained that Mahavir was a great spiritual guru, a man worthy of great devotion and respect by all Gujarati speaking people. Although he demonstrated great respect for the Jaina tradition, it became clear in further discussion that he was not well versed in the intricacies of the tradition.
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outskirts of Metropolitan Toronto, and both are centrally situated to Gujarati speaking communities. Although the attendance to the Hindu mandirs by Jainas is somewhat limited, those that do attend stated that they often find it more convenient to attend a daily puja in these Hindu temples rather than travelling many kilometres into the city of Toronto. For many members of the Jaina community this is not a problem – I was told that this often happens in India. In point of fact, several smaller Hindu and Jaina transnational communities throughout Canada and the United States will share facilities, especially when finances are limited and there is a strong linguistic/cultural connection among the members of the community. However, it should be mentioned – and I have heard this discussed in both the Canadian and American contexts – there are some who have expressed reservations about sharing temple facilities. As explained to me, there is a very real concern that the sharing of temples might lead to a form of ‘Hinduisation‘ of the Jaina ritual and belief systems. This point of view is certainly understandable. For example, while attending a Mahavir puja at one of the Sanatan mandirs I observed a ritual that was running later than officially planned time. The Hindu pujari was obviously getting a bit anxious to see the ceremony conclude as he was waiting to conduct his own puja ritual for the waiting Hindu members of the congregation. Taking matters into his own hands, the Hindu priest started to assist in the performance of the Jaina puja activities. Although many at the time did not see this as a problem (or at least they did not express reservations when I asked them about the event later that day), in a conversation some weeks later some did express concerns over the maintenance of Jaina bhava (Jaina religious mindset) within a Hindu setting. According to some members of the community, their concerns centre on the belief that Jaina bhava is quite different than Hindu bhava, and that in time there could be a sort of ‘theological fusion’ of the two types or understandings of religious bhava – or more importantly, there could be a domination of the former by the later in these joint temple arrangements. 2) Regarding the Digambara’s Shree Jain Mandir, it is only in the last year and a half that a small group of Digambaras formed their own temple community under trying circumstances. The issues surrounding the rift are too complex to thoroughly detail at this juncture, but suffice to say a small group of Hindi speaking members within the Society expressed concern over the predomination of ‘Gujarati cul-
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ture’ within the Jaina Centre.23 When this group approached the Society Board to take some action with regard to their complaints, they felt they were ignored. They felt, despite the strong objects of the community at large, that starting their own temple was the only solution to the problem. Interestingly it was primarily first generation members (and their children) of one particular group within the larger Digambara community that expressed this sentiment. Many of the second and third generation offspring – and this includes both Shvetambara and Digambara youth and young adults – objected to the ‘hiving off’ of the Digambara group, and clearly stated this position in their petition delivered to both the committee members of the Board of the Jain Society and the leaders of the Digambara group. According to the petition it was felt that the new temple group would ‘weaken the unity of the community,” and “the action goes contrary to the Jain Society’s mission statement of a non-sectarian Society that acknowledges difference through a unified community.” Unfortunately, the youth did not persuade the ‘separating’ Digambara group and this group has, in point of fact, moved back to the building first bought by the Jaina Society of Toronto prior to their present location (see above). They have also brought their own professional pujari (ritual expert) from Delhi. As explained by some of the teenagers attending a Young Jainas meeting at the Centre, for most of the community’s young people born outside India (i.e. the 1.5 generation born in East Africa, Great Britain, etc.), or for those born in Canada or the United States, English is their first language and they express a wish to see it used as ‘the temple language‘ – especially during religious rituals and the singing of stavans.24 It appears that dividing a community over language issues is quickly becoming an irrelevant ‘stumbling block’ and definitely not a good reason to ‘weaken a community.’ 23 For example, most of the temple signage is in Gujarati or English only; the newsletter is in English or Gujarati, and only rarely contains Hindi, and there is little acknowledgement of the many other dialects spoken within the temple/Centre community such as Rajasthani, Punjabi and several southern languages such as Kanarese and Tamil. 24 Many of the youth have taken the time to learn the language of their parents, but most prefer English as the language of communication in the temple. Most have expressed the opinion that they would like the rituals and prayers to be conducted in English, and that this change would attract more young people to temple ceremonies. The parents acknowledge that this is a very real problem, and are making attempts to come up with a solution. Many of the youth programs are now conducted in English.
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However, there is an important dynamic that is often neglected in studies of this kind – and one that was certainly overlooked by the teenagers of the Young Jainas meetings when discussing these issues – and that is the arrival of ‘new Canadians’ to the community. It became evident during several committee meetings of the Society that ‘new Canadians’ are continually joining the community. And all – particularly those from India, as opposed to those who fall into 1.5 generation category – have strong family ties associated with cultural regions of India, have strong connections to various spiritual leaders who sometimes appear to encourage sectarian divisions (or at least provide sectarian advice to their followers that often ‘plays out’ in the ‘theatre’ of the North American community), and have a ‘first generation desire’ to preserve their ‘mother tongue’ and maintain regional culture in a transnational manner similar to that articulated by Ghosh (1989). Many of the youths are beginning to realise the importance of this dynamic on community unity and are attempting to persuade the younger members of the ‘new Canadian’ group not to support sectarian division, nor to create their own separate Jaina temples/Centres. In other words, they would rather the Society and the various groups within the community emphasise the Jaina philosophy of ahimsa and vegetarianism than give emphasis to regional and sectarian practices.25
Conclusion As Jainas left India and migrated to North America, the socio-religious ‘ethos’ shifted from its core centred on the initiation (diksha) of ascetic mendicants to one that centred wholly on the building of temples/Jaina Centres and the establishment of lay societies.26 In 25 Though this may change in time, many young members of the community have expressed dissatisfaction with such things as the performance of specific sectarian rituals within the community and some of the ‘purity rules’ such as barring women from rituals during menses. As they have often stated they do not understand the rituals, or all of the rules, and they see the emphasis placed on sectarian rituals by their parents as causing a rift between the generations. Instead they would rather see the Society place a greater emphasis on the philosophical discourse about ahimsa and vegetarianism, and see a greater degree of social activism and community building (e.g., the building of vegetarian-based senior citizen residences, alternative drop-in centres, Jaina daycare centres). 26 It is important to state that the transnational strategies employed by members of the diasporic Jaina community do not include the ‘myth of return’ theory presented by Said (i.e., people forced to leave their homeland for an ‘adopted’ country, only to
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other words, although there is among North American Jainas – particularly the first generation Jainas who often praise the fact that they have ‘rediscovered their religion through their children’ – a vibrant social, ritual, and textual discourse formed around Jaina ascetic ideals,27 rather than the interdependent dynamics of monks and nuns as ‘living icons of asceticism’ with the lay-community (e.g., Babb 1996:62-63) which is severely diminished within the North American experience.28 The youth, although quite active in supporting the community ideals established by the founding member of the Jain Society of Toronto, are also discouraged by the negative sectarianism that can occur within the type of transnational discourse detailed by Ghosh. In other words, Ghosh’s theory of the ‘South Asian émigré’s imaginary extension of India’s geography’ and their ‘epic relationship with India’ (Ghosh 1989) – and for that matter, Swedenburg’s description that, transnational populations do not occupy a single cultural space; instead they have arrived here, but to a great extent, have never left there – can be a vital positive force in the construction of transnational religious identity. But it is also a discourse that can create both community partition and generational division. Although some of the founding members of the Jaina Society are aware of the ‘two-sidedness’ of transnational discourse – and, of course, attempting to respond to the issues – it is their children who are the driving force extending the parameters of ‘temple geography’ beyond its traditional ascetic and sectarian-based ‘footprint’ and creating a dynamic new Jaina ‘geography’ based on non-violence, fooddream of returning back to the homeland once the troubles that forced them to leave have been resolved; for example, members of the Ukrainian and Armenian communities of my youth in Toronto, the Cubans in South Florida, or even Said’s Palestinian example). 27 For this discussion, see Carrithers (1991), Chapple (1991), Cort (1991, 1995, 2001), Folkert (1993), Humphrey (1994), Jaini (1991), and Ryan (1998). 28 Although the first generation adults attempt to maintain this connection with the ascetics as vibrant as possible by taking their children back to India, the irrelevance of this transnational strategy by the parents becomes abundantly clear when talking to several of the young people born here. For example, a good friend stated, “I really appreciate the non-violence and vegetarianism of our religion. This is something I think we all can, and should live by. But when I talk to some of the munis over in India, and they try to tell me how the earth is flat in Jaina cosmology, and how I have to believe the universe looks like it is in those pictures of the Jaina Universe, they loose me. I’m doing my Ph.D. in physics. I know what the universe looks like. I can appreciate what they’re doing, but it has no relevance to the North American Jaina experience.”
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ways, and social activism29 – a geography that is based here rather than there, and extends into the Canadian and Global ‘Cultural Mosaic.’
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29 The youth are beginning to modify Jaina tenets by participating in such social causes as maintaining vegetarian ‘soup kitchens’ for the working poor and the homeless, actively participating in national and international NGO organisations, supporting animal rights movements and their fight to make legislative changes.
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Cort, J.E. (1991). “The Shvetambar Murtipujak Jain Layman.” Journal of Indian Philosophy, 19: 391-420. —. (1995). Defining Jainism: Reform in the Jain Tradition. Toronto: University of Toronto. —. (2001). Jains in the World: Religious Values and Ideology in India. New York: Oxford University Press. Coward, H. and D. Goa (1987). “Religious Experience of the South Asian Diaspora in Canada.” In The South Asian Diaspora in Canada: Six Essays. Milton Isreal (ed.). Toronto: The Multicultural History Society of Ontario (In Cooperation with the Centre for South Asian Studies, University of Toronto), 73-86. —. John R. Hinnells, and Raymond Brady Williams (2000). The South Asian Religious Diaspora in Britain, Canada, and the United States. Albany: State University of New York Press. Daniels, R. (1993). “The History of Indian Immigration to the United States: An Interpretive Essay.” In Global Indian Diaspora: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow. Jagat Motwani, Mahin Gosine and Jyoti Barot-Motwani (eds.). New York: Global Organisation of People of Indian Origin, 439445. Dasgupta, S.S. (1989). On the Trail of an Uncertain Dream: Indian Immigrant Experience in America. New York: AMS Press. D’Innocenzo, M. (ed.) (1992). Immigration and Ethnicity: American Society ‘Melting Pot’ or ‘Salad Bowl’. Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press. Fenton, J.Y. (1988). Transplanting Religious Traditions: Asian Indians in America. New York: Praeger. Folkert, K. (1993). Scripture and Community: Collected Essays on the Jains. John Cort. (ed.) Atlanta: Scholars Press. Fusco, C. (1989). “The Border Art Workshop/Taller de Arte Fronterizo, Interview with Guillermo Gomez-Peña and Emily Hicks.” In Third Text 7:53-76. Gada, P. (1998). Pathshala: Levels I-V. Boston: The Jain Centre of Greater Boston. Ganguly, K. (1992). “Migrant Identities: Personal Memory and the Construction of Selfhood.” Cultural Studies 6 (1): 27-50. Ghosh, A. (1989). “The Diaspora in Indian Culture.” Public Culture 2(1):7378. Ghosh, R. (1984). “South Asian Women in Canada: Adaptation.” In South Asians in a Canadian Mosaic. R.N. Kanungo (ed.). Montreal: Kala Bharati, 145-156. Guibernau, M. and J. Rex (2001). The Ethnicity Reader: Nationalism, Multiculturalism and Migration. Malden (MA): Blackwell Publishers. Hollinger, D. (1998). Post-Ethnic America. New York: Basic Books. Humphrey, C. and J. Laidlaw (1994). The Archetypal Actions of Ritual: A Theory of Ritual Illustrated by the Jain Rite of Worship. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
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Isreal, M. (1987). The South Asian Diaspora in Canada: Six Essays. Toronto: The Multicultural History Society of Ontario (in co-operation with the Centre for South Asian Studies, University of Toronto). —. and N.K. Wagle (1991). South Asians in Ontario. Toronto: Multicultural Society of Ontario. Jain Directory of North America (1996-1997). Published by the Jain Centre of Greater Boston. Jain, A. (2000). “Interfaith Meeting Discusses Concept of Non-violence.” In India Abroad Newspaper, March 24, p. 40. Jain, H.C. (1990). “Jains in Canada: The Role of the International Mahavir Jain Mission of Canada.” Polyphony: The Bulletin of the Multicultural History Society of Ontario. 12:108-112. Jain, S. and S. Pandey (eds.) (1998). Jainism in a Global Perspective: A Compilation of the Papers Presented at the Parliament of World Religions (Chicago) 1993. Varanasi: Parsvanatha Vidyapitha Press. Jaini, P. (1990) [1979]. The Jaina Path of Purification. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Jha, J.C. (1993). “The Emigration of Indian Labour to the French West Indies in the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century.” In Global Indian Diaspora: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow. Jagat Motwani, Mahin Gosine and Jyoti Barot-Motwani (eds.). New York: Global Organisation of People of Indian Origin, 216-224. Kanungo, R.N. (1984). South Asians in a Canadian Mosaic. Montreal: Kala Bharati. Kumar, B. (1996). Jainism in America. Mississauga: Jain Humanities Press. Kurian, G. (1993). “Immigrants of Indian Origin in Canada: Conflict Between Adaptation and Retention of Ethnic Values.” In Global Indian Diaspora: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow. Jagat Motwani, Mahin Gosine, Jyoti Barot-Motwani (eds.). New York: Global Organisation of People of Indian Origin. Kurien, P. (1998). “Becoming American by Becoming Hindu: Indian Americans Take Their Place at the Multicultural Table.” In Gatherings in Diaspora: Religious Communities and the New Immigration. (eds.) Warner, Steven and Judith G. Wittner, 37-70. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Laidlaw, J. (1995). Riches and Renunciation: Religion, Economy, and Society among the Jains. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Lavie, S. and T. Swedenburg (1996). Displacement, Diaspora, and Geographies of Identity. Durham: Duke University Press. O’Connell, J.T. (1999). “Traditional Jain Approaches to Religious Dialogue and Contemporary Applications.” Jainism in Practice ... the New Age: A Selection of Papers Presented at the 9th Jaina Convention, Toronto, July 4-7, 1997. Toronto: JAINA Convention Organising Committee, 9, 13-16. Radford, M.A. (1995). “Sallekhana, Ahimsa, and the Western Paradox.” Jinamanjari 11 (1): 23-39.
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Rajagopal, I. (1990). “The Ceiling in the Vertical Mosaic: Indian Immigrants in Canada.” Canadian Ethnic Studies, XXII (1). Ray, K.A. (1993). “Roots of Ambivalence: Indenture Identity and the Indian Freedom Struggle.” In Ethnicity, Identity, Migration: The South Asian Context. Milton Israel and N.K. Wagle (eds.). Toronto: University of Toronto Centre for South Asian Studies, 269-291. Ryan, J. (1999). “Jainas in Context: Tirthankaras, Siddhas, Arhat, Nun and Layperson in the Civakacintamani.” In Proceedings of the International Conference on Approaches to Jaina Studies: Philosophy, Logic, Rituals and Symbols. Edited by N.K. Wagle and Olle Qvarnström. Toronto: University of Toronto, Centre for South Asian Studies. Safran, W. (1991). “Diasporas in Modern Societies: Myths of Homeland and Return.” Diaspora: A Journal of Transnational Studies. New York: Oxford University Press.1 (1): 83-99. Said, E. (1984). “Reflections of Exile.” Granta 13:159-172. Sampat-Mehta, R. (1984). “First Fifty Years of South Asian Immigration: A Historical Perspective.” South Asians in a Canadian Mosaic. (ed.) R.N. Kanungo, R. N. (ed.). Montreal: Kala Bharati, 13-32 Sangave, V. (1980). Jaina Community: A Social Survey. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Saran, P. (1985). The Asian Indian Experience in the United States. Cambridge, Mass.: Schenkman. Souvenir of Jain Society of Toronto’s 25th Anniversary (1974-1999), May 21-23, 1999. Turner, V. (1969). The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Wagle, I. (1993). “South Asians in Canada, 1905-1920” in Ethnicity, Identity, Migration: The South Asian Context. Milton Israel and N.K. Wagle (eds.). Toronto: University of Toronto Centre for South Asian Studies, 196216.
Jaina Glossary abhakshya abhisheka acarya Agamas ahimsa Ayusya Karma puja bhancara
Foods that are not to be eaten. Ritual of bathing the Jaina icons. The term can apply to the head or leader of a group of ascetics, a spiritual leader, and a monk-scholar. The Agamas are Jaina scriptures or canonical literature. Non-violence, non-harming, non-interference. Life duration karma ritual. Jaina library. In the case of the Jain Society of Toronto many individuals have their own private library collec-
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tions, however, there is a community collection of texts located adjacent to the Jaina Temple complex in what most members call the bhandara. bhavana or bhajan A devotional song bhojanshala A special house or room for people to perform religious fasts. Dashalakshana The ten days of fasting held every year by the Digambara sect. According to tradition, the period begins on the fifth lunar day of the bright half of the month of Bhadrapada (August-September) and ends on the fourteenth. derasar This term is used in reference to the overall Jaina Temple complex of both the Jain Society of Toronto’s building on Rosemeade Avenue and the Shri Jain Mandir of the Digambara community on Parklawn Avenue. ekasana A fast in which only one meal a day is allowed. garbha griha The inner sanctuary of the large temple complex (derasar) that houses the consecrated idols (murti) or statues. ghar derasar A private house temple containing consecrated idols. In North America the public may or may not be allowed access. kshama The act of forgiveness. Often associated with the holy periods of Paryushana (Shvetambara) and Dashalakshana Parva (Digambara). lilu shakha bandh Restrictions on eating green, leafy vegetables. Mahavira jayanti Celebration of the auspicious moment of the birth of Mahavira. Mahavira puja Devotional veneration of Mahavira. mandir or mandiram Building to house deity. murti Icon, idol or statue of a god, goddess, yaksha, yakshi or more importantly in the Jaina context, a Tirthankara Paryushana The eight days of fasting held every year by the Shvetambara sect. According to their tradition, the period of fasting begins on the twelfth lunar day of the dark half of Shravana and ends with the fifth day of the bright half of the month of Bhadrapada (August-September) and ends on the fourteenth. This period also coincides with the rainy season. pathshala Religious classes offered to both youth and adults. They provide formal instruction in Jaina principles and practices. Traditionally, they are held in a large room often attached to an upashraya (a place where ascetics stay), but in the Toronto community these classes are held in the temple basement for those living in the Westend of the city (4th Sunday of the month), and in Sir John A. McDonald Col-
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pratikramna
puja
Rajachandra bhakti samayika samvatsari sangha shravakas
shravikas
stavans tapas tapasvi/tapasi Tirthankara
tithi upvas vrata yaksha yakshi
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legiate for the Eastend pathsala (2nd Sunday of the month). The adult pathshala class is held the 1st Sunday of the month at the Jain Centre. A public confession of sins. For the Jaina laity it has become an ‘obligatory ritual’ during Paryushana Parva For the Jaina ascetics it is an obligatory daily recitation of the day’s sins to a guru. Although the word means all forms of worship, it is often used in the context of the act of ritual worship such as the anointing of the murti (idols). Rajachandra devotion, prayers, and singing of hymns. Meditation ritual. Both the act and the day at the end of Paryushana Parva for public confession (pratikramana). The Jaina community. The male laity. One of the four components of the Jaina community. The other three being male ascetics, female ascetics, and shravikas (female layperson). The female laity. One of the four components of the Jaina community. The other three being male ascetics, female ascetics, and shravakas (male layperson). Religious hymns of praise to either all of twenty-four Tirthankaras, or to a particular Tirthankara Austerities such as fasting. A woman/man who performs austerities (tapas) such as fasting. The ‘builders of the ford’ who have crossed the ‘ocean of worldly life.’ According to the Jaina tradition there have been a total of twenty-four Tirthankaras, or omniscient spiritual teachers, in the current cycle of time starting with Rishabha and ending with Mahavira. According to Jaina texts, time has no beginning nor does it have an end. There have been many other Tirthankaras in past time cycles as there will be future Tirthankaras in future time cycles. A liturgical day, commonly measured from sunrise to sunrise. Fasting as a mode of austerity. A vow of restraint. Male demigod and protector of the Jaina Tirthankaras. Female demigod and protector of the Jaina Tirthankaras.
SRI LANKAN THERAVADA BUDDHISM IN LONDON: RELIGIOSITY AND COMMUNAL ACTIVITIES OF A DIASPORA COMMUNITY MAHINDA DEEGALLE
Abstract Focusing on Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre (SSIBC), London, this paper examines the religiosity and communal activities of a Sri Lankan diaspora community. It traces briefly the history of Sri Lankan Buddhist community in London and its expansion to the rest of UK. Locating the beginning of Sri Lankan Buddhist diaspora community in the first quarter of the 20th century, it examines the ritual calendar, communal, social, cultural and religious activities of SSIBC and World Buddhist Foundation. It also discusses its social welfare activities in Mudita Children’s Home in Sri Lanka and its unique contribution to British Buddhism by introducing deity worship common in Sinhala Buddhist pantheon.
History of Sri Lankan Theravada Buddhism in the United Kingdom Transplanting Sri Lankan form of Theravada Buddhism in London has been a gradual process. Like any other Buddhist group, diaspora Sri Lankan Buddhists also encountered ups and downs in their missions of giving shape to Sri Lankan form of Theravada Buddhism in Great Britain.1 They faced problems in their innovations and expansions but were able to stand in the face of difficulties and divisions in their own communities in creating their own versions and representations of flavour and diversity of Sri Lankan Buddhist traditions. As Philip C. Almond recounts in The British Discovery of Buddhism (1988:139), “At the beginning of the nineteenth century the Buddhist tradition did not exist as an object of discourse in the West. In the Western imagination, Buddhism” was “the most recent of the major 1 Great Britain began to control the entire island of Sri Lanka (formerly Ceylon) from 1815 and Sri Lanka became an independent nation on February 4, 1948.
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world religions.” This situation, however, does not remain the same after two centuries of missionary and colonial encounters with Buddhist nations such as Sri Lanka and Burma. While Protestant missionaries and colonial officers brought the knowledge of Buddhism to England, some exceptional individuals, such as the Protestant clergy men Daniel John Gogerly (1908), Reginald Stephen Copleston (1892) and Robert Spence Hardy (1841; 1850; 1853; 1866) wrote books in English explaining Buddhism to the West. The eminent civil servants, such as Hugh Nevill (1848-1897) who collected a massive collection of Sinhala palm-leaf manuscripts which are now preserved in The British Library (Somadasa 1987-1995) and Thomas William Rhys Davids (1843-1922),2 who served in Sri Lanka for eight years (186674), expanded the understanding of Theravada Buddhism and the knowledge of Pali in Europe and America by founding The Pali Text Society3 in London in 1881. The founding of The Pali Text Society indirectly facilitated the establishment of Sri Lankan Theravada form of Buddhism in London in the twentieth century. These early encounters and developments made the British to have some knowledge of Buddhism in Sri Lanka and subsequently encouraging some Sri Lankan Buddhists to take initiative to expand knowledge of Buddhism in Great Britain and Europe. Opening a new chapter in the expansion of Theravada Buddhism beyond South and Southeast Asia, the Buddhist revivalist Anagarika Dharmapala (1965:662) expressed openly his missionary zeal: “I am resolved to give the remaining years of my life to enlighten the people of England by telling them of the sublime doctrine of the Tathagata.” On September 27, 1925, Anagarika Dharmapala (1864-1933), founder of Maha Bodhi Society, visited London in the hope of establishing a Buddhist mission in London. On that occasion, he met Mr. Christmas Humphreys, the President of the Buddhist Lodge (now The Buddhist Society, f. 1924). Subsequently, with generous financial Rhys Davids (1877; 1908). Since its founding, The Pali Text Society (http://www.palitext.demon.co.uk) continues to be the single most important intellectual resource for Theravada Buddhism in the West as well as for Theravada Buddhist studies in South and Southeast Asia. Its influence on academic community is severe. Reflecting on the process of intellectual domination, Philip C. Almond (1988:13) wrote: “By the middle of the [19th] century, the Buddhism that existed ‘out there’ was beginning to be judged by a West that alone knew what Buddhism was, is, and ought to be. The essence of Buddhism came to be seen as expressed not ‘out there’ in the Orient, but in the West through the West’s control of Buddhism’s own textual past.” 2 3
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support of Mrs. Mary Foster of Honolulu, on July 24, 1926, Dharmapala purchased No. 86, Madeley Road, Ealing, London W5 which was named as Foster House in honour of the donor (Dharmapala 1965:666). This was the beginning of current London Buddhist Vihara (2001:58), the oldest Sri Lankan Buddhist temple in the West. In the inaugural meeting of London Buddhist Vihara, Francis J. Payne, A.C. March, P. Mukherjee, Christmas Humphreys and Anagarika Dharmapala delivered talks. With this modest beginning, in the twentieth century, Sri Lankan form of Theravada Buddhism has gradually taken roots in the United Kingdom.4 Anagarika Dharmapala, who founded London Buddhist Vihara, had already established an international religious career by establishing the Maha Bodhi Society in Calcutta, India and in Colombo, Sri Lanka on May 31, 1891 and attending the World Parliament of Religions held in Chicago in 1893 where he read a paper entitled “The World’s Debt to Buddha” (Dharmapala 1965:3-22) as one of three major representatives of Eastern religions (Deegalle 1995). He was keen on the status of Buddhism in the United Kingdom and wrote a few articles expressing his views on it (Dharmapala 1965:663-672). In his writing, it is very clear that Dharmapala was very ambitious giving Buddhism to the English. In 1926, Dharmapala wrote: I thought of the great work of preaching the Dhamma to the English people. Buddhists have a spiritual inheritance superior to any other worldly legacy. Buddhists hitherto have not come to England with the determination to preach the Dhamma of the Lord Buddha to the English people. There are thousands of liberal minded educated Englishmen to whom the Doctrine of the Aryans must be preached. The time is come to show compassion to the erratic Englishmen. The English are a great race, and as such they must not be allowed to die of spiritual inanition. The English should be made to hear the Arya Dharma of the Great Teacher of the Sakya race” (Dharmapala 1965:666-67).
From Dharmapala’s own writings, it is clear that he wanted to establish London Buddhist Vihara for spreading the Buddha’s teaching among the English. The support given to diaspora Sri Lankans by London Buddhist Vihara was a minor objective. For example, in 1927 Dharmapala wrote in the “Buddhist Programme of Work in 4 For a brief history of Buddhism in Britain see Gethin (2000). For a study of Buddhist Studies in Britain see Gombrich (2000) and for Buddhist Studies in Europe and America see De Jong (1997).
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England” that he planned to establish “a Training School in London to train a number of young English men and women as preachers to go all over England proclaiming the Doctrine of the Lord Buddha” (Dharmapala 1965:671). Over the last seven decades, London Buddhist Vihara has changed its location several times. First, the Vihara moved from Ealing5 to No. 41, Gloucester Road, Regent’s Park, London NW1 on February 5, 1928. While B.L. Broughton presided over the meeting, A.C. March (The Buddhist Lodge), A.P. de Soysa6 and Charles Dickens delivered special speeches. It was not until June 25, 1928 that Sri Lankan Buddhist monks began to live in the Vihara when a Buddhist monks’ mission led by Venerable Paravahera Vajiragnana (1962) with Venerable Dehigaspe Pannasara, Venerable Hegoda Nandasara and Mr. Devapriya Walisingha, General Secretary of Maha Bodhi Society in India arrived in London. For the first time in the history of Buddhism in Britain, the three monks entered the Rain Retreat on the Full Moon of July 2, 1928. This three-month religious retreat called ‘vassa‘ which ends with the offering of kathina (‘hard’) robes to the monks, is extremely important for the development of communal life of Theravada Buddhists in South and Southeast Asia. While Buddhists continued to carry out their religious functions, due to the Second World War the Vihara was closed down in 1940, and did not resume its activities until May 17, 1954. On the Vesak Full Moon, the Vihara was reopened in a new four-storey building at No. 10, Ovington Gardens, Knightbridge, London SW3 with Venerable Narada (1987), the famous Buddhist missionary and author, as the Head of Vihara, with Bope Vinita as the assistant monk. While 1956 was the year of the Buddha Jayanthi celebrations7 in the Buddhist world, an important event took place in relation to Western Buddhism. On July 5, 1956, three British men – Robert Albison, Peter Morgan and George Blake – were ordained as Buddhist novices at the Vihara. This is important because Buddhists believe that until people of the country are 5 Though present London Buddhist Vihara traces its birth to 1926, until the arrival of three Sri Lankan monks as residents in 1928, the premises in Ealing seems to have functioned as Headquarters of British Maha Bodhi Society. Note Dharmapala’s ambitious words in 1927 in erecting a vihara following a model in Polonnaruwa (Dharmapala 1965:672). 6 A.P. de Soysa was one of the first Sinhala Buddhist laymen who decided that Pali scriptures should be translated into ordinary Sinhala without pedantic renderings. 7 Asian Buddhists identified 1956 as Buddha Jayanthi – the 2500th year of the Buddhist era that began with historical Buddha’s death.
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ordained Buddhism will not take roots in the country. London Buddhist Vihara entered into a new phase in 1958, with the appointment of Venerable Hammalawa Saddhatissa as the Head of the Vihara. He became known as a Pali scholar and published several academic works bringing reputation to the London Buddhist Vihara. During Saddhatissa’s time, for the third time, again Vihara moved from Knightbridge to No. 5 Heathfield Gardens, Chiswick, London W4 where he retired from his duties in August 1984. The current abbot, Venerable Madagama Vajiragnana, who was living there since 1967, was appointed as Head of the Vihara on March 10, 1985 after Saddhatissa’s retirement. While Venerable Saddhatissa passed away on February 13, 1990, for the fourth time, the Vihara moved to current premises in The Avenue in Bedford Park, Chiswick, London W4 on May 21, 1994. When Anagarika Dharmapala founded London Buddhist Vihara in 1926, he would have anticipated the history of Sri Lankan Theravada Buddhism in Britain quite differently. Though certain disputes arose with regard to monastic property of London Buddhist Vihara and subsequently the community was divided giving birth to new Buddhist centres in London, Sri Lankan Buddhism grew with strength within the last decade. Though division is not a healthy thing, the expansion of Buddhist centres in the late 1980s in London provided more opportunities for innovation and development of Buddhist practices and rituals. Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre (f. 1989), the focus of this essay, is one of the Buddhist centres that was born within this expansion. Within the last two decades, Sri Lankan Buddhist centres have mushroomed in London and at present, in London alone, there are six centres8: (i) London Buddhist Vihara (f. 1926), (ii) Thames Buddhist Vihara (f. 1978), (iii) Southgate Buddhist Realists’ Vihara (f. 1981), (iv) Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre (f. 1989), (v) East London Buddhist Cultural Centre (f. 1989) and (vi) Redbridge Buddhist Cultural Centre (f. 1999). Out8 For more details about these Buddhist centres, see The Buddhist Society’s Buddhist Directory (2000) (http://www.thebuddhistsociety.org.uk). Some of these centres have WWW sites: (i) London Buddhist Vihara (http://www.londonbuddhist vihara.co.uk); (ii) Thames Buddhist Vihara (http://www.geocities.com/thamesbuddhistvihara); (iii) Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre (http://www.ssibc. dircon-co.uk); (iv) Leicester Buddhist Vihara (http://www.emba.mcmail.com); (v) Redbridge Buddhist Cultural Centre (http://www.rbcc.org.uk); and (vi) The Midlands International Buddhist Association, Birmingham (http://www.yell.co.uk/ sites.mi).
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side London, there are five Sri Lankan temples in other parts of the UK: (i) Jetavana Buddhist Vihara, Birmingham (f. 1985), (ii) Leicester Buddhist Vihara (East Midlands Buddhist Association), Leicester (f. 1991), (iii) The Midlands International Buddhist Association, Birmingham (f. 1992), (iv) Ketumati Buddhist Vihara, Manchester (f. 1999) and (v) Letchworth Buddhist Vihara, Herts. All these centres serve primarily to Sri Lankan communities but they include and embrace other ethnic groups and Buddhists from other nations. This inclusive approach is, in particular, true with reference to SSIBC since among its resident monks are a Burmese, a Nepalese and an Australian. On special festivals, many non-Sri Lankan Buddhists attend the religious activities. In addition to being religious centres, most of these Buddhist temples also function as cultural centres, which gather diaspora Sri Lankans for various social and cultural events. While most are run by societies, all include Buddhist monks as residents who run the religious services.
Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre In the words of Venerable Galayaye Piyadassi, Head of Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre (SSIBC),9 it was established in memory of Venerable Dr. Hammalawa Saddhatissa (1914-1990), Sangha Nayaka for United Kingdom and Europe. It was established as an appreciation of Saddhatissa’s service to wider community in UK and Sri Lanka. As Venerable Piyadassi puts it, Venerable Saddhatissa had believed that it was “essential to establish more Buddhist Centres and train more monks in order to quench the thirst for the Dhamma growing in the western world” (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2000b:49). Other objectives were catering “the religious needs of the thousands of Sri Lankan-born Buddhists residing in London” and also preserving Sri Lankan “culture and religious thought for future generations” (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2000b:52). With those objectives in mind and with advice of Venerable Saddhatissa and with support of faithful devotees, SSIBC was established at No. 10 Denzil Road, Willesden, London on September 3, 1989. Like 9 Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre (SSIBC), 309-11 Kingsbury Road, London NW9 9PE.
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London Buddhist Vihara, Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre also moved several times since its inception. On January 1, 1990, while SSIBC moved to No. 373 Kenton Road, Harrow, after the death of Venerable Saddhatissa on February 13, 1990, it moved again to No. 311 Kingsbury, London NW9, the current location of the temple. Over the years, the activities of Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre (SSIBC) have grown both in scope and variety. With over a decade of its existence, it provides a wide range of religious, cultural and social services. Activities have been inclusive and its programmes meet popular needs of Buddhists in London area. SSIBC is an affiliated body of the World Buddhist Foundation (WBF), a registered Charity in England and Wales. To fulfil its tasks, it has established Sri Lanka Educational, Cultural and Welfare Foundation (SLECWF). To give a broader picture of SSIBC’s activities for the Sri Lankan Buddhist community, I will discuss in detail the religious, social and cultural activities of WBF and SLECWF.
World Buddhist Foundation (WBF) Over the last decade, World Buddhist Foundation10 has organised a wide range of activities to fulfil its mission of disseminating Buddhism to the people in London and abroad. As an intellectual activity, the most outstanding achievement is having a very active religious publication project. The list of academic publications that WBF has produced over the years demonstrates a wide range of interests and are useful both for intellectuals and average Buddhists. What is impressive is the high level of academic content in the articles and books. While all the works focus on Theravada Buddhism, it has attempted to bring out the insights of early Buddhism and Buddhism in Sri Lanka.11 10 A note in Saddhatissa (1991:i) suggests that Venerable Saddhatissa himself had founded World Buddhist Foundation using a donation made by Venerable Hedigalle Pannatissa of Sri Lanka Mahabodhi Society. 11 (i) Buddhism for the New Millennium, ed. Lakshman S. Perera et al., 2000, (ii) 50th Anniversary of Sri Lanka’s Independence: A Commemorative Volume, eds. Galayaye Piyadassi and Lakshman S. Perera (1998), (iii) Balangoda Anandamaitreya, Nine Special Qualities of the Buddha (1995), (iv) Hammalawa Saddhatissa, The Life of the Buddha (1994), (v) Hammalawa Saddhatissa, Pali Literature of South-east Asia, (1993), (vi) Buddhist Essays: In Honour of Hammalawa Saddhatissa, ed. Pollamure Sorata et al., (1992), (vii) Hammalawa Saddhatissa, Introduction to Buddhism (1992), (viii) Hammalawa Saddhatissa, Facets of Buddhism, (1991), (ix) Hammalawa Saddhatissa, Manual of Buddhism (1990) and (x) Bhikkhu Pesala, Debate of King Milinda (1990).
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In addition to the active publication project, it also has created new programmes to contribute to Buddhist education. WBF had introduced a Diploma Course in Buddhist Studies to enhance the knowledge of Theravada Buddhism and dissemination of Buddhist practices in the United Kingdom. During the years 2000-1 the course was focused on the origins and development of Buddhism in South and Southeast Asia and Buddhist doctrines. It is an opportunity for students in London area to enhance knowledge of Theravada Buddhism, doctrines and practices with close contact with living teachers and practitioners within a traditional Buddhist environment. While the course contains three levels (Preliminary, Intermediate, and Advanced), each year a scholar of Buddhism is invited from Sri Lanka to conduct Diploma Course in Buddhist Studies. In the past, some of the teachers involved in teaching in the programme included Venerable Varagoda Premaratana (January 24-April 4, 2002), Professor of Sanskrit, University of Peradeniya, (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2002:8) and Venerable Beligalle Dhammajoti (2001), Senior Lecturer in Buddhist Studies, University of Ruhuna. In the academic year 1999-2000, eight candidates had been awarded Diploma in Buddhist Studies (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2000b:151). To educate both Sri Lankan and British nationals on Buddhism and Sri Lankan cultural heritage, in addition to the publication project, WBF has introduced a public lecture series in English. Prominent academics from the UK and Sri Lanka are invited on various occasions to deliver speeches. Special mention is necessary on the United Kingdom Buddhist Day since it has explicit interest of tracing Theravada Buddhism to the English soil. The purpose of the United Kingdom Buddhist Day is to commemorate the introduction of Buddhism to the UK (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2000a:2-3). The primary historical incident that promotes this celebration is Charles Henry Allan Bennett (1872-1923), an Englishman who had been ordained as a Buddhist monk in Burma in 1902 and who returned to the UK in 1908 as Ananda Metteyya to establish Buddhist missions in the UK.12 From Theravada perspective, this single individual is highly significant. Before Mr. Bennett many Brits came to know Buddhism but 12 Elizabeth J. Harris (1988; 2000:47-48) has written widely on this important British Buddhist figure.
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none had made a voluntary decision to get converted into Buddhism as a monk and return home as a monk.13 His return to UK as a Theravada monk is important for diaspora Buddhist communities since Theravada Buddhists of Sri Lanka, in particular, believe that unless the people of a particular country enter the sangha, Buddhism will not take roots in that country. As narrated in relation to the establishment of Buddhist sasana in Sri Lanka, Buddhism “would not take root” in Sri Lanka until a person “born of Sri Lankan parents, took the robes in Sri Lanka, learned the Discipline in Sri Lanka, and recited it in Sri Lanka.” Similarly, from Sri Lankan Theravada point of view, for the establishment of British Buddhism, it is necessary to have an ordination of Englishmen like Mr. Bennett. From that perspective, the ordination of Mr. Bennett as Ananda Metteyya was symbolically important in forming a British form of Buddhism which became a reality with the establishment of English Sangha.14 This Sangha was led in Britain by American born Ajahn Sumedho (b. 1934), a prominent disciple of Thai forest master Ajahn Chah (1918-1992) who came to Britain in 1977 with Ajahn Sumedho to the English Sangha Trust’s premises in Hampstead, North London.15 In the beginning of the twentieth century, as an Englishman, Ananda Metteyya had initiated the prospect of British becoming fully committed Theravada Buddhists. Thus this single individual deserves celebrations and respect in the United Kingdom Buddhist Day from Sri Lankan Theravada perspective. The speakers who address the gathering on United Kingdom Buddhist Day are drawn from a wide range of backgrounds. They are not necessarily Theravada Buddhists. Some are not even Buddhists. In the year 2001, United Kingdom Buddhist Day was celebrated on August 4, 2001. The speaker was Mr. Paul Seto, Secretary of Network of Buddhist Organisations (UK), an Australian Tibetan Buddhist of Gelugpa school, who works at Jamyang Buddhist Centre, 13 However, recently a few scholars Batchelor 1994:40; Cousins 1994; Gethin 2000:31) have pointed that the first Englishman to be ordained as a monk in Burma was Gordon Douglas who took the name Bhikkhu Asoka in his ordination in 1899 or 1900. Because of untimely death, his ordination did not have any impact on Buddhism in Britain as it was the case with Ananda Metteyya. 14 For the newsletter of The Forest Sangha visit http://www.abm.ndirect. .co.uk/fsn/ 15 For more details on English Sangha in Britain see Mellor (1989; 1991), Goswell (1988:16-19), Bell (1991), Batchelor (1992; 1994), Cush (1990:33-37, 53-61) and Waterhouse (1997:41-71).
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The Old Courthouse, London. Mr. Seto’s United Kingdom Buddhist Day commemorative lecture was entitled “Many Faces of the Buddha in the 21st Century Britain.” In the previous year, on September 3, 2000, Dr. Tadeusz Skorupski (Department of the Study of Religions, SOAS, London) had lectured on the theme of “Bodhisatta: Its Origin and Development” (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2000a:4). The lectures in 1997 and 1998 had specific relevance to the United Kingdom Buddhist Day since Dr. Rupert Gethin (Department of Theology and Religious Studies, University of Bristol) lectured on “Buddhism in Britain” and Dr. Elizabeth J. Harris (Methodist Church, London) lectured on “Life and Thought of Venerable Ananda Metteyya” respectively. These public lectures illustrate well that SSIBC has a broad perspective in terms of its mission and outreach. SSIBC is very keen to include Buddhists, non-Buddhists, academics and non-Sri Lankans in celebrating events, which have wider appeal to the public. An all-night paritta (protection) chanting and an alms-giving to the monastic community follow the United Kingdom Buddhist Day lecture. The combination of these specific religious activities such as paritta recitation are significant as items which would appeal to a different audience. In particular, while the lectures appeal primarily to non-Sri Lankan audience, the religious activities fulfil needs of traditional Sri Lankan Buddhists in London. Unlike other Buddhist centres in London, SSIBC is very keen in celebrating the Founder’s Day (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2002:2-3). Founder’s Day is celebrated in February to commemorate the death anniversary of the late Venerable Dr. H. Saddhatissa (1914-90). In the year 2000, Founder’s Day celebrations were held on February 10 and 11. While Venerable Uduwe Dhammaloka, a popular monk who is known for celebrating liturgy of making offerings to the Bodhi Tree, held a bodhipuja (Offerings to the Bodhi Tree) and a dana (communal meal) ceremony concluded the celebrations. In the year 2001, Founder’s Day included an academic item. On February 10, Dr. Helen J. Waterhouse (Department of Religious Studies, Open University) delivered the memorial lecture entitled “Representing Buddhism: British Buddhists Dealing with Diversity” (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2001:3). In 1996 and 1998, memorial lectures were delivered by Professor T.H. Barrett (SOAS, London) on “Buddhist Scholarship in East Asia” and Dr. Sue Hamilton (King’s College, London) on “The Khandhas” respectively. Another important aspect of this diaspora Sri Lankan Buddhist
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community is that it attempts to be inclusive and religiously tolerant and co-operative with non-Buddhist religious groups in London. An important event that the WBF sponsors is an Interfaith Call for World Peace. Every year at the end of December an inter-faith meeting for peace and prayer is organised. Representatives of Christian, Hindu, Islam, Ba’hai and Zoroastrian faiths join with Buddhists at SSIBC in the call to pray for peace, goodwill, mutual understanding, respect and tolerance (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2001:2; Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2002:3). Annually, a Remembrance Day service is held on December 31 at 6:30 p.m. to fulfil two functions: it invokes the memory of those who had departed and those who had significantly contributed towards the advancement of SSIBC. This service remembers the dead and transfers merit to those who have fallen victims of conflicts. A decade of success of SSIBC was celebrated in 2000 (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2000a:6-7). It was a remarkable achievement considering the troubles it had in its early years. SSIBC had organised a wide range of intellectual, religious and cultural events. The 10th anniversary celebrations began on June 24, 2000 at Brent Town Hall. Continuing WBF’s publication project, two publications were released to mark the occasion: (i) Buddhism for the New Millennium included a collection of academic essays which discussed issues related to Buddhist doctrines, history, and religious practices and (ii) the SSIBC’s 10th anniversary souvenir History and Goodwill Messages included messages from religious leaders and information about the activities carried out over the decade beginning in 1989. Two religious events were also added to the celebrations to mark the event. Another popular monk in Sri Lanka, Venerable Kolonnave Sri Sumangala conducted a Trividha Caitya Ashirvada Puja on June 25. A Tistunpaye Pirita (protection recitation lasting for three days) lasted from June 30-July 2, 2000. Throughout the year, WBF organises a variety of explicitly Buddhist activities for the Sri Lankan community in London. Its annual calendar of events for 2002, for example, illustrates the wide range of religious functions organised around the monthly Full Moon days.16
16 The annual calendar of events for 2002 was the following: May 26 Vesak Full Moon (Buddha Day) June 16 Buddha Rashmi: Programme of Observing Precepts, Dhamma Discussions and Devotional Poems
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Full Moon days are highly important for monks and lay people for religious observances. In Buddhist countries, the 12 Full Moon days are celebrated with special activities. On those days, lay Buddhists devote their lives for religion by observing the eight precepts. Dhamma discussions are held and day is used for reflection on religious matters. For SSIBC, important days in the Buddhist calendar are Vesak, Poson and Esala Full Moon days.17 For Theravada Buddhists, Vesak has extremely important symbolical significance. In Theravada Buddhist countries, Vesak commemorates the birth, awakening and death of Siddhartha Gautama Buddha. Celebrations are held during the Full Moon of May. SSIBC programmes are conducted both in Sinhala and English. The annual Vesak celebration at SSIBC is a communal activity, which draws participation from various segments of Sri Lankan com-
June 23 Poson Full Moon (Mahinda Day) July 21 Esala Full Moon (Dhammacakka Day) July 28 United Kingdom Buddhist Day August 18 Cultural Festival and Bazaar (Salpila) August 25 Nikini Full Moon September 22 Binara Full Moon October 26 Atavisi Buddha Puja (Offerings to 28 Previous Buddhas) October 27 Kathina Civara Puja (Offering of Robes) November 17 Il Full Moon December 27 Unduvap Full Moon (Sanghamitta Day) December 30 Interfaith Call for World Peace December 31 Remembrance Day 17 Following is the schedule of Vesak Full Moon programme that was held on May 26, 2002 (BE 2546): 7:00 a.m Buddhapuja (Offerings to the Buddha) 7:30 a.m Breakfast for monks 8:15 a.m Administration of the Eight Precepts and Venerating the Buddha (Buddhavandana) by Ven. G. Piyadassi 9:00 a.m Meditation by Ven. U. Dhammasami 10:15 a.m Buddhist Sermon (Sinhala) by Ven. Kandakkulame Dharmakirthi 11:15 a.m Buddhapuja (Offerings to the Buddha) 11:30 a.m Lunch for monks 1:00 p.m Dhamma Discussion (Sinhala) by Ven. Dr. K. Sirisumana 2:30 p.m Tea 3:00 p.m Buddhist Sermon (English) on “Buddhism for Living” 4:00 p.m Reading Jataka Book (Sinhala) by Ven. Dr. K. Sirisumana 5:00 p.m Dhamma Talk (English) by Ven. U. Pannawansa 5:30 p.m Dhamma Talk (Sinhala) 7:00 p.m Bodhi Puja (Offerings to the Bodhi Tree) and Sermon (Sinhala) by Ven. G. Piyadassi 8:00 p.m End
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munity in London. A large gathering flocks every year for the celebrations. As a part of the celebrations, free food and clothing are distributed to homeless persons in (a) Action Homeless Concern (lunch for over 200 persons), (b) Night Shelter, Vauxhall Road (packed meals for over 50 persons), and (c) The Notting Hill Centre of the Salvation Army (packed meals and clothing for over 200 persons). For children, a special Vesak celebration is held from 9:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. in which Children give presentations and they are awarded certificates. This children Vesak programme is conducted by Venerable Dhammasami, Venerable Sumana and Sister Dhammadinna. Poson Full Moon is the next important religious observation day. Poson, the Full Moon of June, celebrates the introduction of Buddhism to Sri Lanka in the 3rd century BCE by Emperor Asoka’s son Arhant Mahinda. This is the second most important religious day for Sri Lankan Buddhist communities. Like the Vesak celebration, Poson celebration also includes Buddhist sermons delivered by famous monks. It concludes with an evening of devotional Buddhist songs composed and sung in honour of the Three Jewels called bhaktigita which were invented within Sri Lankan Buddhism as an element of Buddhist revival which some scholars have identified as features of Protestant Buddhism. In addition to these, there are other festivals. Dhammacakka Celebration commemorates Gautama Buddha’s deliverance of the first sermon, which sets out the most fundamental doctrines of Buddhism. The Kathina held in October is perhaps the most important religious function organised by SSIBC which demonstrates communal aspects of Sri Lankan diaspora Buddhist community. In Theravada Buddhist traditions, kathina celebration marks the end of the three-month-rainretreat. The rain retreat of Theravada monks is a period of intense religious practice and social welfare for one’s own local community. While the lay devotees engage in various religious observances during the three-month period, at the end of the retreat new robes are offered to the monks who enter the retreat. The concluding ceremony is held in October and the annual religious activities include sermons and ceremonial offerings to the 28 Buddhas of the past called Atavisi Buddha Puja. In the last few years, SSIBC has increasingly recognised the contributions that women have made in spreading the teachings of the Buddha. On the last Full Moon day of the year in December in Sri Lanka as well as in SSIBC, Buddhists celebrate the Sanghamitta Day.
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The Sanghamitta Day commemorates the service of Buddhist nuns to world civilisation. Arhant Sanghamitta, one of the daughters of Emperor Asoka and sister of Arhant Mahinda, like her brother received ordination and came to Sri Lanka to establish nuns’ ordination. When Sanghamitta came to Sri Lanka, she also brought a sapling of Bodhi tree from Bodh Gaya to be planted in the ancient city of Anuradhapura, Sri Lanka. SSIBC celebrates the day by inviting visiting speakers.
Service to Home and Diaspora: Sri Lanka Educational, Cultural and Welfare Foundation (SECWF) As an affiliated body of WBF, SECWF serves both for diaspora Sri Lankan community and Buddhists in Sri Lanka. SECWF concentrates on teaching Sinhala for children in London area and organises festivals and exhibitions, cultural events and concerts in promoting Sri Lankan traditional arts in the UK and creating a sense of community for diaspora Sri Lankans. Its greatest contribution to Sri Lanka is the establishment of a Buddhist orphanage for children under the Mudita Foundation. As a registered charity, in association with Department of Probation Service in Sri Lanka, Mudita Foundation runs Mudita Children’s Home located in Galkande, a rural village in Munihirigama, Hettipola, 26 miles away from Kurunegala. Mudita Children’s Home is for juvenile delinquents and orphans. It is the first of its kind run by a Buddhist organisation. Mudita Children’s Home was ceremoniously opened in the midst of a large gathering of chief monks of the Buddhist sangha in Sri Lanka and dignitaries on December 17, 1998. As Venerable Piyadassi maintains the primary objective of Mudita Children’s Home is to “rekindle and reinvigorate” “the lives of unfortunate victims of economic and social deprivation” (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2002:11). It aims to help the children to realise fully their potential and make them valuable assets to themselves and to Sri Lanka. To achieve these objectives, Mudita Children’s Home provides shelter and educational facilities for 52 children aged 4-16. While some of these children are Sri Lankan civil war orphans, others are juvenile delinquents sent by the Sri Lankan Courts.
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Mudita Children’s Home functions under a tight budget. Initially, funds for establishing Mudita Children’s Home were raised through Sinhala and Tamil New Year celebrations held in London by SLECWF. While the first stage of the project cost 3 million rupees for buildings and infrastructure, the second phase which plans to house 40 more children is on the way. In addition to children, the home has a manager, two assistants and a chef. Department of Social Services of Sri Lanka pays 10 rupees per day for the upkeep of each child. The first stage of the project has been highly successful (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2002:11). In addition to supporting the social welfare activities of Mudita Foundation, SECWF also provides several social and educational services for diaspora Sri Lankans. Among them, a dancing class held on every Saturday is an important part. A few years ago, a firm basis for dancing class was given by inviting Professor Mudiyanse Dissanayake (Head, Institute of Aesthetic Studies, University of Kelaniya, Sri Lanka) who trained the young to perform traditional Sri Lankan dancing (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2001:5). Annual social and communal events organised by SECWF are: (i) Food Fair for raising funds for building works at SSIBC; (ii) Sinhala and Tamil New Year. Annually in April, Sinhala and Tamil New Year which falls on April 13-14 is celebrated at Kingsbury High School (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2002:4-5). This celebration gives an ethnic flavour of the diaspora Sri Lankan community since festivities include a cultural show with traditional games, dancing, singing and enjoying food prepared in Sri Lankan style. In the year 2001, the musical concert held on April 21 at Action Town Hall included two famous Sri Lankan vocalists, Mr. Athula Adhikari and Ms. Samitha Mudunkotuwa (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2001:4-5). Unlike other social events organised by SSIBC, these festivities are less Buddhist and more ethnic and cultural. For the diaspora community, this New Year celebration, in particular, gives a sense of belonging to Sri Lanka and creates an identity as Sri Lankan-British living in the UK. It also creates a communal bond between various religious and ethnic groups of Sri Lankans living in the UK. In addition to these social and cultural events, (iii) Summer Fair is held in September and (iv) Mother’s Day is celebrated on March 25.
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SSIBC as a Community Centre What makes SSIBC distinctive? How does SSIBC innovate Theravada Buddhist tradition of Sri Lanka? What are its community oriented programmes? What contribution, does it make to London community? The most innovative aspect of SSIBC is its Devale, literally ‘abode of god(s).’ Sinhalese Buddhists use the Sinhala term, Devale, to identify a shrine dedicated to a god or gods of the Sinhala Buddhist pantheon; it is a place of worship where Buddhist and Hindu devotions are mixed in securing mundane welfare for Sinhala Buddhists who are overwhelmed with difficulties of daily life. In 1993, SSIBC had only a portable Devale. When a Sri Lankan wants to make a puja (offering) for a deity, an altar is set up with paintings of the deity, ritual implements, lamps, flowers and incense. After the puja is performed, paintings and other objects are stored in a safe place to be used in the next occasion. This temporary worship of deities received a permanent status, however, with the arrival of Mr. Leelaratne Kariyawasam at SSIBC. Mr. Kariyawasam assumed the role of the ‘priest of Devale’ (kapurala) becoming popular among the Buddhist devotees of SSIBC as kapumahattaya in honourific Sinhala language. Mr. Kariyawasam is not a Buddhist monk. Like other priests of Devale in Sri Lanka, he also remains a layman. Though the priests of Devale purify themselves before performing rituals, in Sri Lanka, they neither belong to an organised religious order nor are they given the sanctity commonly accorded to Buddhist monks. They are ‘priests’ in the sense of acting as an intermediary between the deities of the Devale and the devotees who seek divine assistance. Because of popularity of deity worship and the demand for a stable abode for the deities, a permanent shrine for deity worship – a new Devale – was established in 1998 (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2000b:42). With new images and ritual implements, deity shrine was established next to the Buddha’s shrine. Reflecting on the construction of Devale, Venerable Piyadassi states that it was added to the temple as a “response to requests made by many” and reiterates that his “devotees while participating daily in Buddha puja, Bodhi puja and Pirith ceremonies, obtain valuable spiritual comfort and satisfaction from the blessings bestowed on them with prayers by Mr. Leelaratne,” the deity priest of the Devale (Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre 2000b: 53). Since the Devale was built, the
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rituals have grown with popularity and on special occasions such as Wednesdays and Saturdays, people come to SSIBC to have rituals performed by Mr. Kariyawasam. Though some Buddhist temples in Sri Lanka such as Bellanvila temple have Devale within the temple premises, Buddhist monks have always been disassociated with the worship of deities.18 Even in the temples where Devale is found, lay men who are recognised as kapurala perform the rituals. What is interesting about SSIBC is that as a Buddhist centre which aims to propagate Theravada Buddhism in the UK has allowed its premises for deity worship in order to fulfil some practical needs of the community. Other Buddhist temples, either in Europe or America, have not accommodated the worship of deities. This makes SSIBC a distinctive Buddhist centre and welfare organisation for Sri Lankan community in London. Its diverse facilities attract a cross section of Sri Lankan population for its festivals and functions. The weekly programme (2002) of SSIBC is a good indication of its wide range of activities for the community.19
Why Do Sri Lankan Buddhists Visit London Temples? Many reasons can be given to explain why Sri Lankans visit Buddhist centres in London. With special reference to SSIBC, it can be said that SSIBC creates a sense of community and belonging. In daily life, since most Sri Lankans work in a British culture and environment, most do not feel at home in their workplace or at home. Once they come to SSIBC or any other Sri Lankan Buddhist centre, either on a
18 In modern Sri Lanka, a monk named Gangodavila Soma has been popular because of his attack on deity worship. Even when Venerable Soma came on a lecture tour in the UK in 2001, while benefiting all hospitality of SSIBC, in his sermon he seems to have attacked Sinhala Buddhist indulgence on deity worship. However, this opposition to deity worship is not new. For example, in the late nineteenth century, two groups of Sri Lankan monks had Devapuja Vadaya – ‘the controversy on the propitiation of deities, see Malalgoda (1976:169-70). 19 Following is the weekly programme (2002) of SSIBC: Daily 7:00 p.m Offerings to the Buddha and Protection Recitation Tuesday 7:30-9:00 p.m Meditation Class Wednesday 7:00 p.m Sinhala Class for Adults Thursday 7:00 p.m Sinhala Class for Adults Thursday 7:00-9:00 p.m Diploma in Buddhist Studies Friday 7:00 p.m Sinhala Class for Adults Saturday 3:00-5:30 p.m Dhamma and Sinhala Class for Children
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weekend or on a special festival day, they have the opportunity to meet and share their experiences with other Sri Lankans who are in a similar situation. They can communicate in Sinhala and have opportunity to partake in Sri Lankan food, drink tea and discuss religious matters, social problems, problems at workplace, problems in visas, problems in Children’s education, problems in creating a Sri Lankan atmosphere at home, in particular, to seek facilities to nurture children in a Sri Lankan way. Buddhist centres such as SSIBC create a social, cultural and religious atmosphere much closer to that of Sri Lanka; they believe that children can pick up the language skills in Sinhala and customs that their parents prefer that their children adopt. Children who were born here to Sri Lankan parents place their British identity first and are interested in British culture and eager to adapt to British way of life.20 Because of this tendency, parents are under pressure to educate them in Sri Lankan things and give them some flavour of Sri Lankan culture when they are still very young. This drive makes parents to bring the children to the Buddhist centre when they visit it. For parents, children’s upbringing seems to be the main concern for visiting Buddhist temples. As Cush (1990:43) puts it “In this country, where Buddhists are a small minority, it is not easy to ensure that children receive a Buddhist upbringing.” Since children learn a great deal on Western culture and Christian heritage in the school, diaspora Sri Lankan Buddhists are “keen” that their “children acquire a good Buddhist background.” This motivates parents to support temples, monks, their Sunday dhamma schools and special Buddhist festivals. Parents, not only support financially and materially but also, volunteer to teach in the Sunday dhamma school as Mr. Anil Goonewardene did in London Buddhist Vihara (Cush 1990:44). To help the parents in this area, SSIBC has created several programmes. While Sunday school provides an opportunity for children to learn Buddhism, Sinhala classes give an opportunity in acquiring language skills. There is another attraction for parents to visit a Buddhist centre like SSIBC. In England, they have no other place to perform rituals
20 Denise Cush (1990:41-51) has interviewed a Sri Lankan Buddhist family with three children living in London since 1960s. In terms of issues that Sri Lankan children born in Britain face today she has noted moral issues related to going on fishing (p. 43).
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that they were used to carry out, in particular, when a parent or relative passes away back in Sri Lanka. It is customary that as Buddhists, Sri Lankans perform rituals for the well-being of the dead. These involve offering food to monks, listening to Buddha’s teachings, and dedicating merit to the departed ones. Dedicating merit to the departed ones is liturgically performed by monks. Even the food given to monks is special because of the Buddhist belief that any gift given to four higher-ordained monks is more meritorious than any other gift. These beliefs are still in the unconscious mind of the many Sri Lankan Buddhists who live in London. Recognition and acceptance are another two drives, which attract Sri Lankan Buddhists to temples. Resident monks are usually very courteous and accept guests with smile and address them respectfully. Monks treat the visitors very generously and make them more comfortable; their self-esteem is boosted. In the rest of UK, though they are intelligentsia, there is no sense of feeling ‘important.’ Another mundane drive is desire for various posts in temple committees and organisations. They seem to be eager to receive a post in a temple organisation, festival committee or in social welfare activities.
Concluding Thoughts This paper has examined religiosity and communal activities of one Sri Lankan diaspora Buddhist community in London – Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre. It has documented its facilities and a variety of services that it provides to Sri Lankan community in London and to those who are interested in Theravada Buddhism in Sri Lanka. It has shown some unique features of the centre and its innovations in adapting to culture and society in Great Britain. My concentration has been on social and religious services of SSIBC and the way it relates to people who visit it. The success of SSIBC relies heavily on the able leadership of the abbot who is very dynamic and practical in addressing issues in the modern world when a diaspora religious community faces to relatively different social and religious contexts. Creating a sense of community in London has been a challenging and a daunting task both for Buddhist monastic and lay people. On the one hand, they have to overcome regional variations, differences and diversity within members of Sri Lankan community who come from different parts of Sri Lanka. On the other hand, they were
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forced to face and deal with different life styles of British society with religious diversity and with tolerant and democratic values. For the Sinhalese of the Sri Lankan community, Buddhism as a religion has become a powerful tool to create a sense of community and belonging as well as a sense of meaning for Sinhala people away from their homes in Sri Lanka. The sense of community and communal activities in SSIBC is rooted on Buddhist heritage in Sri Lanka. In the twenty-first century, retaining interest of Buddhism among growing second generation young Sri Lankan-British will be a challenge for Buddhist monks and for the first generation of Sri Lankans who live in London.
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PART TWO HINDUS
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BECOMING A COLOUR OF THE RAINBOW: THE SOCIAL INTEGRATION OF INDIAN HINDUS IN TRINIDAD, ANALYSED ALONG A PHASE MODEL OF DIASPORA MARTIN BAUMANN
Abstract This paper outlines the 150 years’ history of the diaspora of Indian indentured workers and their offspring in Trinidad. The majority of them are Hindus of various traditions. The developments of creating a home away from home and maintaining their practices and beliefs are contextualised in the theoretical discussion on ‘diaspora’ as an analytical category. In order to demonstrate the term’s analytical heuristics, the paper outlines a phase model of diaspora. The model sets up five ideal-type phases, spanning from the incipient migration and arrival (phases 1), through various levels of adaptation, preservation and conflict (phases 2-4), up to an adaptation to the host society’s structural patterns in the social and economic spheres (phase 5). Apart from the societal and political processes involved, the phase model concentrates on the dynamics of religious change which the transplanted Hindu tradition(s) have undergone in the course of time. Also, of prime importance is the shift of identificational emphasis observable among the members of the Indian diaspora groups (both Hindu and Muslim). It is argued that the preservation of the religious specificity of the migrant group, which often is different from the dominant religious affiliation of the resident society, does not hinder the social integration of the group. Rather, both the keeping of a heritage of difference and at the same time a convergence with the resident society’s socio-economic patterns can go very well together. The Caribbean island of Trinidad faced a proliferation of Hindu temples during the 1950s. Researcher Carolyn Prorok spoke of a “dramatic increase in temple building” (Prorok 1991: 86). The construction of new temples went back to the renewed interest in “India” and in Hindu bhakti devotion, observable among the descendants of the indentured workers shipped from India to the Caribbean during the 19th century. The temples were styled in a new architectural form,
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mirroring Christian churches, relying in fact, however, on a combination of known Hindu temple and assembly forms. This in Hindu terms, innovative temple architecture thus brought forth the “Trinidadian temple” (Prorok 1991: 83). It is characterised by its long hall, filled with numerous rows of benches, and a raised area at the hall’s end, topped with a dome to indicate that it is here the deities reside. Of equal interest is that during this time the temples not only provided further homes for the transplanted gods. However, they also served as places for political agitation of the Indian based political party, the People’s Democratic Party. During the 1950s, political aims and religious concerns appeared indistinguishable, the “Hindu community” being both a religious and a political body of interest. This introductory description relates to the third and in my mind critical phase of the developmental scheme of five phases, which shall be outlined in this paper. It is characteristic that the new architectural construction, making up only one of many religious innovations during this time, coincided with a process of emancipation from the established Indian patterns. It, likewise, expressed the firm wish to both adapt to the dominant society and to acquire a respected place in it. The developments also point to the fact that in specific social situations, an ethnic group’s religious belonging can become very prominent and serve as a vital marker of the group’s identity. This implies as well that the importance of religion might change over time, given both the national and the transnational contexts. The religious belonging might not be of prime importance to a migrant group all the time, but there are times, in which it is significant and this needs to be taken into consideration. This paper shall be subdivided into a brief theoretical part and a descriptive and analytical part. Part I argues to conceive the notion of “diaspora” as an analytical category and offers a working definition of the term. Part II exemplifies the heuristics of this perspective in outlining a developmental scheme of diaspora. Apart from the societal and political processes involved, the phase model shall concentrate on the dynamics of religious change, which the transplanted tradition undergoes in the course of time. Also, of prime importance is the shift of identificational emphasis observable among the members of the diaspora. The dynamics shall be illustrated by the history of Indian immigrants and Hindu traditions in Trinidad.
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Theoretical Considerations: “Diaspora” as an Analytical Category During the last two decades, the notion of “diaspora” has gained a widespread popularity within the social sciences and cultural studies. Many scholars adopted the term as a sociological-geographic category to denote migrant groups and their transnational relationships (Tölölyan 1996). Post-modernists and culture critics employed the notion to refer to a specific type of experience and thinking, coining terms such as ‘hybrid identities’ and ‘double consciousness’ (Clifford 1994, Anthias 1998). Comparatively late, the term has also been taken up by historians of religions. John Hinnells systematised ten factors in a diaspora religion’s change and continuity, differentiating seven areas of research (Hinnells 1996: 38-41, 1997). Apart from outlining the history of Indian Hindus in Trinidad, this paper intends to direct attention to the analytical value and comparative heuristics of the diaspora term. In a previous paper I opted to conceive the notion as an analytical category and transcultural tool, applicable to various contexts and semantic fields (Baumann 2000). In this respect I am closely following anthropologist Benson Saler who holds: “While anthropologists normally devote much attention to native categories in ethnographies of the peoples who utilise those categories, the time has come, I think, to borrow selectively from such categories and experiment with them as transcultural tools. That is, we might try to use them for probing and describing the cultures of peoples who do not employ them, just as we now use religion as a category for probing and describing the cultures of people who have no word and category for religion.” (1993: 263). The same applies to the decontextualising of the diaspora notion from its Judaen-Hellenist coinage. Suggesting a working definition, a diaspora situation shall be qualified by a group of people who perpetuates a recollecting identification with a fictitious or far away existent geographic territory and its cultural-religious traditions. The definition places emphasis on the enduring, often glorifying identification with a cultural-religious point of reference outside the current country of living. Prototypically, i.e. in most, but not all cases, this situation came about by a migration process and involves an identificational difference of the diaspora group to the society’s dominant cultural and religious norms and orientations. This difference, a cultural-religious identification bound to a region and culture outside the current country of residence, constitutes an important aspect of
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the fundamental tripolar inter-relatedness of diaspora group, country of origin and country of residence.1 Based on these systematic considerations, a range of fascinating research topics emerges. A prominent research area is the importance of language attributed, both with regard to the diaspora group’s identity maintenance and the importance of keeping – or not keeping – a “holy language” for the continuation of the religious tradition (Ebaugh and Chafetz 2000). Of contested importance are likewise the means of transmitting the cultural and religious tradition to the next generation; the question of leadership, both in the religious and secular areas; the role and status of women and that of converts; questions of organisational and conceptual changes which the religious tradition inevitably faces in the new, diasporic context. In particular, in the doctrinal sphere processes of universalisation, standardisation and compartmentalisation may occur. In modern diasporic contexts, the religion is less “caught”, but increasingly taught. This may be in Sunday classes, camps or school. Robert Jackson and Eleanor Nesbitt observed in their research on British-Indian Hindu children: ‘“Hinduism’ becomes more of a chosen pursuit, a rich subject for organised children’s classes, camps and festivals, rather than a total way of life. [...] It seems likely that ‘Hinduism’, for the children we studied, is becoming a more discrete area of experience, one which can be deliberately avoided or which can be visited, for cultural enrichment or fellowship with co-religionists, rather than being a total way of life.”2 The purpose and aim of conceiving “diaspora” as an analytical tool and subsequently setting up a phase model of diaspora are at least fourfold: (1) The model functions as a frame which encompasses the various facets and modes of a diaspora group and its transplanted religious tradition while adapting to the new context. Such adaptations may include forms of conservative traditionalisation, pragmatic reinterpretation of times, personnel or rituals as well as innovative creation of new forms and contents. The emphasis most likely varies
1 Note, emphasis is placed on defining the adjective “diasporic” rather than the noun “diaspora”. See in more detail Baumann (2000: 325-328; 2003). Adam McKeown suggested a similar approach (1999: 311). The characteristic triangular relationship has been pointed to in detail by Hettlage (1991), Safran (1991) and Cohen (1997). 2 Jackson and Nesbitt (1993: 179, 182). There is a growing amount of valuable studies on these topics, see Williams (1988), Knott (1991, 1997), Vertovec (1997), Coward, Hinnells and Williams (2000), Baumann, Luchesi and Wilke (2003).
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over time. (2) Differentiating developments taking place over a century or longer into singular phases enables to better account for the factors and particularities which have brought about shifts and changes. This separation reduces the complexity to accountable units (individual phases) and enables to follow up the changes of process in a systematised way. (3) As the model and its historic exemplification will make clear, a socio-economic and political integration of a diaspora group can turn out well without the group surrendering its specific religious identity. Adapting structurally and at the same time keeping a religious difference to the host society’s dominant faiths are no mutually exclusive stances. Rather, preserving the identificational difference can provide successful means in the integration process (4) Finally, in comparative perspective, the model might be taken to locate a diaspora group within one of the specified phases. For example, do members of the diaspora group still primarily identify with their former country of origin (phases 1 and 2)? Or has an increasing number of the diaspora group started to emancipate from the political and religious norms of the former country of origin and now rather emphasises to become a full member of the society they live in (phase 3)? Such a locating provides heuristic insights and directs attention to facets and factors hitherto unnoticed within the overall developmental process.
A Phase Model of Diaspora and Indian Hindus in Trinidad A diasporic situation does not remain the same over time. The mutual relations between diaspora group, country of origin and country of residence change constantly, at times slowly, at times rapidly. In contrast to the prevalent view that the nature of a diaspora group inherently is conservative and traditional, keeping out all changes, it is necessary to develop an understanding that adaptive modifications take place all the time. Some of these changes are striven for, others are reluctantly admitted. Sociologist Robin Cohen justly qualified a diaspora – apart from its negative connotations of homesickness and oppression – as a “site of creativity” (1997: 4). To capture these transitions in time, both of the diaspora group itself and of the tripolar relations, an analytical phase model of diaspora can be theoretically fruitful. Scholars have separated the phases on basis of various criteria.
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Some took orientation by the generational shift observable, i.e. the generation of the immigrating people (1st generation), their children (2nd generation), their grand-children (3rd generation) and so forth. At times, however, it is difficult to delineate such generational phases, especially so if the process of immigration continued several decades (see the example below). Another differentiation of phases has been proposed by waves of immigration (e.g. Knott 1991: 95-98). Other researchers have taken as the prime criteria changes in the legal sphere, e.g. change of immigration laws, for example during the 1960s in the U.S.A., Canada and Australia. Last but not least others emphasised internal changes of the diaspora group itself, e.g. the frequency of building temples (Prorok 1991). In contrast to such primarily historic approaches the suggested model bases its differentiation on abstracting and typifying significant characteristics. The model consists of five phases of varying length. The scheme spans a time of some 150 years. The phases singled out should be taken as ideal types, primarily differentiated for analytical and heuristic reasons in order to enhance an understanding of the complex situations involved. The model should neither be understood in strict chronological terms nor in terms of successive stages. Rather, the model aims to condense the main trend of observable developments and to systematise them. As follows, the exposition shall state the analytically selected processes in general, abstract terms first. Then, these patterns shall be briefly illustrated by example of the history of Indians and Hindu traditions in Trinidad. In fact, I developed the phase model on the basis of studies related to the socio-political incorporation of indentured workers from India in the Carribean. This history was compared with developments as outlined in studies on German migrants and their history in Chile in the 19th and 20th century. In the analytical comparison, significant parallels and typical issues emerged.3
3 In comparative view, Speckmann’s fivefold differentiation of the social incorporation of Indian workers in Dutch Guyana (1965: 262-267) and Waldmann’s fivefold “phase scheme” of German emigrants in Chile (1982) have been vital. In addition, main studies on indentured Indian workers in the Carribean referred to have been, La Guerre (1985), Vertovec (1992), Samaroo et al. (1995).
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Phase 1: Arrival, Reorganising Social and Cultural Life The migration process and arrival in the new country necessarily constitutes the first phase. Pressing problems for the newly arrived migrants are coping with strangeness and homesickness, learning the host country’s language, starting to understand the everyday style of life and finding employment. Following this stage of contact and initial settlement, which might be constructed as a phase in its own right, subsequent steps to arrange life are taken. By and by, the migrants employ measures to reconstruct, even to the smallest extent, ways of social and cultural life known from home. Certainly, the basis for this reconstruction is the country of emigration. During this phase, only few relations exist with the host society, mainly constituted by work relations. The focus of interest and identification clearly rests on the migrants’ own group, strengthened by experiences of feeling foreign and societally excluded and discriminated. The family, if part of the migration, receives primary attention. Forms of religious practice mainly take place in the home. If men are the first and more or less the only ones to have migrated, religious observances are hardly followed at all. Indian Hindus in Trinidad: Colonial agents of the British Empire had recruited Indians to work on the sugar-cane plantations in Trinidad. In the course of this indentured workers program, from 1845-1917 some 144.000 Indians arrived in Trinidad. The workers had to fulfil a five-year work period and then could either return to India or stay in Trinidad. Most of the later “free Indians” opted to stay, especially so as the option arose to exchange the return trip to India for a small plot of own land. Thus, from the 1870s onwards, former indentured workers increasingly became residential and smallholders. The farmers founded Indian villages in the so-called ‘sugar belt’, the West and South of Trinidad, being thus geographically separated from the main area more to the North. These “East Indians”, as they were named, strove to establish social and cultural forms known to them from India. In modified forms, the extended family was recreated, likewise the pancayat, a village jurisdiction. The caste system, however, attenuated more and more, due to the levelling of restrictions on the long ship journey and during plantation work. Only brahmins, members of the ritually highest caste, aimed and also achieved to preserve their status. It was they as religious authorities that increasingly monopolised the forms of devotion, ritual and doc-
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trinal interpretation. In this respect, Peter van der Veer and Steven Vertovec spoke of a “Brahmanisation of Hindu traditions” (1991) in the Caribbean. This process went hand in hand with the marginalisation of so-called popular Hindu practices and elements. In this early phase already, the transplanted Hindu traditions were modified and subjected to change. Nonetheless such reconstuctions, “for the Indians, religion provided psychological protection, a sense of self-worth with which to arm themselves against contempt of the society. The Pandits and the Imams became influential leaders of the Indian community because they could offer this kind of psychological aid.” (Brereton 1981: 112). Certainly it should not go unmentioned that despite the vast majority of Indians being Hindu (86%, decreasing due to Christian missionary endeavours), a substantial and continuing number of Indians had been Muslims (12%-15%).4
Phase 2: Intensifying Relations Between Diaspora Group and Country of Emigration The second phase is characterised by processes of becoming established more firmly in the adopted country. The myth of return has declined, perspectives of staying for a longer term come to the fore. A proliferation of forming social, educational and religious institutions in one’s specific tradition is observable. The migrants set up churches, temples, mosques and other places of worship. These form rally points for both religious and social gathering.5 The growing up of the next generation as well as the awareness that a return appears more and more unlikely are driving forces to sacralise new places for God and gods and to become established for long. At the same time, these endeavours underscore that the migrant group resists pressures to give up one’s religious-cultural specifics and heritage. Warding off 4 See in detail for this time also Brereton (1981, 1985), Brereton and Dookeran (1982), Klass (1991: 14-27), Laurence (1994), Ramesar (1994). Changes in Hindu traditions have been analysed by van der Veer and Vertovec (1991), Vertovec (1992: 106-127; 1996). For the Indian Muslims respectively Trinidadian Muslims, see Prorok and Hemmasi (1993), Parmasad (1995: 51-52), Samaroo (1996). Here and in the following, it will be referred to Trinidad only, not to Trinidad and Tobago, the now official nation-state. The two islands were joint administratively in 1889. In Tobago only very few Indians reside. 5 Instructive case studies are provided in ter Haar (1998) and Warner and Wittner (1998).
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assimilation, members of the diaspora group intensify bonds with the country of origin. Typically, the migrants invite religious authorities from the former home country in order to teach and to legitimise the newly established places of devotion. The focus of attention clearly rests with the country of origin. In colonial Trinidad, speaking roughly of the first half of the 20th century, Indians clearly remained at the bottom of the socio-economic-cultural ladder of society. The Indian segment constituted a third of the Trinidadian population, some 86.000 people in 1901 (31.5%) and some 196.000 people in 1946 (35.1%). Nevertheless, “Indians were considered to be separate and apart from the host society. Despite their increasing numerical strength, the Indians were regarded as an exotic group, marginal to Trinidad society, insufficiently integrated to be a part of it.” (Brereton 1979: 177). Despite this overt marginalisation, those few Indians who had acquired a British-Christian education and become “westernised”, formed first own societies and produced newspapers in Hindi. In particular, as social upward climbers they spoke out against the negative image of the “heathen Coolie” and worked on acquiring a more respected place in society. Among these urban, educated “East Indians”, a growing self-confidence strove for claiming rights and own representations. Also, since about 1910, well-versed swamis and gurus from India visited the Caribbean. They taught Hindu principles and opposed Christian missionary efforts. Hindus built temples in increasing numbers (Prorok 1991). During the 1930s and 1940s, interest in India intensified tremendously as the independence movement in so-called Motherland India grew strong. In public rallies and processions, Indians in Trinidad sung the Indian national anthem and carried the Indian flag. As Trinidadian historian Kusha Haraksingh tells us: “It was a time when Indians felt they were on the march”, both literally and socio-politically (1988: 119). The identificational focus distinctly rested on India, both with regard to political aspirations and religious-cultural bondage.
Phase 3: The Focus of Identification Turns In phase three of the developmental model of diaspora, a crucial shift of the focus of attention is observable. The country of origin receives less
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and less attention, whereas the host country moves to the fore. In particular, this transition takes place if demanded rights are granted to the group and the socially marginalised people gradually become respected and accepted. Processes may run as follows: Some members of the former immigration group have climbed up the ladder of social prestige, often at the expense of social and religious assimilation, i.e. change of name, conversion. They now opt to achieve socio-political participation. This demand for participation may occur during phase 2 already, voiced by individual spokespersons. In this current phase, however, the call for participation receives support on a larger basis. In particular, an end of the social marginalisation of the group is called for and political rights, own schools, possibilities for careers and a share in the resources of the society are called for. The demand to exercise rights and freedom may stir up conflicts; tensions may arise with the host society. On the other hand, if the demands are conceded to the aspiring group of people, an increased convergence of the (former) immigrant group to the host society takes place. The socio-political concessions nurture a rising readiness on the side of the diaspora group to adapt and to focus on the requirements of the country of residence. In a parallel way, the shift of attention takes relevance for the shape of religious life. Former tight bonds are loosened, they become optional and weaker. Instead, the diaspora group aims to create its own interpretation and contextual understanding how religious norms and practices can be lived in the socio-cultural environment, different from home. Only such adapted forms and contextualised interpretations would ensure the continuity of the heritage and its loyal and self-convinced practice within the next generation. New interpretations are proposed, innovations are ventured and elements of tradition are selected and reinterpreted. Both politically and religiously, the diaspora group strives to gain an increased independence from the norms and expectations posed by the (former) home country. During this phase, the “dilemma of the diaspora” (Hettlage 1991: 20) becomes obvious: On the one hand, the diaspora members aim to stay true and faithful to the former, traditional way of life and its cultural-religious heritage. As it is voiced, only a conservative maintenance of the established and known customs and forms would safeguard a survival of the diaspora group’s uniqueness. On the other hand, members wish to become socio-politically integrated in the society, which they have for chosen for permanent residence. Adaptive forms of cultural and religious expressions should guarantee the
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continuity and handing on to the generations to come. It is in this phase that splits and schisms mirror the ambiguous situation, especially if the group is large. Some stress to perpetuate rituals and doctrinal education in a rather conservative way, others opt to foster adaptations and innovations. With regard to Indians in Trinidad, this third phase took place during the late 1940s to the early 1960s. The happiness and pride about India’s independence in 1947 changed to a disillusionment about that country. Despite all political rhetoric, no Indian politician took interest in the sorry plight of the mariginalised overseas Indians. Although Indians had lived in Trinidad for a century and constituted, with some 200.000 people, a third of the population, they still enjoyed no political say or administrative representation. “East Indians” still comprised by far the most illiterate and the most economically depressed ethnic group in the society (Singh 1985: 48, Ramesar 1994: 141). However, since the mid-1940s, in the forerun of Trinidad’s independence in 1962, social and political concessions were granted to the “East Indians”. In 1946, adult franchise was given on a general basis, including the “East Indians”. Likewise, Hindu marriages were officially recognised since that year. Hoping to win the then needed Indian political support, the demand for own Hindu and Muslim schools, voiced for a long time, was conceded. Last but not least, Indians were allowed to form own political parties. Bhadase Sagan Maraj (19201971), “a ‘rag to riches’ success of the Brahmin caste” (Singh 1985: 54) and leader of the 1950 formed central Hindu organisation Sanatan Dharm Maha Sabha, succeeded to establish schools in the rural, Indian based regions of Trinidad. In these schools, children were taught in the common British based curriculum and the English language. According to Hindu activist Ken Parmasad “the school building program was a massive effort in self-mobilisation and community service [...]. The schools became the symbol of a people who through their own efforts and sacrifices, were determined to overcome the limitations of their circumstances.” (1995: 50). Contrary to the hitherto unavoidable exposition to Christian (missionary) education, the schools taught Hindu principle, based on a seven-point declaration of faith. The Creed formed the final point of the continual process of doctrinally and ritually standardising the heterogen Hindu traditions.6 6 See on this Vertovec (1989; 1992: 108-127) and van der Veer and Vertovec (1991).
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In the political field, Maraj established the People’s Democratic Party, striving to gain a say in Trinidad. The party, however, was not only plainly ethnic, i.e. Indian based, but also overtly Hindu in orientation. The unconcealed party politics by Maraj and the numerous brahmin priests in the newly built Hindu temples alienated the Muslim and Christian Indians. These constituted almost a third of the Indian population at that time. The split of the Indian segment and vote along religious lines left the political representation without a victory. All these activities, whether it is on the political, educational or religious level, unmistakably showed that the focus of attention and identification had shifted decidedly. It was no more the idealised India, but Trinidad and the increased opportunities due to granted concessions, which stepped up as prime focus of concern and identification. It was exactly during the 1950s and early 1960s that in religious matters lasting innovations were brought forward: Not only did the leaders of the dominant Hindu organisation create a common Prayer Book and an essentialising Creed, unknown in India. It was also during this time that Hindus founded numerous new temples and established a new architectural form of the Hindu temple. The so-called Trinidadian temples, which evolved during this time, were styled in their architectural form along Christian churches. They relied in fact, however, on a combination of known Hindu temple and assembly forms. These Trinidadian temples have a long hall, filled with numerous rows of benches. At the hall’s end we find a raised area, topped with a dome to indicate the place where the deities reside. The temples provided a weekly service on Sunday morning. The participants no longer sit on the floor, but on benches, listening to a sermon and jointly singing hymns of devotion. The selfconscious emancipation from the Indian model was coupled with a close orientation along Christian patterns, both efforts aiming to gain respectability for the Hindu tradition in Trinidad (Prorok 1991: 8287).
Phase 4: On-going Structural Adaptation Returning to the diaspora phase model, developments in phase four depend to a large extent on the responses the host society has given to the diaspora group on their demand for participation and rights in
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the phase before. If educational and professional options are granted and admission is given to climb up the ladder of social prestige, the process of structural adaptation and acculturation, started in phase 3, continues, often at an accelerated speed. If, however, such options are not granted, despite the diaspora group’s rapprochement, reactions on the side of the diaspora group differ from obsequious retreat into one’s religious-cultural niche on the one hand, to protest and sociopolitical conflicts on the other. Such clashes and struggles are interpreted more often than not as cultural conflicts. A sense of foreignness on the one side and legitimate sense of belonging to the country on the other become obvious in public disputes. In particular, interpreted as cultural conflicts, the debate is linked to religious and cultural symbols, norms and orientations and thus takes on a heightened commitment on both sides. Custodians of the society’s status quo, who deny a share of social resources, demand that the diaspora group should not only structurally, but also identificationally adapt and assimilate in order to have a right to be fully accepted. In this context, the notion of diaspora can acquire a politicised meaning as it points to the diaspora group’s difference of religious-cultural identification. Members of the diaspora group, most often ordinary citizens of the state of residence for long, refer to the country’s rights of freedom of expression, which should apply to all members of the state. In the religious sphere, the spectrum from conservative-traditional to adaptive-innovative interpretations as means to continuing and maintaining the religious-cultural uniqueness of the diaspora group will be broadened and deepened. For example, spokespersons having personally visited the country of origin, may strongly opt to return to the traditional customs and practices. They condemn adaptations and changes in life-style or religious observance. These are considered as lukewarm compromises. Furthermore, additional and new traditions may arrive in the country of residence and establish a following among the diaspora group. This and on-going adaptive innovations further enrich the religious spectrum. In Trinidad, the 1950s with their structural convergence of the Indian segment and their religious innovations were followed by a period of social-political tiredness and religious disinterest in the late 1960s. Quite a number of anthropologists forecasted the end of Hinduism in Trinidad. The increasing inroad of Pentecostalism among rural Hindus (not among Muslims) in addition accelerated the observ-
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able decline. “Throughout the island Hindus felt themselves to be ‘on the defensive’ against evangelical Christian criticism. This attitude contributed to an overall sense of decline among Hindus” (Vertovec 1992: 124). However, in the wake of the Black-Power Movement a self-conscious Hindu youth movement came to the fore. Students, those who had received their education in the Hindu schools established in the 1950s, toured the Indian villages in order “to propagate Indian culture, to re-awake the apathetic people”.7 Furthermore, the oil boom of the 1970s and its loads of surplus monies facilitated to bring forth a Hindu revival in the late 1970s. The new richness in Trinidadian society, which markedly held off conflicts between the two equally strong ethnic groups of Blacks and Indians (both 40% of the population), also enabled Indians to acquire more prestigious jobs and to gain both socially and religiously an increasing share in the society.8
Phase 5: Becoming a Colour of the Rainbow Phase five, finally, depends on the developments having taken place in the previous phase. If the host society has granted access to prestigious jobs and power, the process of structural adaptation and acculturation of the diaspora group continues to a level of indistinguishability of its members from those of the host country. This relates to life-style, educational attitudes and common ideals. In particular, as can be observed in relevant cases, members of the diaspora group highly identify with the country’s achievements. National symbols and ideals feature high. The country, experienced as foreign by the ancestors, has become the new home and the centre of identificational attention. This adoption of structural patterns in the social and economic spheres does not entail assimilation in the religious sphere. Rather, members of the diaspora group continue to perpetuate the specifics of their religion, giving public evidence of the peculiarities in big festivals and prestigious buildings. The formerly debated alternative to become either an assimilated member of the host society or to stay Ken Parmasad in an interview with me on 12.11.1996, St. Augustine, Trinidad. On oil boom and Hindu revival, see in detail Vertovec (1990b; 1992: 136-161), Klass (1991: 53-58). For the general socio-economic developments, see Ryan (1988). 7 8
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apart, keeping one’s heritage, has been resolved to a simultaneous ‘both ... and‘. This parallelism and convergence is shared and accepted on the side of both the host society and the diaspora group. In Trinidad, this fifth phase of intensified socio-economic adaptation and national integration of Trinidadian Indians was so to speak topped in the political sphere: In 1995, the Indian and Hindu Basdeo Panday became Prime Minister of the Republic of Trinidad and Tobago. Exactly in its 150th year of presence, a member of the century-long down-trodden segment of Trinidadian society was voted to fill the most prestigious position in society. Also during the 1990s, Indian traditions have acquired a respected place in the hitherto Christian-Black-Creole dominated public domain. This is evidenced by way of splendidly built, representational Muslim mosques and Hindu temples or by way of commemorating main religious festivals as national holidays. No more pejoratively categorised as “East Indians”, Indo-Trinidadians strongly identify themselves with Trinidad, its nation, people and land. Although stereotypes and tensions among the Black and Indian segments have by no means vanished completely, the willingness to form one ‘rainbow nation’ stands out. Last but not least, this became apparent in the program of the Indo-Trinidadian radio FM 103 (inaugurated in 1993), as manager Surujrattan Rambachan emotionally recalls: “When FM 103 started official broadcasting, a significant event took place. The National Anthem of T&T [Trinidad and Tobago] was sung in Hindi and recorded with the use of the Tabla, the Harmonium, Sitar and pan. Jit Samaroo and Mungal Patasar [...] in that one act showed that national unity is possible, that cultural crossovers are possible without having to ‘give up’ our cultural traditions or values. In that one act, a veritable statement of presence, of loyalty to nation, of identity with a country’s aspirations and traditions was accomplished, FM 103 was part of this history.”9 In the religious sphere, to sum up the developments, a proliferation of new Hindu groups, organisations and movements has come to the fore since the mid-1980s. The Maha Sabha is no longer the all dominating organisation. New groups and organisations such as Swaha or especially the Sathya Sai Baba movement have been able to acquire a
9 Quote Rambachan (1994: 22). For Basdeo Panday and him becoming Prime Minister, see Ragoonath (1997). For the social and political incorporation of Indians, see Yelvington (1993) and various authors in Samaroo et al. (1995). For the complexities of forming an ‘Indian identity’ among Indo-Trinidadians, see Korom (2000).
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growing membership and interest. All, except the Maha Sabha, are represented at information stands centrally at the Divali Nagar site (near Chaguanas, West central Trinidad). The Hindu divali festival in Autumn is celebrated on a national scale at this festival site, attracting some 10.000 visitors. And these visitors do not only come from the Indian fold. In fact, the divali festival has developed to a national event on equal par with Christmas and the Muslim Id al-Fitr festival. Commercialised to advertise and spread one’s name, businesses, banks, insurances and companies sent out greetings to the ‘Hindu community’. During divali time, a popular fast food company even offers “The Meatiest tasting Veggie Burger ever!”10
Conclusion This rather rough phase model does not primarily present an integration model, which might be developed there from. Rather, in an ideal type and basic way it aims to draw attention to both the complexity of a diasporic situation, constituted by the tripolar relations, and possible changes occurring. It certainly is easy to critically object that the scheme has been modelled in too close a way along the Trinidadian case. This is frankly admitted, especially so with regard to the last phase. However, it has to be born in mind that the abstracted and typified processes have been developed on the basis of two quite distinct socio-political contexts and emigrant groups – that of Indians in the Caribbean and that of Germans in Chile. Apparent similarities of processes and close correspondences of shifts are observable in these different diasporic contexts. Certainly the model can be sub-differentiated and be more precise in certain parts. In particular, the initial phase might be sub-differentiated, as the arrival of women and children appear to be a crucial 10 Advertisement by Royal Castle in Trinidad Guardian, 26.10.1996, p. 19. The new plurality of Hindu traditions becomes apparent not only in the display stalls at the Divali Nagar site, but also in the listing of some 40 groups and organisations in Samaroo et al. (1995: 101) and in the annual Divali supplement of the national newspaper Trinidadian Guardian. For the Sathya Sai Baba organisation, see Klass (1991: 116-172). The non-Maha Sabha fold can be estimated to constitute almost a fifth of the about 265.000 Hindus in the mid-1990s, see: Baumann (2003: 221-225). Among the entire 1.3 million population of Trinidad and Tobago, Hindus make up 23,7%, Muslims 5,8%, Christians in total 68,2%, according to the census 1990; Annual Statistical Digest, Port of Spain, Trinidad (1994: 10).
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factor in a diaspora’s development (Williams 1988, Knott 1991, 1997). Also, developments within a diaspora group and its relations to both the host society and the (former) country and culture of origin may end in phase 2 or 1 already. Historic cases have shown this, e.g. Greek colonies in the Archaic period (Boardman 1973, Buckley 1996). In addition, a diaspora group may vanish by way of acculturating and then finally assimilating structurally and religiously-culturally into the host society. The case of Huguenot diasporas in various states of Europe and in the New World and their gradual dissolution may provide cases of such an end of diaspora (Brandenburg 1990, Fletcher 1992). In this paper, only one trend of development has been delineated, inviting to conceptualise divergent developments in phases four and five in succeeding models, based on other experiences and histories. Finally, in due course a sixth phase is likely to ensue, as in the Trinidadian case the increasing interest in the Sai Baba and other Indian Hindu traditions points to processes of ‘re-diasporisation’. Learning from the Caribbean is not the full message, however. Apart from the model’s heuristics in structural terms, the model points to the important fact that identificational differences in religious terms do not impede or prevent processes of integration and national identification. As proposed, an identificational difference can go hand in hand with a structural adaptation and acculturation. Even more, as empirical studies argue, involvement in cultural-religious affairs, i.e. participation in the activities of a diaspora temple, mosque or gurdwara, may contribute to adapt more quickly to the new context (e.g., Hinnells 1996: 266-269, Warner and Wittner 1998, Nökel 2002). Religious institutions provide the solid base of cultural-religious identification and it is from that self-conscious base that migrant and diaspora people take actions to cope successfully with the demands of the host society.
Bibliography Anthias, F. (1998). ‘Evaluating “Diaspora”: Beyond Ethnicity?’ Sociology 32 (3): 557-580. Baumann, M. (2000). ‘Diaspora: Genealogies of Semantics and Transcultural Comparison.’ Numen 47 (3): 313-337. —. (2003). Alte Götter in neuer Heimat. Religionswissenschaftliche Analyse zu Diaspora am Beispiel von Hindus auf Trinidad. Marburg: Diagonal.
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—. and B. Luchesi, A Wilke (2003). ‘Kontinuität und Wandel von Religion in fremdkultureller Umwelt.’ In Martin Baumann, Brigitte Luchesi, Annette Wilke (eds.). Tempel und Tamilen in zwieter Heimat. Hindus aus Sri Lanka im deutschsprachigen und skandinavischen Raum, 3-39. Würzburg: Ergon. Boardman, J. (1973). The Greeks Overseas. The Archaeology of their Early Colonies and Trade. 2nd ed. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Brandenburg, I. and K. (1990). Hugenotten. Geschichte eines Martyriums. Leipzig: Edition Leipzig. Brereton, B. (1979). Race Relations in Colonial Trinidad 1870-1900. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. (1981). A History of Modern Trinidad 1783-1962. Kingston, Port of Spain, London: Heinemann. —. (1985). ‘The Experience of Indentureship: 1845-1917.’ In John G. La Guerre (ed.), Calcutta to Caroni. The East Indians in Trinidad, 21-30. 2nd enl. edition, St. Augustine, Trinidad: University of the West Indies. —. and W. Dookeran (eds.). (1982). East Indians in the Caribbean. Colonialism and the Struggle for Identity. New York, London: Kraus. Buckley, T. (1996) Aspects of Greek History 750-323 BC. A Source-based Approach. London; New York: Routledge. Clifford, J. (1994). ‘Diasporas.’ Cultural Anthropology 9 (3): 302-338. Cohen, R. (1997). Global Diasporas: An Introduction. London: UCL Press. Coward, H. and J.R. Hinnells, R.B. Williams (eds.). (2000). The South Asian Religious Diaspora in Britain, Canada, and the United States. New York: State University of New York Press. Ebaugh, H.R. und J. Saltzman Chafetz (2000). ‘Dilemmas of Language in Immigrant Congregations: The Tie that Binds or the Tower of Babel?’ Review of Religious Research 41 (4): 432-452. Fletscher, J. (1992). ‘The Huguenot Diaspora.’ Diaspora. A Journal of Transnational Studies 2 (2): 251-260. Haraksingh, K. (1988). ‘Structure, Process and Indian Culture in Trinidad.’ Immigrants and Minorities 7 (1): 113-122. Hettlage, R. (1991). ‘Diaspora: Umrisse einer soziologischen Theorie.’ Österreichische Zeitschrift für Soziologie 16 (3): 4-24. Hinnells, J.R. (1996). Zoroastrians in Britain. Oxford: Oxford University Press. —. (1997). ‘Comparative Reflections on South Asian Religion in International Migration.’ In John Hinnells (ed.). A New Handbook of Living Religions, 819-847. Oxford, Cambridge, Mas.: Blackwell. Jackson, R. and E. Nesbitt (1993). Hindu Children in Britain. Stoke-on-Trent: Trentham. Klass, M. (1991). Singing with Sai Baba. The Politics of Revitalization in Trinidad. Boulder, San Francisco, Oxford: Westview Press. Knott, K. (1991). ‘Bound to Change? The Religions of South Asians in Britain.’ In Steven Vertovec (ed.). Aspects of South Asian Diaspora, Papers on India, Vol. 2, Part 2, 86-111. Delhi: Oxford University Press.
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—. (1997). ‘The Religions of South Asian Communities in Britain.’ In John Hinnells (ed.). A New Handbook of Living Religions, 756-774. Oxford, Cambridge, Mas.: Blackwell. Korom, F.J. (2000). ‘Contested Identities and the Uses of Tradition among Indo-Trinidadians.’ In Pertti J. Anttonen (ed.). Folklore, Heritage Politics and Ethnic Diversity. A Festschrift for Barbro Klein, 86-99. Botkyrka, Tumba: Multicultural Centre. La Guerre, J.G. (ed.). (1985). Calcutta to Caroni. The East Indians in Trinidad. 2nd enl. ed., St. Augustine, Trinidad: University of the West Indies. Laurence, K.O. (1994). A Question of Labour. Indentured Immigration into Trinidad and British Guiana 1875-1917. Kingston: Ian Randle Publ., London: James Currey Publ. McKeown, A. (1999). ‘Conceptualizing Chinese Diasporas, 1842 to 1949.’ The Journal of Asian Studies 58 (2): 306-337. Nökel, S. (2002). Die Töchter der Gastarbeiter und der Islam. Zur Soziologie alltagsweltlicher Anerkennungspolitiken. Eine Fallstudie. Bielefeld: transcript. Parmasad, K.V. (1995). ‘Religion and the Indian Community.’ In Brinsley Samaroo et al. (eds.). In Celebration of 150 Years of the Indian Contribution to Trinidad and Tobago, Vol. 2, 48-57. Arima, Trinidad: D.QuentrallThomas. Prorok, C. (1991). ‘Evolution of the Hindu Temple in Trinidad.’ Caribbean Geography 3 (2): 73-93. —. and M. Hemmasi (1993). ‘East Indian Muslims and Their Mosques in Trinidad: A Geography of Religious Structures and the Politics of Ethnic Identity.’ Caribbean Geography 4 (1): 28-48. Ragoonath, B. (1997). ‘An Indian Prime Minister for Trinidad and Tobago: How the UNC Won the 1995 Elections.’ In Frankie B. Ramadar (ed.). Race Relations in Trinbago: Afro and Indo-Trinbagonians, and Basdeo Panday, 97113. Queens, New York: The East Indian Diaspora Committee Inc. Rambachan, S. (1994). ‘FM 103 Stereo. Peace to the Indian Heart ...’ Divali Nagar Souvenir Brochure. 21-22. Ramesar, M.D. Soares (1994). Survivors of Another Crossing. A History of East Indians in Trinidad, 1880-1946. St. Augustine, Trinidad: University of the West Indies. Ryan, S. (ed.) (1988). Trinidad and Tobago. The Independence Experience 19621987. St. Augustine, Trinidad: Institute of Social and Economic Research ,University of the West Indies. Safran, W. (1991). ‘Diasporas in Modern Societies: Myths of Homeland and Return.’ Diaspora. A Journal of Transnational Studies 1 (1): 83-99. Saler, B. (1993). Conceptualizing Religion: Immanent Anthropologists, Transcendent Natives, and Unbounded Categories. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Samaroo, B. et al. (eds.) (1995). In Celebration of 150 Years of the Indian Contribution to Trinidad and Tobago. Arima, Trinidad: D. Quentrall-Thomas. —. (1996). ‘Early African and East Indian Muslims in Trinidad and Toba-
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go.’ In David Dabydeen and Brinsley Samaroo (eds.). Across the Dark Waters. Ethnicity and Indian Identity in the Caribbean, 201-212. London, Basingstoke: MacMillan. Singh, K. (1985). ‘Indians and the Larger Society.’ In John G. La Guerre (ed.). Calcutta to Caroni. The East Indians in Trinidad, 33-60. 2nd enl. ed., St. Augustine, Trinidad: University of the West Indies. Speckmann, J. D. (1965). Marriage and Kinship among the Indians of Surinam. Assen: van Gorcum. ter Haar, G. (ed.) (1998). Strangers and Sojourners. Religious Communities in the Diaspora. Leuven: Peeters. Tölölyan, K. (1996). ‘Rethinking Diaspora(s): Stateless Power in the Transnational Moment.’ In Diaspora. A Journal of Transnational Studies 5 (1): 3-36. van der Veer, P.T. and S. Vertovec (1991). ‘Brahmanism Abroad: On Caribbean Hinduism as an Ethnic Religion.’ Ethnology 30 (2): 149-166. Vertovec, S. (1989). ‘Hinduism in Diaspora: The Transformation of Tradition in Trinidad.’ In Günther D. Sontheimer, Hermann Kulke (eds.). Hinduism Reconsidered, 152-179. New Delhi: Manohar. —. (1990a). ‘Religion and Ethnic Ideology: The Hindu Youth Movement in Trinidad.’ Ethnic and Racial Studies 13 (2): 225-249. —. (1990b). ‘Oil Boom and Recession in Trinidad Indian Villages.’ In Colin G. Clarke, Ceri Peach, Steven Vertovec (eds.). South Asians Overseas: Migration and Ethnicity, 89-111. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. (1992). Hindu Trinidad. Religion, Ethnicity and Socio-Economic Change. London: Macmillan. —. (1996). ‘“Official” and “Popular“”Hinduism in the Caribbean: Historical and Contemporary Trends in Surinam, Trinidad and Guyana.’ In David Dabydeen and Brinsley Samaroo (eds.). Across the Dark Waters. Ethnicity and Indian Identity in the Caribban, 108-130. London, Basingstoke: Macmillan. —. (1997). ‘Three Meanings of ‘Diaspora’, Exemplified among South Asian Religions.’ Diaspora. A Journal of Transnational Studies 6 (3): 277-299. Waldmann, P. (1982). ‘Kulturkonflikt und Anpassungszwang. Ausgangslage und Entwicklung der deutschen Einwandererkolonien in Südchile.’ In Justin Stagl (ed.). Aspekte der Kultursoziologie, 239-251, Berlin: Reimer. Warner, R.S., and J.G. Wittner (eds.) (1998). Gatherings in Diaspora. Religious Communities and the New Immigration. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Williams, R.B. (1988). Religions of Immigrants from India and Pakistan: New Threads in the American Tapestry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Yelvington, K.A. (ed.) (1993). Trinidad Ethnicity. London: Macmillan.
THE HINDU DIASPORA*) IN THE NETHERLANDS: HALFWAY BETWEEN LOCAL STRUCTURES AND GLOBAL IDEOLOGIES. CORSTIAAN J. G. VAN DER BURG
Abstract The situation of the Surinam Hindustanis in the Netherlands gives a perspective of what happened to a community who has been separated for a long time from its country of provenance. Their history reveals a succession of changes in their social and cultural situation, which also the Hindus amongst them had to deal with. With the help of a structure typology and a factor analysis we found that these changes revealed a set of dynamics controlling a number of varying adaptive strategies with their concomitant identifications and ideologies in particular with regard to religion.
1. Introduction On the 25th of November 2000 Surinam celebrated its 25 years of independence from Dutch rule. The Hindustanis (an early name for North Indians), the biggest ethnic group in the Surinam of the seventies, looked with mixed feelings upon the events of those days. At that time about half of the Hindustani community fled to the Netherlands because of Surinam’s uncertain future. Today this group has been taken – practically without being noticed – into the Dutch society. Compared to other ethnic groups the community is not conspicuous either by number or by enduring public conflict situations or confrontations. How is this group doing after a 25 years stay in the Netherlands?
*) The term ‘diaspora Hinduism’ is used here for reasons of efficiency – rather than for its analytical or heuristic qualities – to simply denote the religion of those Hindu communities who have settled outside India from the middle of the 19th century onward, and not to attribute some common peculiarities shared by these disparate (Vertovec, 1995: 144, 146) religions.
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And what can we tell about its future? We limit ourselves to the Hindus, making up more than three quarters of the Hindustanis who migrated to the Netherlands at the time. Since it will make no sense in this context to study a religion abstracted from its specific social setting (cf. Fitzgerald, 1990: 115), the history of the community of Hindustanis in Surinam and the Netherlands will be of equal concern in this article, not just their religion. Before we enter into details, it is important to keep in mind that this group’s starting position as an immigrant community was significantly different from comparable immigrant groups like those of Turkish and Moroccan origin who arrived about a decade earlier. First, the Hindustanis with their century long migration history in Surinam entered the Netherlands as so called ‘twice migrants’. This meant that the changes in their diasporic existence had for the major part taken place in fact before they reached the Netherlands, which means that we cannot leave this crucial period out of consideration in our analysis. It also means that they had already been acquainted with ‘Dutch’ governmental, legal and social institutions and arrangements, and no less important, with the Dutch language. Next, as part of the Hindustani ethnic group, the Hindu community comprising all social and economic sectors of Surinam society entered the Netherlands at the time not as ‘guest labourers’ but as citizens of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. So, contrary to the Turkish and Moroccan migrants the Hindustani population has from the first stage of its settlement onward been very differentiated and heterogeneous, in terms of variables like training and profession.
2. Hindus in Surinam Ten years after the abolition of slavery in Surinam in 1863 – the last colony in the area where this event took place! – The Dutch government could get so-called ‘indentured labourers’ from the Central Eastern part of British India who were shipped from Calcutta to Surinam. Until 1916 about 33, 000 men, women and children from all strata and occupations in the Indian society came to Surinam. The major part of them did stay in Surinam, even after their five-years’ contract period. It was they who constituted the basis of the Hindustani community, consisting of a majority of Hindus and a minority of Muslims.
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In the last twenty or so years the evolution of Hinduism in the Caribbean came to be the subject of a number of scholarly studies. These studies show that Surinam Hinduism in its formative period has passed through roughly the same stages of development as diaspora Hinduism in other countries in the Caribbean like Guyana and Trinidad (Van der Veer and Vertovec, 1991; Vertovec, 1995). Due to more or less similar historical conditions and processes in the area Surinam Hinduism has come to share a number of characteristics with Guyanese and Trinidadian Hinduism (Veer and Vertovec, 1991: 163). In the first phase, the levelling of the caste boundaries effected the social and religious integration of the Hindus up to a certain level under the flag of Brahmanical religion. At the same time, it enabled the Brahmans themselves to rise to a central position in the religious and social organisation of the community. This rise of a Brahmanic priestly hegemony in Surinam Hinduism seemed to be closely connected with a conspicuous absence of sects, that is religious communities formed around ascetic monastic orders of a certain sampradaya, a philosophical/spiritual tradition. In India, these monastic communities, as exponents of a philosophical attitude of world-renunciation (our type II Hinduism, see hereafter), counterbalance the worldly attachment of ‘group Hinduism’ (our type I Hinduism, see hereafter) which is based on the caste system. These ascetic orders traditionally guard the purity of the doctrine and provide it with a theological basis. The absence of such ascetics in Surinam and later on in the Netherlands, unlike for example some major Indian communities in the U.K. like the Gujaratis (Pocock, 1976; Burghart, 1987), deprived Surinam Hinduism from the very first outset of its most important religious authorities and spokesmen. As a consequence, this religion enjoyed a great doctrinal liberty for more than a century. This doctrinal liberty was hardly limited by the rather arbitrary standards applied by the individually acting and self-employed Brahman priests, as the only extant religious authorities. However, right from the beginning it has also suffered from the absence of distinct religious institutions in charge of the perpetuation of religion. What made the Brahmans’ social position even stronger was the fact that their religious expertise went together with a central position in an informally structured network of hereditary patron-client relationships mainly concerning officiating in rituals. According to Brahmanical tradition most of these services were family bound house ritu-
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als, like e.g. the samskars (’rites de passage‘), jags (offerings) and kathas (recitations). Up to now, this informal network has been practically the sole form of organisation in this kind of Hinduism, in Surinam as well as in the Netherlands from 1975 onward. In the second phase the arrival of the neo-Hindu missionary reform movement Arya Samaj (the ‘Society of Nobles’), initiated in India in 1875 by Svami Dayananda Sarasvati, put the newborn unity among the Hindus in jeopardy. In its call for a return to the Vedas, its condemnation of the caste system and in particular its anti-Brahmanical stance, the Arya Samaj had a significant success among the British Indian communities in the Caribbean. A majority of its supporters came from the lower classes (Dew, 1978:10), because these people could connect the Aryan ideology of emancipation from the Brahmans’ dominance to their own aspirations to upward mobility. In Surinam, the movement obtained in a short time a following of sixteen percent. This meant a serious threat to the power position of the traditional Brahmans. These hereditary Brahmans on their part closed ranks and received the support from certain reactionary Brahman circles in India, in particular those of the conservative freedom fighter Malaviya (Klimkeit, 1981:160). In order to hold their ground against the massive propaganda of the Arya Samaj, the Brahmans founded a formal association of followers of mainstream Hinduism under the name of Sanatan Dharm, the ‘Eternal Religion’ by the end of 1929. A few months later the Arya Samaj officially founded its Surinam branch, naming it the Arya Dewaker, the ‘Aryan Sun’ (Klerk, 1953: 193-196). So far we might say that in the first place the levelling of the caste boundaries effected the social and religious integration of the Hindus under the colours of brahmanical religion. It also enabled the Brahmans themselves to rise to a central position in the religious and social organisation of the community. In the second place, the missionary activities of the Arya Samaj initiated a process of formalisation of Surinam Hinduism. It gave rise for the first time to a growth of a consciousness of religious identity – ideologically dichotomised as it may be – with the Hindustani laity, an awareness which had hardly existed until then. This development cannot be viewed unrelated to the evolution of subcontinental neo-Hinduism from halfway the 19th century onward as we will see. In the third phase the formal religious organisations set the stage for the entrance of an all-Hindustani political party inside which these
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organisations themselves remained central. Along with this emancipatory growth of the Hindustani community, ethnic identification came to be increasingly important in Surinam’s bipolarised society. So, just before Surinam’s independence we see a socially equalised and religiously formalised community of Hindustanis, priding themselves on their ethnic identity, also politically.
3. Structures and Processes In order to come to a representation of the Surinam Hindu community, which should make comparison with other diaspora communities possible, we must look for underlying structures and the dynamics at work in the process of change and adaptation these Hindus are in. To start with an analysis of the structures of Hinduism, we could set up a typology on the basis of the insights of the French sociologist and Indologist, Louis Dumont and his followers. In an article on religious change Mark Holmström (Holmström, 1971: 28) states that existing Hindu societies and Hindu history can only be understood by paying attention to the interplay of two radically different kinds of religion associated with two kinds of morality and of social relations. On the one hand, he discerns a religion which consecrates the existing social order, values of submission and hierarchy, and a relativist morality of closed groups. On the other hand, he observes a devotional religion with values of choice and equality, and a tendency towards a universalist ‘open’ morality. In his opinion these two types of religion exist in an unstable combination in every Hindu community, traditional as well as modern. In broad terms Holmström refers to the views of Louis Dumont (Dumont, 1960), who distinguishes two types of religion: ‘group religion’ and ‘religion of choice’. In addition to Holmström, others too, notably Richard Burghart (1987) and Timothy Fitzgerald (1990) elaborated on Dumont’s typology. The gist of the distinction Burghart and Fitzgerald made is between (type I) the ever-present moral order of the universe, a dharma to which all beings are subject, a religious outlook stressing ritual order and hierarchy and (type II) a soteriological religion, a path of salvation. Type I stand for the traditional ‘mainstream’ Hinduism, which is ‘group-tied’, simply meaning, embedded in the social relations of a group or a set of groups. Its ideology is that of ‘hierarchy or
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ritual order that embraces the whole mythical cosmos, but which is manifested to the observer most evidently in ‘caste’ (Fitzgerald, 1990: 112 ff.), based on the principle of relative purity. Dharma, as the fundamental unifying principle of traditional Hinduism, defines the status and obligations of all beings in the cosmos, from the gods to inanimate matter. It is not a ‘World Religion’ and not for export; it is neither a soteriology nor is it a system of meaning available for non-Hindus. Analytically speaking, it is the ‘centre of gravity, the context within which the other phenomena, the sectarian soteriologies, the potential ‘religions’ for export, are rooted’. The other kind of Hinduism, viz., type II, comprises the ideologies, which are generally centred on a personal soteriology. It is sectarian rather than caste-based, it inclines towards free choice of personal devotion instead of ascribed status and duties; it is ‘other-worldly’ rather than ‘this-worldly’, and it tends towards egalitarianism and individualism, rather than hierarchy (ibid.: 113). Authority lies not with the Brahman, the traditional religious specialist, but with the ascetic who has achieved some personal realisation of transcendent deity. Historically, these two ideal types have been interwoven and dynamically related. The influence emanating from this type II Hinduism can hardly be underrated. This more or less ‘abstract’, supracultural form of Hinduism seems to correspond most to the Western and Christian conceptions of religion, and is therefore appealing to non-Hindu Westerners as an equivalent alternative. May be this does not so much appear from the great numbers of disciples from nonHindu origin it attracts, yet there seems to be a constant interest in, and a growing acquaintance with whatever this form of ‘universal’ Hinduism has to offer. As a consequence, this kind of Hinduism has gradually become the measuring rod with which type I Hinduism is being judged, not only by non-Hindus but even by educated Hindus themselves. For example, the difficulties Surinam Hinduism – which might just as well still be labelled a type I Hinduism – experiences in the Netherlands can be partly attributed to this circumstance (Burg, 1989). An analytical differentiation between type I and II Hinduism may help to provide a framework within which the problems of continuity and discontinuity, in particular between Hinduism in India and diaspora Hinduism could be assessed (cf. King, 1989: 90 ff.; Fitzgerald, 1990: 115). In other words, it may help in analysing not only how
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social change could influence religious change, but it might in particular be useful for examining the viability of the distinct Hindu traditions in a new social and cultural environment. On the other hand, to get an idea of the dynamics at work inside Hinduism in the Netherlands and elsewhere in the diaspora, and of the concomitant conflicts of power and interest we should look for other ways of approach and interpretation. Analytically speaking, we could say that the formation of the Surinam Hindu community in the Netherlands can be viewed as an ongoing process, which is roughly determined by the interplay of a set of factors – each with its own dynamics – which can be subsumed under at least three perspectives, which partly overlap each other: I. The Surinam Hindu community as a minority maintaining a wide spectrum of multifarious relationships of with the encompassing society, in particular with the Dutch government II. The Surinam Hindu community characterised by its cultural and social set-up as an outcome of a specific historical development III. The Surinam Hindu community characterised by a local variant of a world religion and by the impact of neo-Hindu movements and recent developments in modern Hinduism in India and abroad.
By focussing on these specific aspects we will hopefully be able to show things in a wider – in particular historical – perspective and in connection with each other. The Hindu community in the Netherlands may offer ample opportunity to test the serviceability of our approach to both aspects, in terms of structure as well as process.
4. Surinam Hindus in the Netherlands In the mid-seventies a third of the Surinam population migrated to the Netherlands due to Surinam’s nearing independence, in 1975. The exodus reached its acme in the years preceding this event. Without doubt it was the economic security and political stability of Dutch society at that time which encouraged both Hindustanis and Creoles to migrate. For the Hindustanis an added consideration was the threat of Creole oppression after independence, like in British Guiana (today’s Guyana). So, to them this migration had also ethnic aspects, in spite of the fact that the Creole migrants actually outnumbered the Hindustanis.
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It was Hindustanis from all economic and social sectors of Surinam society, Brahman pandits (priests) and Muslim moulvis included, who migrated to the Netherlands. Over against 100.000 Creoles, the number of migrated Hindustanis reached 94.000 by 1987, of which about 75.000 were Hindus. They had to undertake the arduous task of rebuilding their community, socially as well as culturally. In this respect their situation was not unlike the state of affairs in colonial Surinam in the last decades of the 19th century. It was clear that after a stay in outside India for more than a century, not Indian provenance any more, but Surinam provenance played a role in determining patterns of postmigration settlement, religious practices and identity formation in the Netherlands. Distinctions of provenance extended even to particular towns and districts in Surinam, because these could be associated with differences of e.g. socio-economic basis, status, and influence. (Vertovec 1995:142) 4.1 Minority (ad I.) Viewed from the ‘minority’ perspective, it goes without saying that the structures of Dutch society in terms of juridical and societal arrangements and forms of organisation determined the make-up and position as well as the social and cultural strategies of the Hindustanis as an ethnic minority group for a great deal. In spite of the fact that they as citizens of a former Dutch colony for more than a century had become more or less acquainted with the Dutch polity concerning public institutions and social organisation, things did not run much easier for these ‘twice-migrant’ Hindustanis, compared to other minority communities. An added complication was the fact that a shift in the coalition-cabinet those days often meant a change in the government’s attitude towards minority culture, in particular its religious aspect. Ethnicity seemed in the first years of settlement in the Netherlands the most natural principle for the reconstruction of organisational instruments for making the provisions, required for the preservation of the culture and the maintenance of the group’s cohesion, rather than for the integration into Dutch society. Therefore, the Hindustanis set up their own welfare organisation on a pure ethnic basis and named it Lalla Rookh, after the first transport vessel which brought their ancestors to Surinam. The organisation was born from sheer necessity, as the outcome of a particular political development, which, as we
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saw, was characterised in its Surinam beginnings by enduring ethnic antagonism and rivalry. And now in its Dutch continuation, by taking advantage of a policy on the part of the Socialist-controlled coalition, government at that time was stressing ethnicity as the most natural organisational principle for migrants. Initially, this ethnic stance of the Hindustanis seemed to be successful. ‘Collective alterity’ proved a powerful issue and a rich resource in the first years after immigration. This would not have been the case had the Hindustanis stressed more strongly the religious aspect of their identity. For, when they came to the Netherlands they entered a society, which was in the process of closing a long period of far-reaching ‘polarisation’ in, which religious identity had been the leading principle of articulation in the formation of interest groups. Identity change Soon after the mass migration from Surinam came to a standstill a proliferation of cultural foundations and associations broke out. Since Lalla Rookh and other foundations came to be more firmly established as ethnic welfare agencies, the government had begun involving them in its policies, in particular as distributors of funds for cultural purposes. In spite of the constitutionally established separation between ‘Church’ and ‘State’, religion as an aspect of minorities’ identity could be subsidised under the guise of ‘culture’. The end of the 1970s saw a proliferation of these foundations, which could profit by this funding policy. This phenomenon is to be partly accounted for by the fact that through the intermediary of the ethnic welfare agencies and their local counterparts the authorities granted funds to any foundation which produced a plan to spend money for cultural purposes in a very general sense. A patronage-like relationship between the granter, the intermediary and the spenders seemed unavoidable. The almost uncontrollable mechanism of distributing these funds led in the long run to such untenable situations (cf. Latham 1982; 1983; Boedhoe 1980:3-6) that ‘cultural activities’ came generally to be looked at with increasing scepticism by the Dutch welfare authorities. The general discomfort with the way in which the funds were shared out asked for more unity and joint action, also on the side of the Hindustanis. It was obvious that the ideal of a close-knit Hindu community could no longer be based only upon the usual ‘ethnic identity’ employed so far, that means, in the form it had taken in Suri-
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nam. Such an ethnic stance inspired by Hindustani-Creole antagonism in Surinam, made no sense in the Netherlands since the two communities became part of contemporary pluralistic Dutch society. Ethnicity had become ineffective in the new situation because it was no longer a clear and honourable enough principle of distinction, to be successfully used for the promotion of Hindustani or Hindu group interests in the Netherlands. A religious stance appeared to be preferable for a variety of reasons. As a social determinant religion had recently begun to enjoy a new popularity in the Netherlands. Although the Christian religious institutions had for the most part lost their social relevance, religion remained an important source of inspiration in national politics in the 1980s. Moreover, due to the immigration of large numbers of Mediterranean Muslims, Islam had become the widest spread nonChristian religion in the Netherlands. This enhanced the general interest in their religion and equally in the religions of other minorities. In spite of its formal secular stance of ‘no preference and no interference’ in matters of religion, the then coalition government, this time controlled by the Christian Democrats, continued to maintain a certain relationship with the established religious institutions, and with religion in general. Dutch society deems religion a private matter, while the Constitution guarantees religious freedom and allows for tolerance in the public sphere (Veer, 1995: 8) Since the eighties therefore, the Hindu leaders – predominantly coming from priestly families – were keen enough to put the government’s preoccupation with religion to good use in order to enforce certain provisions for their religion, using their ‘collective alterity’ – but now in terms of religion – as a resource. It is not surprising that, by then, it was religion, which was starting to provide an alternative for an ethnic ideology. What was new about this was that this time religion played a part in the confrontation of the entire Hindu community with the encompassing society. So, viewed from a ‘minority’ perspective, the (re)actions of the Dutch society – the government in particular – can clearly be seen as the most important factor determining the (religious) strategy of the Surinam Hindus.
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4.2 Community (ad II.) Although we could say that the changes in the external circumstances account, to a great extent, for the shifts in adaptive strategy and changes in identification, there appears to be also a relationship between the option of a certain kind of identification and the varying power relations within the community itself. After all, Hindu culture seems to keep, like the culture of the encompassing society, a dynamic of its own, and even after two migrations, as in the case of the Surinam Hindus in the Netherlands. Therefore, we could subsume under the second perspective those developments in the religion of this Hindu community in Surinam and the Netherlands, which had clearly been crucial to the internal power relations, and conflicts of interest later on, even to this day. In this respect the developments in the position of power of the pandits, the Hindu priests, seem to be a telling example. Earlier we saw in Surinam that in the interbellum formal religious organisations – those of the traditional Sanatan Dharm and of the reform movement Arya Samaj – settled themselves on top of the informal religious networks within the Hindu community. More than half a century later in the Netherlands had the religious organisational structure inside the Surinam Hindu community for the greater part collapsed. Although the doctrinal distinction between the two denominations continued in the Dutch setting, the formal organisational setup of religion largely dissolved, partly due to the government’s policy of deconcentration. The only kind of religious organisation, which more or less continued to exist, was the pandit-centred informal network based on ritual services to the laity. However, compared to the Surinam situation, the laity had little involvement with the priests, much less a certain degree of social control over them. This process of virtual de-formalisation of the religious organisation gave the priests a free hand in their entrepreneurial activities on a religious market of supply and demand. The gradual loss of control by the laity over the priests (and vice versa) proved to be detrimental to the religious life of the community. Attempts to change this undesirable situation ended in failure for a variety of reasons. Initiatives to unite the priests into professional bodies got stranded in talking shops lacking the authority to control their members. It was these very members in fact who refused to give up their unchallenged position as free entrepreneurs in religious services. This also applied to the formal religious organisations of both denominations, while it seemed to be also the case with
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the culture and welfare institutions (Bloemberg, 1995). Therefore, in spite of the presence of temples, Surinam Hinduism in the Netherlands is still not characterised by a formal structure, but by a loose network of relationships with the pandits as key-figures. Also, when the laity ‘encounters’ the ‘Holy’ it is not a congregation in front of the Gods, but each individual approaches God, with the help of the priests as indispensable intermediaries. All this means that for a long time the pandit in the experience of the average layman possessed an unassailable strong position. These days the office of the pandits stands increasingly under pressure. On the one hand this is related to the social and cultural development of the laity, who are exposed to processes of secularisation and individualisation. While the pandits of both traditions appear to keep up the old social values of hierarchy and heteronomy in the congregation, we see that this ‘group culture’ makes way step by step for a culture which highlights the individual taking his own responsibility and independence. The pivotal position of the priests as free entrepreneurs in religious services constitutes increasingly a problem and a stumbling block to the progressive members of the community, and in particular to the youth who are disappointed with superficial contacts with them. This situation also has its repercussions on the laity in terms of theology and pastoral care. Insufficient in-depth knowledge of the own religion is another cause. Usually a pandit is a so-called ‘Karamkandi’, a ritualist, and not a theologian or pastor. In his answers to existential questions for example he cannot bring his knowledge gained in his theological training to the task. Consequently, we cannot speak yet of a development in Hindu theology in the direction of a ‘Dutch Hinduism’. The pandits of the Sanatan Dharm continue the general Hindu traditions, from time to time actualised by visiting holy men from India, while those of the Arya Samaj follow the theological directives from the headquarters in Dehra Dun. This is why the present class of pandits, only trained in ritual practice, seem not to be able to theologically deal with the rapid developments in society, and are inclined to fall back on what has been passed to them from India. Fortunately, the poorly systematised and codified Hindu theology offers them ample room for their own interpretation and hermeneutics. Here the structural absence of monastic theologians and philosophers from the own circle is severely felt, because there is still no officially acknowledged pandit training. Next to that, the laity, the youth in particular are being confronted
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in the Netherlands with a liberal supply of neo-Hindu missionary movements with a large assortment of own theologies and religious ideologies. The enormous supply of alternative Hindu theologies and philosophies seems to fill a growing need for personal religious experience and spirituality, while it constitutes a veritable ‘luxury’ the Surinam Hindus in the Netherlands afford themselves compared to the unidirectionally developed Surinam Hinduism they were accustomed to. In this respect we could say that the situation in Surinam was rather anomalous with its monolithically developed priestly Hinduism. Here the absence of an own ‘think-tank’ is very much felt, because the community seems not sufficiently equipped to encounter these movements on equal terms. In this matter the laymen seem to be particularly thrown to their own resources. The priests do not much appreciate internal and external criticisms on their position and functioning and apparently they have not yet come to recognise the necessity of a change in attitude through dialogue. This at least turned out to be their stance, when in 1993 in the Hague some dissident parents and teachers resorted to the expedient of hunger strike to enforce claims to the foundation of an alternative Hindu educational establishment without the supervision of Brahman priests (Schwencke, 1994). The fact that traditional and reform Hindus are condemned to each other is another source of internal dynamics, while it stands in the way of unification of the Hindus in the Netherlands. However, whether unification in itself is seen as an attractive option, as Van der Veer suggests (Veer 1995:10), is an open question in our view. This Sanatan Dharm – Arya Samaj antagonism could even promote diversification. On the one hand, we see a bottom-up process of breaking off priestly authority, and of marginalising the established institutions of power, like the priests’ councils. On the other hand, there is the recent (in 2001) inauguration of a ‘Hindoe Raad Nederland’ (’Dutch Hindu Council’), called into being at the special request of the government, wishing to continue the relationship with the Hindus through one representative body as discussion partner. All established denominational representative councils are members of this body, the Hare Krishna’s included. 4.3 World Religion (ad III.) The history and the recent development of the diaspora Hinduism in the Netherlands can only adequately be analysed if it is seen as a con-
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textualised local version placed within the perspective of a full-fledged and globalised neo-Hinduism. In other words, we cannot estimate the significance of diaspora Hinduism unless we assign it its proper position not only in the history of Hinduism, but also in the wider historical context of the globalisation of Hinduism and, more specifically, the encounter and dialogue between India and the West. In that respect, diaspora Hinduism can be viewed as a part of this globalising process. The rise and growth of neo-Hinduism from the 19th century onward has for a great deal been determined by India’s contact with the West, in particular with the British colonial regime. Western science and Christian missions contributed to it. The confrontation with Western values induced a reaction in Indian intellectual circles leading to a reflection on the own tradition and a reformulation of the content of the religious heritage. One of the neo-Hindus of the first hour was the Kathiawari Brahman Svami Dayananda Sarasvati (1824-1883), the founder of the reform movement Arya Samaj, the ‘Society of the Nobles’. ‘In spite of himself’, we said, because it appears that Dayananda had no urge at all to start a movement. What Dayananda had in mind with the eventual establishment of the Arya Samaj was, that he “wanted to bring together all Hindus who agreed on a couple of very broad issues: a dedication to religious and social reform, and a conviction that this reformation had to come through a revival of Vedic religion.” (Jordens, 1978:144). Jordens continues: “Just as Dayananda’s own goal lay far beyond the establishment of the Samaj, similarly the ultimate goal of the Aryas should lie far beyond their own group, beyond narrow credal inhibitions: they should aim at the final establishment of the unity of dharma by striving to persuade all groups and sects to accept the Vedas.” (145). The missionary zeal of the Arya Samaj extended even beyond the British Indian borders and the impact of this kind of neo-Hinduism on ‘surviving traditional Hinduism’ (Hacker, 1978:583) like Surinam Hinduism must have been enormous, right from the start. This can be concluded from the history of the Samaj in the Caribbean (Bakker, 1999: 100 ff.). After all, the Samaj was one of the first neo-Hindu movements – of the Hinduism II type – which had been successful in its missionary activities in that region. Today, its message is still neoHindu, but for the rest it has assimilated so much so that it could be seen as an integral part of Surinam Hinduism.
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That the Arya Samaj developed ‘group religion’ features in the long run does not alter the fact that this neo-Hindu movement had been the first to put a totally different ideology and organisation against those of the Sanatan Dharm. Up to now, the uneasy coexistence of the two contending movements seems to be one of the most characteristic dynamics of Surinam Hinduism. Still the Hindus are divided, and this split plays not only a part in all internal organisational and representative matters, but its influence is also felt outside the community. A good example in this connection is the primary school issue in The Hague, to which we referred earlier. In the same vein, it was in later years the Bengali reformist Svami Vivekananda (1863-1902) who not only made Hinduism an adequate partner in religious encounter, but also charged it with a missionary task for humanity. In 1897 he founded the Ramakrishna Math and Mission. Many neo-Hindu leaders followed in his wake, spreading their sometimes-entrepreneurial spirituality over the world at large. They presented Hinduism as a tolerant, spiritually superior, scientific, abstract, and trans-cultural world religion competing with other world religions for universal claims. In the Netherlands, these movements, which sometimes attract great numbers including Surinam Hindus, seem as yet to be far from becoming officially integrated into Surinam Hinduism, exactly because they form an alternative to this ‘traditional’ Hinduism. Preaching religious universalism – whether or not accompanied by a form of inclusivism (cf. Hacker, 1978; Halbfass, 1988 and 1995) – and even religious nationalism, like the RSS and the VHP, these movements seem to belong to another kind of Hinduism as it were, both in terms of substance as well as structure. The very much felt presence in the Netherlands of representatives of this globalised Hinduism – like the ISKCON, Transcendental Meditation, Sathya Sai Baba and a host of neo-Vedanta movements – as directive factors for Dutch Hindus, seemed to have lead – after the ethnic cultural proliferation of organisations, some twenty or thirty years earlier (Heelsum, 2002) – to a proliferation on a specific organisational level of a more interethnic kind, completely in keeping with what has been indicated in our typology as the characteristics of a globalised missionary ‘religion of choice’. This perspective in particular seems to have been overlooked in many social-scientific studies on this subject. This is partly due to the fact that substantial knowledge of the religion often seems to be beyond these scholars’ scope. Equally
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within the ‘world religion’ perspective fall naturally the recent developments inside Indian Hinduism, like the emergence of Hindutva (”Hindudom”), with its concomitant politicisation in the shape of Hindu nationalist organisations like the VHP and the RSS, which has an impact on Dutch Hindus by founding ‘branches’ which should continue and strengthen their relationship with India and its policy. This seems to have led to a form of ‘symbolic ethnicity’ (Amersfoort, 2001: 49/50) and to ‘long distance nationalism’ (Anderson, 1991) which induced Dutch Hindus for example to send money and consecrated bricks to India for the rebuilding of a Hindu temple on the birth-place of the god-king Rama in Ayodhya (Veer, 1994: 4). Next, border-crossing orientations and interactions play a great part in the community’s religion: we could discern transnationalistic as well as diasporic features. Attitudes and activities originating from a feeling of deep solidarity with India we see as transnationalism. The idea of being part of such an old and rich culture has been translated into an overvaluation of things India: music, literature, art, films in particular. On the other hand, since one has started to reconcile one’s self to the idea of a permanent stay in the Netherlands, there seems to be a growing commitment to India, expressed into aid after disasters, for example. Finally, Surinam’s independence and the reign of terror in its wake, has made a ‘diaspora’ in the sense of Vertovec (Vertovec and Cohen, 1999) of the total Surinam community in the Netherlands. The commotion around the visit of Surinam’s president Venetiaan and the recent death of Chief of Parliament Jaggernath Lachmon still shows an undiminished commitment to Surinam.
5. Conclusion Our approach of Surinam Hinduism – by distinguishing and elaborating on some of its aspects – will hopefully make it possible to follow its development in more detail and to come to more sound conclusions. It is for example important to realise that the point of departure of the Hindustanis as migrants – the Hindus amongst them included – had been different from other migrant communities in the Netherlands. The first phase of naturalisation and religious institutionalisation in an alien environment had already been closed in Surinam.
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This means that in contrast to Islamic migrant communities the Surinam Hindus had already ‘migrant institutions’ with a history of several generations! Undeniably this advantage facilitated their social and economic integration in the Netherlands. Their cultural and religious integration seemed to fall out of step with it, contrary to the findings of Ruben Gowricharn (Gowricharn, 2002: 107). One of the reasons therefore might be the relative unfamiliarity with Hinduism in government bodies. Next, we have traced a number of developments in Surinam Hinduism in the Netherlands, which in broad outline run parallel to the ongoing processes of emancipation and individualisation in the encompassing society. This has led in the Surinam Hindu community to increasing privatisation and a greater freedom of choice in matters of religion. So, next to interest for religion as a social phenomenon – in particular as a means of the formation of group identity – there came to be an interest for religion as a source of personal inspiration. On that point, the influence of the ‘Hinduism II’ movements is apparent, while the changing position and role of the hereditary priests could be seen as the outcome of an emancipatory process as well. Finally, what we are waiting for is an enduring plural form of Hinduism in the Netherlands in which autochthonous and allochthonous Hindus recognise each other. The part which the government will play in this matter will be very interesting, because it was by government’s agency that the ‘Hindoe Raad Nederland’ (’Dutch Hindu Council’) had been installed, in which also neo-Hindu movements participate. Government certified training institutes for pandits have not been realised, in spite of some initiatives. All this could make Hindus in the Netherlands more conscious of the status and richness of their own religion, and of the possibilities the encompassing alien society offers to practice their religion and to share it with others.
Bibliography Amersfoort, H. van (2001). Transnationalisme, moderne diaspora’s en sociale cohesie. Amsterdam: IMES. Anderson, B. (1991). Imagined Communities. London: Verso. Bakker, F.L. (1999). Hindoes in een Creoolse wereld. Zoetermeer: Meinema. Bloemberg, L. (1995). Tussen traditie en verandering: Hindoestaanse zelforganisaties
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in Nederland. Nederlandse Geografische Studies, 197. Utrecht/Amsterdam: Instituut voor Sociale Geografie, UvA. Boedhoe, N. (1980) ‘Graven in de macht van Surinaamse organisaties’, Aisa Samachar, 6 (7): 3-6 Burg, C.J.G. van der (1989) .’Religion in an Alien Context: the Approach to Hinduism in a Western Society.’ In Jerald Gort etc. (eds.) Dialogue and Syncretism: an Interdisciplinary Approach. Grand Rapids/Amsterdam: Wm.B.Eerdmans/Rodopi. —. (1993). “Surinam Hinduism in the Netherlands and Social Change”. In Barot, Rohit (ed.) Religion and Ethnicity: minorities and social change in the metropolis. Kampen: Kok Pharos Publishing House. Burghart, R. (1987). Hinduism in Great Britain: The Perpetuation of Religion in an Alien Cultural Milieu. London/New York: Tavistock Publications. Dew, E. (1978).The Difficult Flowering of Surinam. Den Haag: Martinus Nijhoff. Dumont, L. (1960). “World Renunciation in Indian Religions.” Contributions to Indian Sociology. 4(1): 33-62. Fitzgerald, T. (1990). “Hinduism and the ‘world religion’ fallacy.” Religion. 20: 101-118. Gowricharn, R. (2002). Hindoeïsme in Nederland. In: Vroom, H.M. en H.E.S. Woldring (red.) Religies in het Publieke Domein. Zoetermeer: Meinema. Hacker, P. (1978). “Aspects of Neo-Hinduism as Contrasted with Surviving Traditional Hinduism.” (Vortragsmanuskript, diskutiert am 5.5.1970 an der Universität London). In L. Schmithausen (ed.) Paul Hacker: Kleine Schriften. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag. —. (1978). “Der religiöse Nationalismus Vivekanandas.” In L. Schmithausen (ed.) Paul Hacker: Kleine Schriften. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag. Halbfass, W. (1988). India and Europe: An Essay in Understanding. Albany: State University of New York Press. —. (1991). Tradition and Reflection: Explorations in Indian Thought. Albany: State University of New York Press. Heelsum, A. van, and E. Voorthuysen (2002). Surinaamse organisaties in Nederland: een netwerkanalyse. Amsterdam: Aksant. Holmström, M. (1971). “Religious Change in an Industrial City of South India.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society. (1): 28-40. Jordens, J. T. F. (1978). Dayananda Sarasvati: His Life and Ideas. Delhi, Oxford etc.: Oxford University Press. King, U. (1989). “Some Reflections on Sociological Approaches to the Study of Modern Hinduism.” Numen 36(1): 72-97. Klerk, C. J. M. de. (1953). De immigratie der hindostanen in Suriname. Amsterdam: Urbi et Orbi. Klimkeit, H.J. (1981). Der politische Hinduismus: indische Denker zwischen religöser Reform und politischem Erwachen. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.
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Latham, E.A. (1982) Verslag van het onderzoek ten behoeve van het ontwikkelen van de toekomstige structuur van het welzijnswerk in Breda e.o. Breda. —. (1983) Verslag van het onderzoek ten behoeve van het ontwikkelen van de toekomstige structuur voor het welzijnswerk voor Surinamers te Tilburg. Tilburg. Niekerk, M. van (2000). De krekel en de mier: fabels en feiten over maatschappelijke stijging van Creoolse en Hindoestaanse Surinamers in Nederland. Migratie- en Etnische Studies, 12. Amsterdam: Het Spinhuis. Pocock, D. F. (1976). “Preservation of the religious life: Hindu immigrants in England.” Contributions to Indian Sociology. (n.s.) 10 (2): 341-365. Schwencke, H.J. (1994). “Schoolstrijd in Den Haag: veranderingen in de religieuze cultuur van Surinaamse Hindoes in Nederland.” Migrantenstudies. 10 nummer 2: 97 – 110. Veer, P. van der, and S. Vertovec. (1991). “Brahmanism Abroad: On Caribbean Hinduism as an Ethnic Religion.” Ethnology. 30 (2): 149-166. —. (1994). Religious Nationalism: Hindus and Muslims in India. Berkeley and Los Angeles, California: University of California Press. —. (1995). Nation and Migration: the Politics of Space in the South Asian Diaspora. South Asia Seminar Series. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Vertovec, Steven (1994). “‘Official’ and ‘popular’ Hinduism in diaspora: Historical and contemporary trends in Surinam, Trinidad and Guyana.” Contributions to Indian Sociology. (n.s.) 28 (1): 123-147. Vertovec, S. (1995). “Hindus in Trinidad and Britain: Ethnic Religion, Reification, and the Politics of Public Space.” Nation and Migration: the Politics of Space in the South Asian Diaspora. In South Asia Seminar Series. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. —. and R. Cohen (eds.). (1999). Migration, diasporas and transnationalism. Cheltenham (UK): Edward Elgar Publishing Ltd.
TAMIL HINDU PLACES OF WORSHIP IN GERMANY BRIGITTE LUCHESI
Abstract Since the 1980s, refugees from Sri Lanka have been living in Germany. A high percentage of these Sri Lankan migrants are Hindu Tamils. This paper traces the shifts in arenas for worship by these Hindus in Germany. As public religious institutions for Hindus were virtually non-existent when the first immigrants arrived, they had to restrict the practice of their faith to the domestic domain. But in the course of time Tamil Hindus have stepped out into the public sphere. They have set up prayer halls and temples and organised the collective celebration of festivals. The history behind the Sri Kamadchi Ampal Temple in Hamm-Uentrop is explored to illuminate this development towards established and visible places of Tamil Hindu religiosity. On Sunday, July 7th 2002, the two main German TV channels showed the inauguration of a Hindu temple. This festive event, witnessed by several thousand visitors, took place on the outskirts of the Westphalian town of Hamm in West Germany. There, among industrial buildings and factories, a place of worship for Tamil Hindu immigrants from Sri Lanka had been erected, remarkable especially for its exterior decorations in a distinctive South Indian style. The easy identification of this structure as a Hindu temple and the fact of its opening ceremony being broadcast by the German media at peak viewing time both mark a crucial stage in a process which has been developing for over twenty years in Tamil Hindu religious life in Germany. Whereas the early immigrants had no public religious institutions at all, through time Tamil Hindus have increasingly created new possibilities to practise their faith outside their homes. During the last ten years a number of prayer halls and temples have come up, making visible several forms of Tamil Hindu religiosity. In the first part of this paper this process will be sketched. It will be argued that the steps towards more visibility can be understood as claims for public space put forward by the immigrants. The second
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part will concentrate on the history of the above-mentioned place of worship, the Sri Kamadchi Ampal Temple1 in Hamm-Uentrop, which provides the best illustration so far of the observed development.
I. Places and Practices of Tamil Hindu Religiosity in Germany Sri Lankan Tamils in Germany Most of the approx. 64.000 Sri Lankan people living in Germany in 2002 are Tamils.2 Their history in this country is comparatively recent and closely bound up with the political situation of Tamils in their homeland during the last three decades. Among the first Sri Lankans to come were Tamils who, because of the laws favouring the Sinhalese majority in Sri Lanka since the 1950s, were denied higher education or higher ranking jobs at home. Being mostly from more affluent families they were able to go abroad to look for better educational or working opportunities. By 1979, 2.253 Sri Lankan citizens, the majority of them young male Tamils, had arrived in Germany. But most of the Tamils at present living in Germany came as refugees after this date, fleeing the escalating civil war in their homeland. The numbers increased significantly in the early 1980s, and in the wake of the widespread anti-Tamil riots of 1983 a peak of 17.340 asylum seekers was recorded in 1985. As the armed conflicts went on the stream of refugees continued. In the beginning mainly young men, in flight of the persecution by the Sri Lankan army or forced recruitment by the LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam) arrived. In the course of time their wives and children as well as older family members were able to join them. Nevertheless the percentage of Sri Lankan males is still higher than that of females. The legal status of the Sri Lankans in Germany varies. Those who came before 1988 were granted asylum and the right to stay. Due to changes in jurisdiction this did not apply to those who arrived as from 1989: they acquired a status of ‘toleration’ only. To retain this status The spelling follows the transcription the temple itself uses in German texts. This number includes the 20.285 persons who had acquired German citizenship by the end of 2002 (personal communication M. Baumann). The official statistics do not distinguish between Sri Lankan citizenship and Tamil ethnicity. It is estimated that about 90% of the immigrants are Tamils. For the cited statistical data in this section Baumann 2000: 96-108; Baumann 2003. 1 2
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they have to have it renewed every six months. According to Baumann (2000:99) the legal status of about half of the Tamil population in Germany is relatively secure whereas the other half has been granted various degrees of temporary rights of residence. Since the mid 1990s the number of Tamils who have applied for German citizenship and have been able to acquire it has risen steadily. The asylum seekers were distributed all over Germany by the German authorities in order to prevent clustering in certain areas and cities. Nevertheless, most probably because the local jurisdiction was less rigid than in other German states about 45% of all immigrants are concentrated in the West German state of North Rhine-Westphalia. In this part of the country the first manifestations of a Tamil infrastructure such as Tamil shops, cultural and political associations and religious institutions appeared. It must be noted that not all Tamils living in Germany are Hindus – in fact about twenty percent are Christians.3 The remaining approx. 46.000 persons may be considered Hindus.4 Places of Tamil Hindu Religiosity Among the many changes Tamil Hindus were initially forced to experience in Germany was the lack of religious institutions and priestly services which back home had been an undisputed part of their daily life. There were no Tamil Hindu temples, and Hindu priests were rare. This situation has gradually changed. Looking back over the last two decades we can discern four phases of development. 1. Domestic shrines. The absence of temples did not mean that Tamils were unable to practise their religion. For many Tamil Hindus worship at home stood at the centre of their religiosity. They usu-
3 About 15,8% are Catholics, about 4,1% Protestants of various denominations (Baumann 2003:61). Germans were not always aware that the majority of the Tamil immigrants are Hindus; they often were thought to be a group of Christians (compare Jacobsen 2003 for the situation in Norway). This may have changed with the frequent reports about Tamil Hindu temples over recent years. 4 Hindu Tamils from Sri Lanka constitute the numerically strongest group of Hindus with South Asian origins in Germany. In addition to them Hindus from India and Afghanistan live in Germany, their estimated number lies between 30.000 and 40.000 people. Afghan Hindus mainly came as refugees fleeing the civil war during the 1980s; they have opened four temples so far. The Indian Hindus have not founded permanent places of worship except small shrines in courtyards (for the Frankfurt/Main area see Dech 1998).
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ally established house shrines similar to the private places of worship common all over Sri Lanka and South India. A certain corner or space in the house was reserved for worshipping the chosen deity or deities. Under the initial confined living conditions it may have been only a tiny place, just enough to put up a small image or polychrome picture. With the years a separate board or a small wall shrine may have been set up, sometimes even a separate room. Worship (puja) at the house shrine is carried out by the devotee him- or herself, no priest is required. The situation is different with regard to life-cycle rituals like name-giving ceremonies, initiations and marriages, which traditionally are conducted by brahmanic family priests. The first immigrants – mostly young men – were usually not in need of these rites. But they became necessary as soon as women and children and families from more traditional rural areas arrived (as from1987/88).5 Brahmin priests were increasingly in demand. The few priestly experts travelled all over the country to perform the requested rituals in private homes. 2. Temporary places of worship. By the second half of the 1980s, many Tamil circles felt the need to worship the gods together and to celebrate certain festivals in a larger group. As private accommodation was usually too small they tried to hire rooms for the days in question, most often from churches or the local authority. The places of worship established there were by necessity only temporary. The altars had to be set up for the respective puja just before the beginning of the function, removed immediately afterwards and all the paraphernalia taken home again. 3. Permanent places of worship. In 1985 a Tamil Hindu temple opened in Schwerte, followed by one in Hattingen. The latter was housed in a rented ground-floor apartment. This marked the beginning of the establishment of permanent Tamil Hindu places of worship all over Germany. One of the reasons for this new development was that, on account of escalating violence in Sri Lanka, many Tamils had lost hope for returning to their home country in the near future. In several towns Tamil Hindus organised themselves into religious organisations; they elected temple committees and collected money so that they could rent rooms for worship on a permanent basis. In most cases the money brought together was just enough to rent a basement or
5
Cf. the development among Hindus in Great Britain (Knott 1991:95-98).
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part of a former industrial building, i.e. modest and inconspicuous places. All six temples that opened in the following years were housed in basements.6 From 1993 onwards, other places were also found: apartments (Backnang, Sulzbach, and München), abandoned warehouses (Gummersbach, Wuppertal) or transformed factories (Hannover, Mönchengladbach). The rooms or halls were equipped with shrines for the deities and all objects necessary for worship; in addition most of them were richly decorated. But these activities were restricted to the interior. Outside there was normally no indication except maybe an unobtrusive sign. The German public rarely knew who had rented the place and for what purpose. The process of opening new temples is still going on. The current number end of 2002 was 25 Tamil Hindu temples with a concentration in the western part of Germany (North Rhine-Westphalia). In 2000, for instance, two temples were inaugurated in Frankfurt/Main – a Goddess and a Ganesha temple. In 2001 a third Tamil temple – this time one for Murukan – opened in the Hamm area, and July 2002 saw the consecration of the new Kamadchi Ampal Temple in Hamm-Uentrop. This development indicates that the refugees are preparing themselves to stay in Germany, if not permanently, then at least for quite some time. The opening of temples can be interpreted as a sign that they are making themselves at home in the diaspora (Baumann 2000:171). Providing a secure, permanent place for the deities7 can be understood as an investment in a future in Germany on the part of their Tamil devotees. 4. Extension and embellishment of temples. The ongoing phase is characterised by an effort to either embellish the formerly modest places of worship or, better yet, to leave the original inconspicuous places and to find bigger, better-situated and more prestigious buildings. The Ganesha Temple in Hamm, the temples in Schwerte, Dortmund and Mülheim/Ruhr moved from their former cramped basements into more spacious halls. Other temple committees, for instance in Gummersbach, are busy looking for new places. The Muthumariamman Temple in Hannover is at present collecting money to buy a nearby site for the construction of a spacious func-
6 Hamm (Kamadchi Temple) 1989; Essen 1989; Hamm (Ganesha Temple) 1989; Berlin 1991; Münster 1992, Dortmund 1992. 7 Cf. Nye’s A Place for Our Gods (1995), a detailed study of the Hindu temple in Edinburgh.
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tional hall. It should not only house the goddess but also offer room for larger congregations and the accommodation of guests. The most striking example is the above-mentioned Sri Kamadchi Ampal Temple in Hamm-Uentrop. It stands out because it is the only Tamil Hindu place of worship in Germany so far which was planned and constructed as a temple right from the beginning. One of its main characteristics is that the two towers are covered with a multitude of images representing Hindu goddesses. Thus, already from quite a distance, this building announces its purpose. Another example is the Murukan Temple in the city of Hamm, opened in 2002. It is set up in a privately owned house partly rebuilt to meet the requirements of a temple. The lower part is painted with white and red stripes recalling South Asian temple walls; a large Tamil “OM” combined with a lance, both signs of the resident god, cover a great part of the frontage. Other temples have also started to advertise their use, though more modestly expressed by putting up boards, posters and flags. 8 It is quite obvious that the new abodes of the Hindu Tamil gods and goddesses are calling for public attention and openly claiming public space. They are meant to be seen and recognised by the German public. Places, which formerly tended to remain hidden and inconspicuous, with barely any indication of the people who used them, are increasingly becoming visible. The Hindu Tamil immigrants have begun to make clear that they want to present their religious orientation and practice to the outside world, too. In doing this they are claiming their own place in the German religious plurality. This wish is expressed through various concrete efforts on the part of the Tamils, particularly through the often immense financial contributions they have been making to the construction or refurbishing of their temples, or through a number of voluntary services. Religious Festivals and Processions One outstanding way to demonstrate one’s religion in a non-Hindu environment is through temple festivals, and especially through public processions connected with them. Large-scale temple festi8 The possibilities to mark and decorate the exterior are undoubtedly higher when the temple is housed in a separate building owned by the temple committee or a private owner.
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vals are celebrated in several places.9 Visitors often come from quite a distance, in the case of the Kamadchi Temple in Hamm-Uentrop even from other European countries. Temple festivals are characterised by the active participation of devotees in and around the respective temple, by “playing host to deity” as Younger (2002:13f.) defines the religious experience of festivals in the South Indian tradition. People have various individual aims: they wish to see the image of the deity, to show love and respect or fulfil vows. At the same time people assure themselves of their common beliefs and traditions. Temple festivals provide apt occasions for remembering and continuing these and also for demonstrating them to the outside world. This is especially evident in the case of processions, which have become part of a number of temple festivals.10 In all cases the images of the main deities are brought out from the sacred interior of the temple into the profane everyday world, either on palanquins or a temple chariot (ter). Participants and onlookers – Hindus and nonHindus alike – are given the opportunity to have the highly auspicious sight of the deities (darshan, Eck 1985:3). Processions are in themselves public events: People use their own persons and a number of objects to openly demonstrate their religiosity in the streets.11 In doing this they lay claim to public space: they temporarily occupy it, sometimes to the disadvantage of other citizens such as car drivers and tram passengers, they fill it with their bodies, voices, instruments and odours, even the waste left behind attests to their presence. The German public reacted in different ways, sometimes with complaints.12 Nowadays processions can take place quite undisturbed provided they are organised in accordance with official regulations. Occasionally they even have become something of an attraction for 9 In Hannover, Gummersbach and Hamm-Uentrop, at the Ganesha Temple, at the Murukan temples in Berlin, Bremen and Hamm. 10 The first public procession was organised by the Kamadchi Temple in Hamm in 1993. Since then other temples followed: Gummersbach, Hannover, Hamm (Ganesha Temple), Berlin, Hamm (Murukan Temple, for the first time on 28.7.02). The decision depended not least on the local conditions like roads for circumambulation, parking space, sanitary facilities. 11 Metcalf (1996:18) discusses this phenomenon with regard to Muslim processions in England and North America. 12 See for Hamm Baumann 2000:149-52. In the meantime the dates for large processions generally have been moved to Sundays, i.e. days with least traffic, and provisions have been made by the organisers to remove litter immediately. This has eased the situation everywhere.
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non-Hindu spectators.13
II. The Sri Kamadchi Ampal Temple in Hamm-Uentrop The Sri Kamadchi Ampal Temple in Hamm-Uentrop, abode of the goddess Kamadchi, is unanimously referred to as the largest Tamil Hindu temple in Europe. Finished and consecrated in 2002, it was preceded by two earlier places of worship for the same goddess, one in the city of Hamm and one in the suburb of Hamm called HammUentrop. The history of this temple aptly exemplifies what was said about Tamil Hindu religiosity in Germany in general: a development away from initial invisibility towards a public demonstration of Hindu beliefs and practices. The Previous Kamadchi Temples Sri Kamadchi (Tamil: Kamatci; Sanskrit: Kamakshi), a goddess worshipped especially in South India, has had a home in the Hamm region since 1989. This was the year when Shiva Sri V.A.S. Paskarakurukkal, then 27 years old, established a place of worship for the goddess in the basement of the house in Hamm-Herringen where he lived, using a metal statue presented to him by German friends. Sri Paskaran originates from a family of temple priests in the Jaffna area in Northern Sri Lanka and had come to Germany as a refugee in 1985 (Baumann 2000:147ff; Wilke 2003). His small private shrine was visited by a steadily increasing number of Tamil worshippers. Their financial contributions made it possible to rent the rooms of a former laundry in the same residential area and to open a temple in 1992. Sri Paskaran headed the new temple committee. Shortly after the inauguration the first annual temple festival was celebrated, involving a public procession with about 300 participants. This festival was repeated in the following years with growing numbers of devotees. The reactions of the neighbourhood were not always friendly. Neighbours complained in letters to the local newspapers about being 13 This especially holds true for the ‘great’ procession in Hamm-Uentrop which has for years included a number of people who practise various forms of self-castigation normally not known in Western countries, like rolling along the procession route or doing the circumambulation by prostrating all the way, piercing cheeks and other parts of the body with hooks and needles, dancing with wooden structures called kavati or carrying burning camphor. See Luchesi 2001.
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inconvenienced by noise, litter in the streets and blocked garages and demanded a ban to the processions. The authorities were informed that the situation in the temple in no way conformed to German security regulations. The result was that the authorities closed the temple. Nevertheless, permission was granted for the 1996 procession. Moreover, the authorities were very helpful in trying to find a new site for the temple. Evaluating their options priest Paskaran and the temple committee were thinking of a suitable property instead of a rented building. They envisaged a place large enough to house a temple, accommodation for the priest and his family as well as his helpers and guests, and a number of parking lots. The temple itself was to be a completely new structure and its outer appearance bears some resemblance to South Asian sacred buildings. Above all, they hoped that the temple would have an elaborately carved temple tower (gopura). It did not take long for a place to be found. Though this was perhaps not an ideal site its advantages overruled the disadvantages: it was far outside from Hamm in the industrial area of Hamm-Uentrop but very close to one of the main highways which connects many towns in the densely inhabited Ruhr area. Its position between factories and industrial buildings – among them the huge slaughter-house “Westfleisch” – was neither auspicious for a Hindu temple nor in any way especially attractive but made it comparatively unproblematic to have processions at weekends and in the evening hours. There were no immediate neighbours to be disturbed by loud music, singing and the noise created by the gathering of many people. Moreover, the plot’s size of 4500 square meters seemed large enough to realise the different planned buildings and facilities. The land was bought in 1997. An already existent self-contained house provided a ready quarter for the priest and his family. On account of limited financial means plans for the envisaged large temple were postponed. Instead a modest functional building adjacent to the priest’s house was erected. It was to serve as an interim temple, which could be converted into a community hall and guesthouse later on. As early as autumn 1997 the image of the goddess Kamadchi and her entourage could be brought in a procession from the previous temple in the town and installed with all due ceremonies. The temple was set up on the ground floor in a bright, white-tiled room, which had a windowless extension to the south. This was the sanctum sanctorum, lockable by a sliding door and not to be entered except by priests. It housed the image of the central goddess of the
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temple, Sri Kamadchi, a delicately proportioned figure made out of five metals. A second metal Kamadchi figure was positioned behind her as well as several black stone images of other gods.14 Two niches in the wall dividing the prayer room and sanctum were for Ganesha – in Tamil commonly referred to as Vinayakat – on the left side of the entrance and Murukan with his consorts Valli and Devasena on the right. As Ganesha and Murukan (also known as Subrahmanya, Skanda or Karttikeya ) are thought to be the sons of the goddess, they are of special importance in her temple. A large platform for the nine planet deities (Navagraha, Tam. Navakkirakam) was placed in the prayer hall itself. Next to the prayer room was a kitchen in which the daily food for the gods was prepared as well as food for visitors during festivals. The spacious room on the second floor was furnished as a marriage hall. Unlike the previous temple in the town the interim temple was equipped with several outwards signs which pointed to its function. The outer walls were painted with white and red stripes reminiscent of the enclosures of Hindu temples in South India and Sri Lanka. A small dome crowned the extension housing the sanctum sanctorum. A brightly coloured painting was put up above the main entrance door showing the goddess seated on a lotus in the style of so-called god posters popular in South Asia. A similar goddess poster can be seen on the front of the priest’s house. Furthermore there were several signs directly addressing the public. A large signpost, saying “Hindu-Tempel”, was put up at the entrance to the road which leads to the temple. A board at the fence of the property listed activities in Tamil and German. And right from the moment when the work for the envisaged temple started another board informed in German: “A Hindu temple is being erected here.”15 All this indicates that the activities of the Kamadchi Temple in Hamm-Uentrop were addressed to outsiders and non-Hindus, too. In line with this is the open-mindedness the priest always showed towards visitors of all creeds. They could enter the temple if they wished to, be present during the pujas and ceremonies and receive information about Hindu beliefs and practises. Tamil devotees came from near and far to visit goddess Kamad-
14 An image of Vishnu and Lakshmi, a so-called Somaskanda image, i.e. the group of Shiva, Parvati and Skanda, and one of Chandeshvara. On the right side were the movable metal images used for processions. 15 The text in German: “Hier entsteht ein Hindu-Tempel.”
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chi’s new home. The temple festivals in May-June particularly attracted visitors, with some arriving from the neighbouring countries of France, the Netherlands and Denmark. Approx. 6.500 people attended the first ‘great’ procession with the temple chariot (ter) through the industrial area in 1997, and the numbers steadily rose to more than 12.000 in 2001 and 2002. During the whole period in which the interim temple was operating, with regular services (puja) twice a day, the aim of a “large” temple was never lost sight of. A special account for tax-deductible donations was opened and requests for financial aid sent out. One could ‘buy’ a square meter of temple land for 200 DM each. It was also possible to donate the money for whole shrines (25.000 DM and more). Several donation boxes were put up or passed around during festivals. A huge sum had to be collected for various expenses. These included funds for the land itself, for the building materials, fixtures and fittings of the planned temple, for the salaries of architects, builder’s labourers and craftsmen from Germany and South India. It also included the cost of new images, the transport, housing and feeding of the South Asian experts and countless other things. The Construction of the Large Temple The preliminary work for the construction of the large temple had started as early as 1996. In this year Sri Paskaran had contacted the German architect Heinz-Rainer Eichhorst and discussed with him his idea of a Hindu temple in a South Indian style. The two of them went to South India in 1997 visiting several temple complexes, including the famous Kamakshi Temple in Kanchipuram, and contacted the temple architect (sthapati) M. G. Nagaraj in Chennai (Madras). This sthapati prepared the original ground plan in accordance with certain traditional rules of temple design (Luchesi 2003). On May10th 1999, at an astrologically auspicious moment, the solemn acts of ritual groundbreaking and laying of the foundation stone took place. Around two hundred devotees witnessed Sri Paskaran and several other priests who had come to assist him perform the necessary rituals. The alignment of the building along a west-east axis and its dimensions had been decided on in advance and the place of the central shrine of the goddess, the so-called “wombchamber” (garbhagriha) fixed. Right at this most important spot a round hole had been excavated which was now filled with a number of objects: earth from seven important Indian temples, sand from
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three oceans, holy water and 3000 copper plates donated by devotees, bearing the engraved diagram representing the goddess Kamadshi. The construction work started in early 2000. The German architect had made the architectural drawings based on the designs of the Indian sthapati. A German engineering firm constructed the huge square hall, 27 x 27 m and 6 m high, and two towers, one the raja gopura – above the main entrance in the east, and the other – called vimana – in the middle of the flat roof, exactly above the area designated for the main shrine of the goddess inside the temple. As early as August 25th of the same year the topping-out ceremony could be held, witnessed by devotees, sponsors and friends, among them a number of German local dignitaries. The German workmen pulled up a garland, indispensable to the ceremony in the German context, while one of them honoured the occasion with a speech in rhyme. Then Sri Paskaran and his priestly assistants climbed up to the top of the front tower to perform the appropriate Hindu fire ceremony. From now on a great part of the construction work was taken over by the group of craftsmen and artists who had come from South India and lived in Sri Paskaran’s house during their stay in Germany. They belonged to Mr. Nagaraj’s firm in Chennai, being either family members of the master sthapati or employees. They began with the construction of the various detached shrines inside the building starting with the one in the south-western corner for Ganesha in accordance with the Hindu belief that this god should always be honoured and worshipped first. Next came the shrine for Kamadchi, the largest one, positioned in the middle of the hall and facing east.16 The rough brickwork was done with Ytong stones, which were covered with cement and subsequently adorned with a number of cement ornaments cast in hard rubber moulds. Finally three-dimensional images of gods and goddesses together with their mounts (vahanas) were fixed on top of them. These images, also made of cement, were not cast but freely sculptured by three of the men especially skilled in making these statues. Without any sketches or models, guided only by their 16 The other shrines are: the ones for Shiva, Murukan and Lakshmi-Narayan, all of them facing east and standing in a line with the Ganesha shrine near the west wall; those for the Somaskanda group and Chandeshvara on the north wall facing south; an open structure for the Nine Planets in the north-eastern corner. The movable procession images are housed in a hall at the northern side. Two smaller shrines for Bhairava and Ayyappan are directly attached to the eastern wall (comp. ground-plan Luchesi 2003:245.
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memorised knowledge of the traditional iconographical canon for the depiction of Hindu gods and goddesses, they created about two hundred statues of different size and appearance. Most of them were intended for the adornment of the two temple towers. The team of Indian craftsmen worked amazingly efficiently: within two years they completed the intricate embellishment of the two towers, the construction of the various shrines and the decoration of the numerous pillars inside. They also did the painting of all the interior decorative elements in various bright colours. The months of May and June 2002 saw the combined efforts of the Indian and German workmen – the latter fixing the electricity, the heating system and floor tiles – to have the building ready for the solemn inauguration rituals assigned for the first week of July. The Consecration Ceremonies By June 30th eleven priests from Sri Lanka and India had arrived to assist Sri Paskaran with the complex rites of consecration.17 The week began with ceremonies for the protection of the place followed by elaborate rites for the gods of the different directions on the second day and those for the Nine Planets on the third. Various purification rites marked the fourth day. On the next day the enormous new image of the goddess Kamadchi was put on a truck and taken in a procession around the town to let her see her new environment. It is made of black stone and weighing about a ton, and had arrived by ship from India several weeks before. After the return the image was placed in the new temple, close to the main entrance, and was bathed with grains, all devotees being allowed to pour a handful. On the same day, a Thursday, the eye-opening ceremony for the statue took place. The master sthapati Nagaraj who had made the image and who had come from South India especially to perform this rite etched the contours of the pupils and lids of the image. Doing this in strict privacy, he is considered to be the first to be seen by the goddess. Sri Paskaran was the next, followed by the devotees present who were allowed to see the face of the goddess in a mirror. The last three days led to the final consecration rituals, the mahakumbhabhisheka, in which the tops of the temple towers and the divine images were sprinkled with waters of consecration. The prelimi17 Cf. the consecration of the Sri Lakshmi Temple in Ashland, USA, described by Eck (1998, new afterword).
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nary rites were performed in a tent, pitched next to the new temple, in which a number of pedestals had been constructed to bear round metal pots called kumbha, each filled with water, topped with mango leaves and a coconut, and placed on a bed of rice. The layout of these pedestals or altars corresponded to the distribution of shrines in the new temple, i.e. there was a central pedestal for Kamadchi in the middle of the room plus four to its western side and five to its eastern side. The pedestal for Kamadchi’s kumbha was surrounded by nine brick fire altars while the remaining pedestals each had one in front. The priests sat before these altars and in long sessions of hymn chanting and placing manifold offerings into the fire they invoked the divine presence of the Goddess Kamadchi and the various other deities. This presence was then ritually transferred into the pots on the pedestals. Late Friday night Kamadchi’s image was placed in the new sanctum. The priests had already inserted a copper plate with the yantra of the goddess and nine precious stones into the pedestal, while devotees were allowed to place coins. It took all men present to heave the heavy stone statue onto this ceremoniously prepared base. The statue was then sealed to the pedestal with a special paste, which had been prepared by women. The sthapatis and craftsmen from Chennai performed the act of joining statue and pedestal. They considered this one of their most important tasks in building a temple. The same procedure was followed for the other new images of Shiva and Ayyappan but also for those from the old temple, which had been removed from their previous sites, cleaned thoroughly and bathed in oil before moved to their new locations. The following Saturday saw endless rows of visitors, cups of oil in hand, who were eager to take the singular opportunity to apply oil to the statues of the venerated deities. In the nearby tent another long fire ceremony took place in which the divine presence was again invoked. A long thread of divine kusha grass was fixed to the water pot and fire altar of Kamadchi in the tent and linked to her statue in the temple, and other threads linked this main thread to the pots, fires and images of the other gods. Touching the threads with grass sticks while moving into the temple the priests transferred the invoked power into the images. The culmination was reached when priest Paskaran performed the rite of pranapratistha on the image of Kamadchi, the “establishing of breath”, meaning the symbolic imbuing of the image with life, which was done underneath a piece of cloth. The most spectacular ceremony of the final day (July 7th) was the
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“great consecration by sprinkling of water”, the mahakumbhabhisheka. A crowd of several thousand people watched the priests circling the temple at the auspicious hour with water pots from the tent and then climbing up the scaffolding around the temple towers. Having reached the uppermost platform they offered flower garlands and burning camphor to the metal vases which form the highest points of the towers and finally showered them with consecrated water. Handfuls of flowers and buckets full of water were then thrown in all directions and happily received by the cheering crowd below. Inside the temple the same procedure was followed for the tops of the various shrines and acclaimed just as enthusiastically by the assembled devotees. The culmination point was reached when Kamadchi’s image, which had been beautifully dressed and adorned behind closed doors, was presented and an elaborate worship of the goddess began, paralleled by pujas at the ancillary shrines.18 The temple had started to function as a place where the sacred power of the deities is present. Tamil Hindu Presence Made Visible The finished new Kamadchi Temple presents itself in its outward design, more than any of the other Tamil temples in Germany, as a Hindu place of worship. The many reports with which the media covered the construction and consecration of the building clearly indicate that the German public responded to the spectacular effort and started to take more notice of the Hindu Tamil community in their country. The architectural features which aroused most comments are the size of the building and the height and decoration of the towers. Indeed, the temple is larger than the other Tamil places of worship but not really outstanding compared with the surrounding industrial buildings. It seems rather that the decorations and colours are the features, which impress the public most. The outer walls are painted with white and red stripes like the interim temple, a striking feature in otherwise not very colourful surroundings. People who have been to South Asia or have read about Hindu temples are reminded of the enclosures of some of the great temples in South India. They may also recognise the gopura and vimana with their many sculptures as typical of South Indian temple architecture. A closer look at the images on the towers may even
18
They were followed by special rituals and pujas for a period of forty-five days.
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inform those who are not aware if the main deity is male or female that the place is dedicated to a goddess. Most of the sculptures represent goddesses, sitting and standing in various positions. Even the smaller attendant figures and guardian deities are females – all this points to the presiding deity inside being female. The towers are uniformly covered with yellow paint but it is planned to paint the individual figures in various colours later on. This probably will enhance their effect as prominent external indications of a Hindu temple. The non-Hindu public does not have to content itself with the outside view. A board at the temple door gives the opening hours and encourages visitors to enter. A text in German informs those who feel insecure how they are expected to behave in a Hindu temple. They also can contribute a donation if they wish.
Final Remarks The range of possibilities of Tamil Hindus to practise their religion in Germany has steadily increased. Devoted Tamils are no longer confined to their private shrines at home. In a number of cities, temples and prayer halls have been set up. Most probably this process will continue. One precondition is, however, that the relatively secure status of Tamil Hindus from Sri Lanka in Germany up till now continues to be secure. Another unpredictable point at the moment are the outcome of the present peace talks in Sri Lanka and their consequences for the Sri Lankan immigrants in the German diaspora. The establishment of permanent places of worship has been interpreted as evidence of the gradual consolidation of Tamil Hindu presence in alien surroundings. The point of this paper was to show that the places and practices of Tamil religiosity in Germany exhibit a steady trend towards more publicity and a claim for more public space. The reconstruction and new construction of temples during the last years and the increasing numbers of Hindu Tamils taking part in processions and other events reveal their wish to be seen in the public domain and to occupy an adequate place in the religious pluralism of Germany. Understandably, the Kamadchi Temple was the first to attract special media attention: its yearly festivals with many thousands of visitors, together with their striking religious practices, and the construction of the large new temple provided interesting material and colour-
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ful photos for a number of reports in the last two years. Other Tamil places of worship remain somewhat over-shadowed by this, the largest temple, but may in the long run gain from its popularity. Local newspapers have already started to look for and address Tamil institutions in their respective areas.
Acknowledgement I am most grateful to Kirin Narayan for comments on the draft and for corrections of the English.
Bibliography Baumann, M. (2000). Migration, Religion, Integration. Buddhistische Vietnamesen und hinduistische Tamilen in Deutschland. Marburg: diagonal-Verlag. —., Luchesi, B. and Wilke, A. (eds.) (2003). Tempel und Tamilen in zweiter Heimat. Hindus aus Sri Lanka im deutschsprachigen und skandinavischen Raum. Würzburg: Ergon Verlag. —. (2003). “Von Sri Lanka in die Bundesrepublik: Flucht, Aufnahme und kulturelle Rekonstruktionen”, in: Baumann, M. e. a. (eds.), 41-73. Dech, M. (1998). Hindus und Hindutum in Deutschland. Exemplarische Untersuchung anhand der Situation in Frankfurt a. M. Marburg: (Microfiche). Eck, D. (1985). Darshan. Seeing the divine image in India. Second revised and enlarged edition. Chambersburg: Anima. (1998) Third edition with new afterword. New York, Chichester, West Sussex: Columbia University Press. Jacobsen, K.A. (2003). “Settling in a Cold Climate: The Tamil Hindus in Norway”, in: Baumann, M. e. a. (eds.), 363-377. Knott, K. (1991). “Bound to Change? The Religions of South Asians in Britain”, in: Vertovec, S. (ed.). Aspects of the South Asian Diaspora. Delhi: Oxford University Press, 86-111. Luchesi, B. (2001). “Das hinduistische Tempelfest in Hamm-Uentrop/Westfalen”, in: M. Hutter (ed.), Buddhisten und Hindus im deutschsprachigen Raum. Frankfurt am Main etc.: Peter Lang, 61-76. —. (2003). “Hinduistische Sakralarchitektur und Tempelgestaltung in Hamm-Uentrop”, in: Baumann, M. e. a. (eds.), 223-274. Metcalf, B.D. (ed.) (1996) Making Muslim Space in North America and Europe. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press. Nye, M. (1995). A Place for Our Gods. The Construction of an Edinburgh Hindu Temple Community. Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press.
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Wilke, A. (2003). ‘“Traditionenverdichtung’ in der Diaspora: Hamm als Bühne der Neuaushandlung von Hindu-Traditionen”, in: Baumann, M. e. a. (eds.), 125-168. Younger, P. (2002). Playing Host to Deity. Festival Religion in the South Indian Tradition. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
ESTABLISHING RITUAL SPACE IN THE HINDU DIASPORA IN NORWAY KNUT A. JACOBSEN
Abstract
Since the large majority of the Hindus in diaspora have been Indians, their diaspora has, obviously, to a large degree defined the Hindu diaspora. The majority of Hindus in many European countries, however, are Tamils from Sri Lanka. This group is hardly mentioned in the literature and research on the Hindu diaspora originating in England or USA and constitutes a neglected dimension in the study of Hinduism in diaspora. In Norway 0,25% of the total population are Hindus of South Asian descent and around 75 % of those are Tamil Hindus from Sri Lanka. The Hindus in Norway do not constitute one ethnic group or one community, nor is this the case probably in many other European countries with a large Sri Lankan Tamil Hindu population. The Hindus from India and from Sri Lanka often do not feel they belong to the same diaspora. The civil war in Sri Lanka and the struggle there for a Tamil homeland separate the diaspora of the Sri Lankan Tamils from the diaspora of the Indian Hindus. By focusing on the plurality of origins and the multiple meanings of space in the Hindu diaspora several common assumptions about Hinduism in diaspora are challenged. The growing importance of and increasing interest in religious traditions we are witnessing in the world today is connected in several ways to the establishment of diaspora communities. Living in the diaspora often challenges people to rethink their cultural identity leading to increased awareness of religious identity. The religious identity may become an important cultural marker and the minority situation leads to a new interest in religion as a preserver of culture. The minority situation creates increased awareness of religious difference. Emigration from South Asia during the last one hundred and fifty years has created large Hindu diaspora communities. Although the
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dispersion of Hindus to many countries in the world most often has not been religiously motivated, it has nevertheless had significant religious consequences. Hinduism in diaspora has along with the Hindu gurus with international success been crucial to the formation of global Hinduism and Hinduism as a world religion. Gurus with international success have spread Hinduism with a universal outlook, while Hindus in diaspora have given Hinduism an ethnic religious form worldwide. Great religious activity often characterises the Hindu diaspora communities.
Hindu Traditions in Norway The world’s northernmost communities of South Asian Hindus are found in Norway. Around eleven thousand South Asian Hindus live there. The total population of Norway is 4,5 million, which means that 0,25% of the population are Hindus of South Asian descent. No other Nordic country has a larger South Asian population. The only other Nordic country with a noticeable Hindu population is Denmark.1 In Europe, probably, only Britain (0.76%), the Netherlands (0.66%), and Switzerland (0.40%) have a higher percentage of Hindus than Norway.2 In the case of Britain and the Netherlands the size of the Hindu population is explainable by them having been colonial powers while Norway never was. Around 75 % of the South Asian Hindus living in Norway are Tamil Hindus from Sri Lanka. The rest are Hindus from North India (2500) and East Africa (but also originally from North India) (200). Tamil Hinduism from Sri Lanka is therefore the dominant form of Hinduism in Norway. The Tamil Hindus from Sri Lanka and the 1 The number of Hindus in Denmark is estimated to around 8000 (personal communication Marianne Qvortrup Fibiger). The number of Hindus in Sweden is less than 5000 but perhaps closer to 3000 (personal communication Katarina Plank), the majority of whom are Gujaratis from East Africa. In Finland only a few hundred Hindus have settled (Statistics Finland informs that pr. 31.12.2000 361 persons from Sri Lanka had settled in Finland. 231 persons with Tamil as mother tongue and 428 persons with Hindi as mother tongue were registered. The number of Hindus in Finland is probably less than 700.). 2 For the percentage of Hindus in Britain and the Netherlands, see Martin Baumann (1999). The majority of Hindus in Switzerland are Sri Lankan Tamils (personal communication, Martin Baumann). The number of Hindus in Norway given in Baumann’s article (2500) refers only to registered members of Hindu religious organizations, not the total number of Hindus.
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North Indian Hindus constitute two separate religious communities. They have separate temples and cultural organisations, celebrate separate cultural events and they originate from two different nations. The meaning of their diaspora is also strikingly different due to the civil war in Sri Lanka. The Tamil Hindus in Norway are part of the larger Sri Lankan Tamil diaspora. This diaspora was caused by the politics of the Sinhala Buddhist nationalists that first came to power after the parliamentary election in 1956. Sinhala Buddhist nationalism defined Sri Lanka as a nation for the Sinhala speaking Buddhist majority only. Although originally it developed as a criticism of Christianity and its missionary success under colonialism, Sinhala Buddhist nationalism became increasingly hostile towards the Tamil minority. Discrimination, persecution, and from 1983, a civil war, have caused 700 000 Tamils to flee from Sri Lanka. The first Tamil Hindus arrived in Norway in the late 1960s and early 1970s. In the late 1970s only a few hundred had arrived and all of them belonged to the network of one single person, Antony Rajendram. His picture decorates the walls of the living room of many Tamils in Norway. He was a Catholic Christian Tamil from Sri Lanka and arrived in Norway in 1954. He had come first to England to educate himself about fisheries. His motivation was to do something for the fishermen in the Jaffna region. In England Rajendram met some Norwegian students who told him that Norway would be a better place for education in fishery. Rajendram then left for Norway. Here he educated himself in the various aspects of fishing industry such as fishing, fish processing and boat-building. His purpose was not to settle in Norway but to develop projects that could help the poorest group of fishermen in the Jaffna area, many of whom were Christians and among whom consumption of alcohol was a problem. Rajendram and a few other Tamil youths who had joined him in Norway managed in 1967 to involve a Norwegian youth organisation that worked against consumption of alcohol, to collect money for a fishery project in Sri Lanka. With additional money from the Norwegian government, the group bought land in Karainagar in Northern Sri Lanka and began boat building. Soon thereafter they also started processing, production and sale of ice, and trawler fishing. Cey-Nor Development Foundation, as the organisation came to be called, was established in 1971 (Report on the Mission, 1980). Cey-Nor established a fishnet factory in 1975. To educate workers in the fishery activities
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they were given training in the fish factories of Northern and Western Norway. In the early 1970s the fishing industry in Norway lacked workers and many of the Sri Lankan Tamils who came to Norway, decided to stay. Many managed to get work permits for family and friends. Persons who applied for jobs in the Cey-Nor projects in Sri Lanka were helped with job applications for work in Norway when there were no jobs available in the Cey-Nor project, and once a person had a job offer, he or she could get a visa (Fuglerud, 1999). From 1975 immigration to Norway was restricted, but not for education at the Folkehøyskoler, a private college system that offered one-year nondegree courses. These were small schools spread around in Norway. During the 1980ies the Tamils were by far the largest group of foreign students in this school system (Fuglerud, 1999).3 A series of circumstances led to the settlement of a great number of Sri Lankan Hindus in Norway: the establishment of the fishing industry in Northern Sri Lanka with the support of the Norwegian government and Norwegian non-governmental organisations; the need for workers in the fishing industry in Northern Norway; and access to a Norwegian non-degree college system (folkehøyskole). In addition, after the civil war broke out in Sri Lanka in 1983, a large number arrived as refugees. Rajendram’s activities had opened up channels for Sri Lankan Tamils to come to Norway. He had made Norway known to the Tamils in Sri Lanka so that during the war Norway became a favoured choice for seeking asylum. Tamils have settled everywhere in Norway, but from the early 1990ies most of the Tamil Hindus have settled in Oslo, the capital of Norway.4 In the diaspora much work and energy are used to preserve the cultural heritage. This is true in particular of the religious traditions of the diaspora group and these traditions often attain new functions in the diaspora. An important function of religion in the diaspora is to help preserve features of the culture of the place of origin such as language, aesthetic traditions and normative social traditions. Religions often function as preservers of traditions inherited from the past especially because their rituals are repetitive and their norms considered eternal or transcendent. Temples often become the central institution for the preservation of the cultural heritage in the diaspora. The main 3 In the school year 1986-87, 338 Tamils attended the folkehøyskoler, 286 in 198586, 167 in 1984-85 (Fuglerud, 1999: 56). 4 For further details see Jacobsen (2003).
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Sri Lankan Tamil Hindu temple in Norway, the Sivasubramanyar Alayam, was officially opened in Oslo in 1998. Since then, an impressive ritual activity has taken place in the temple
Hindu Identities in the Diaspora The Hindu diaspora is not a homogeneous phenomenon. The diaspora of the North Indian Hindus and the Tamil Hindus from Sri Lanka differ in significant ways. Generally, three categories of Hindus in the diaspora can be distinguished. Firstly, the descendants of persons recruited by the British colonial power in India to work on plantations, build railways and do other work in Mauritius, Guyana, Trinidad, South Africa, Surinam, Fiji, and East Africa, and the Hindu small-scale entrepreneurs and traders who often followed. The great majority never returned home. A second category Hindus in diaspora is made up of those who have become victims of political discrimination or persecution while living in a minority situation outside of India. Many of these, mainly Hindus from Sri Lanka and East Africa, have from the 1970s settled in Europe and also in North America, mostly in Canada. The majority of Hindus in several European countries are made up of Gujarati Hindus from East Africa and Tamil Hindus from Sri Lanka. Political turmoil in Fiji recently has also created a second time diaspora situation. A third category of Hindus in diaspora is constituted by those who left from India, mainly after 1965, to settle in Europe, Australia and North America. This group has emigrated in order to take advantage of educational and economic opportunities. In the United States the overwhelming majority of the Hindus belong to this category. Studies of the religion of diaspora Hindus in the United States have centred on the third category, Hindus mainly with urban, middle class background who either have or are pursuing higher education. Studies of Hinduism in Europe have been dominated by the situation in England. British scholars therefore have focused on the Gujaratis (many of whom came as refugees from East Africa in the 1970s) or the Punjabis and the religious organisations dominated by them. In Europe outside of England the situation is different. The largest groups of Hindus in most European countries (except in the Netherlands where Hindus from Surinam are the dominating group) are refugees and migrants from Sri Lanka (nine tenth of them are Hin-
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dus). The Tamil Hindus, however, are hardly mentioned in the literature and research on the Hindu diaspora originating in England or USA. The Tamil Hindus constitute a neglected dimension in the study of Hinduism in diaspora and of European Hinduism as well. In Norway, the public has often identified Hinduism as such with the nation of India and the religion of the North Indian Hindus, even if the majority of the Hindus are from Sri Lanka. Representatives to public dialogue groups or to public ceremonies, in which representatives from several religious communities are invited to give statements, are always selected from the North Indian community. Schoolbooks usually portray Hinduism in Norway through its North Indian representatives. In Norway there is a perception that the Hindu tradition of North India is the ‘normal’ Hindu tradition, and that the Sri Lankan Tamil Hindus are not the ‘real’ Hindus. This has also been the self-perception of many Sri Lankan Tamil Hindus (Jacobsen, 2001). The Sri Lankan Tamils are often considered by Norwegians as a political group, not a religious group (Jacobsen, 2003). This tendency to identify Hinduism with only India is also present in much of the scholarly literature on the global Hindu diaspora. Tamil Hindus from Sri Lanka often are not mentioned in general treatments of the South Asian or Hindu diaspora (for examples see Coward, Hinnells and Williams, 2000; Vertovec, 2000). According to some, Hindus in the diaspora tend to constitute one community, an Indian community. Scholars in Britain claim that in the Hindu diaspora, ‘ethnic [regional] identity has given way to “community”’ (Knott, 1987: 165), that Pan-Indian diversity gives way to a unified system of belief and practice, and that Hinduism as an ethnic religion (Indian religion) is created (Burghart, 1987; Knott, 1987, 1991, 1997). This claim may be valid as far as the situation in Britain is concerned where the North Indians dominate the diaspora. However this claim does not describe the Hindu diaspora in Norway and probably in many other European countries with a sizeable Tamil Hindu population as well. The Sri Lankan Tamil Hindus and the North Indian Hindus are clearly demarcated traditions and they are separated by national identity and language and also by religious subtradition. The study of the Tamil Hindus from Sri Lanka seems to challenge some of the central generalisations about Hinduism in the diaspora. Since the large majority of the Hindus in the diaspora have been Indians, their religious tradition has determined what has been considered the content of the Hindu diaspora. The Hindu diaspora has
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been identified with the diaspora of Indians. The idea and the fact of the nation-state of India have to some degree united Indian Hindus, especially when abroad, and this union of religious and national identity has perhaps mislead some researchers into categorising Hinduism as a religious diaspora similar to Judaism (and, some argue, Sikhism) (Vertovec, 2000). The idea of Hinduism as a religious diaspora seems to have been based on the argument that all or most Hindus in the diaspora are ultimately from the nation India and that India is also the sacred land of the Hindus. For sure, the creation of the modern nation state of India has strongly supported the idea that just as there is one India there is one Hinduism. Hinduism in diaspora has strengthened the idea of India as a sacred land and as a place where the authenticity of Hinduism is being preserved. However, the pluralistic origin of Hindus and their belonging to several nations challenge this view. The Hindus in Norway do not constitute one ethnic group or one community, nor is this the case probably in many other European countries with a large Sri Lankan Tamil Hindu population. The Hindus from India and from Sri Lanka often do not feel they belong to the same diaspora. They originate from two separate nations. In addition, the civil war in Sri Lanka and the struggle for a Tamil homeland distinguish the diaspora of the Sri Lankan Tamils from the diaspora of the Indian Hindus.
The Concept of Diaspora, the Hindu Diaspora and the Tamil Hindus from Sri Lanka ‘Diaspora’ is a spatial term. Diaspora results from movements of people in space and refers to their relationship to two or more locations, a place of origin and a place of living. Diaspora refers to a situation in which a religious or ethnic group lives outside of its original homeland, often as a minority. In particular it refers to the experience of displacement, that is, the experience of living away from the place of ‘origin,’ or ‘home,’ however that is imagined, and having feelings of loyalties to two or more locations. Sharing a place of origin and a place of living defines a diaspora community. In diaspora a vision is created of the collective identity of the diaspora group being dependent on a lasting relationship to the homeland. In the growing literature on religion and migration, the concept of diaspora has been used in several different but related senses and the
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meaning of the concept, therefore, is ambivalent (see Vertovec, 1997 for an overview). Here I will discuss two different senses with respect to space. Firstly, diaspora is used of displaced groups that have a vision of the re-establishment of a homeland. The classical case for this use of the word is the Judaic religious tradition. However, since diaspora in the case of Judaism is constructed as a religious doctrine, this diaspora is an exception. The vision of the re-establishment of a homeland is usually ethnic and nationalist, only in a few cases religious. Religion can, however, be part of the ethnic and national identity and therefore often becomes involved. Secondly, diaspora is used more generally as a generic term for any group that has migrated to settle in new surroundings. This is how the term has come to be understood and how it is used in the literature. The use of the term diaspora is no longer limited to groups who want to return to a homeland, but is used to refer to displaced people in general. The term diaspora now ‘overlaps and resonates with meanings of words such as migrant, immigrant, expatriate, refugee, guest worker or exile’ (Brah, 1996: 186). Diaspora therefore refers to the experience of living away from the previous home country (of oneself, parents or ancestors) and living in the new place in a minority situation. This has become the dominant meaning of the word. According to the first sense of the word diaspora, which involves both displacement and a vision of the re-establishment of the homeland, only few of the displacements of the world today would count as diasporas. Since religions in general do not constitute diasporas in the sense of having a vision of a return to a geographical place, the word diaspora is no longer used only in the limited meaning the word has in the Judaic tradition. ‘Religions in the diaspora’ or ‘diaspora religions’ therefore refer to the religions of people who have moved to a new place in which they live in a minority situation, and not to a religious vision of a return to a homeland. Hinnells has suggested that the term diaspora religion ‘indicates a religion practised by a minority group, conscious of living in a culturally and religiously different, possibly hostile, environment, away from the old country of the religion’ (1998: 686). No vision of a return to a homeland is implied in this definition. Nevertheless, several arguments have been presented to suggest that in addition to Judaism, Hinduism is a diaspora religion in the first sense of the word, that is, a religion being in some sense uniquely connected to India (Vertovec, 2000). Firstly, Hinduism does not seek
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converts from abroad. It is to a large degree, but not exclusively an ethnic religion. Secondly, ‘practically all Hindus are Indians’ (Vertovec, 2000: 3). Thirdly, Hinduism is rooted in the social system of South Asia. And finally, for many Hindus, India is a sacred geography. Several of these arguments may be challenged. Firstly, several Hindu movements and gurus seek converts. Hindu gurus over the last 40 years have had a significant international success. They have attracted devotees worldwide. Secondly, Hindus are not only Indians, but also Balinese and Nepalese (Vertovec, 2000) and Sri Lankans. In many European countries the Sri Lankans constitute the largest group of Hindus and in these countries it is a mistake to identify Hindus with Indians. Also, neither the Sri Lankan Hindus who live in Norway nor those who live in Sri Lanka wish to settle in India, nor do those who live in Nepal. We will devote the next section to the issue of sacred geography, a central issue since diaspora is a spatial term.
Establishment of Hindu Ritual Space in the Diaspora in Norway: Tirthotsava in Oslo, Norway Hinduism is a religion concerned with place. Places, according to Hinduism, possess sacred power, that is, the power to grant health and moral purity, to fulfil wishes or give moksha to those visiting the places. In many cases, just being present at a sacred place, as exemplified by those who come to die in Benares, is enough to be granted moksha. However, often the performance of specific rituals are required. Pilgrimage to sacred places is a central element of Hinduism. Most of the sacred places of Hinduism are situated in India and for many Hindus, India is a sacred geography. The Hindu gods manifested themselves in India, the avataras of Vishnu were born there, and many of the sacred stories of Hinduism took place in India. Many temples, especially those attracting pilgrims, have foundation stories connected to the manifestations of one or more of the Hindu gods and goddesses. The sacred narratives of Hinduism are linked to geography. They are believed by the Hindus to have happened at particular places in India. Diana Eck notes that Hindu mythology takes place ‘in thousands of shrines, and in the culturally created “map” of Bharata. Just as myth is linked to the land, so the land is alive with
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mythic meanings, and stories’ (1998: 169). Hindu sacred places are not confined to India. They are found in other countries in South Asia as well. Kataragama in Sri Lanka and Pashupatinath outside of Kathmandu in Nepal are famous examples. Establishment of sacred places is in no way limited to the past. Even today new places infused with sacred power may be discovered or created. The foundation narratives of many Hindu centres of pilgrimage are about the deeds of gods taking place in a previous yuga. However, a traditional Hindu explanation of why tirthas are sacred is that the locality has some striking features of natural beauty or that there are some extraordinary features in a place associated with water. Another reason is that a sage stopped at a place in order to perform tapas or take a bath (Saraswati, 1984: 37). New tirthas are created also outside of South Asia. One of the noteworthy festivals organised by the temple of the Tamil Hindus from Sri Lanka in Norway, the Sivasubramanyar Alayam in Oslo, is the yearly tirthotsava, ‘festival of sacred bathing place.’ In this festival a lake in the vicinity of the temple is established as a tirtha, the festival statue (utsavamurti) of the god Murukan is given an annual sacred bath and the devotees take holy dips in the lake. This tirthotsava is part of a greater annual twelve day festival, called by the Tamils here Rathotsava, ‘Chariot Festival.’ On the most important festival day, statues of the three most important gods of the temple, Murukan, Ganesha and Durga (Amman) are taken out of the temple for rides in three chariots. In each of the twelve days of the festival, however, the gods and the devotees are entertained with some activity. The festival has grown bigger each year as new ritual elements are added. Most devotees visit at the day of the main rathotsava. On the rathotsava day the summer 2002, around 3000 persons took part. A new chariot matching the size and beauty of the best chariots in Sri Lanka had been prepared for the 2002 festival. This chariot had been built in Sri Lanka and shipped from there in parts in a container. The builder of the chariot came to Norway to assemble the parts for the festival and was, together with the donor, celebrated for his efforts. This new chariot and the two smaller chariots used in the previous year were drawn around the area of the temple with Murugan, Ganesha and Durga seated in each chariot. The following day was the day of the tirthotsava, the festival of a sacred bathing place (tirtha) in which the gods were given sacred bath. A unique feature of Oslo, the capital of Norway, is that it is sur-
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rounded by forests that are protected and are easily accessible from the city. Walking and hiking in these forests are the favourite past time of many of the people living here. Many Norwegians love the outdoors. They go cross-country skiing in the forests in the winter and go for hikes in the summer. In the forests are lakes and some Norwegians will, if the weather allows, spend the afternoon or, in the weekends, the whole day, relaxing in the sun and take cooling baths in the lakes. The forests are protected natural parks and no buildings are allowed in them. The Sivasubramanyar Alayam temple is situated close to the edge of the city where the forest begins. From the temple is only a fifteen minutes walk to the entrance of the forest. A few minutes further a beautiful lake is situated. This is a park area used for picnicking and people use the lake for swimming and sunbathing. Tirthotsava has become an annual festival and took place for the second time August 8, 2002. In this remarkable festival the lake is established as a tirtha, the gods are bathed in the lake and after the lake has become sacred by their bathing, the participants take auspicious baths. The tirthotsava started in the morning August 8 with abhisheka and puja in the temple. The temple had brought musicians from Sri Lanka for the rathotsava mainly, and since the tirthotsava happened the following day, they were engaged also for this festival. After the morning rituals had been completed at around 10.00 am, the festival statues (utsavamurtis) of Murugan, Ganesha and Durga were moved with much care to their mobile seats which had been decorated with colourful flowers. Four people carried each seat. The gods were carried in their mobile seats to the outside of the temple and the participants, around 500 to 600 persons gathered outside around them. This day was not a holiday, but many of the participants used one of their vacation days for the festival. The group thereafter started to walk towards the forest with the musicians in front and the three mobile seats in the middle. On the way the group walked on narrow paths overgrown with forest. The groups stopped several times on their way to the forest to play music for the gods and to make the walk solemn. From the entrance of the forest it was only a short walk to the lake. The lake area is an unusually beautiful place. The group arrived accompanied by music. This was a Thursday so the lake was not crowded, but since early August is summer holiday for the schools, quite a few children and some parents were relaxing on the beach. A few curious Norwegians came to look at what was going on, but most
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of the children continued their play in the water as if nothing unusual was taking place. At the lakeside the temple committee had erected an altar. In front of the alter they had made a thin wooden framework decorated with colourful flags and flowers leading down to and into the lake to indicate a ghat (a series of steps for descending into a river or a lake). The murtis of the gods were placed on the altar. At the altar the priest first performed purification rituals. Then the priest accompanied by members of the governing board of the temple and other volunteers entered the water with the murti of Murugan. August 2002 had an unusual warm weather. August 8 was a sunny hot day and the air temperature was almost 30 degrees Celsius. The water in the lake was therefore quite warm. The murti was bathed and purified by the priests and a group of men who immersed themselves in the water. The murti was thereafter carried to the altar. The water had become sacred. Many of the male participants at that point started to throw themselves into the water. The atmosphere had been pleasant, but at this point it became playful. Some of the males and children played by splashing each other and swimming to the middle of the lake. A few women took dips in the water in their saris. For most of the participants, this was probably the only trip to the forest this year. In a remarkable way, the place had been transformed into a Hindu tirtha, a sacred meeting place for humans and the gods. All the ingredients of a Hindu tirtha had become present: divine power, beautiful nature, purifying water, and bathing devotees. That the temple is situated in the vicinity of this beautiful tirtha is an auspicious coincidence. It was unknown to the founders of the temple. However, having discovered the sacredness of the place, some of the devotees would now really like a new temple to be built on the tirtha itself. But alas, since the place is part of a protected forest area, this is not possible. Some of the board members have supported plans to move the temple to a different area, but the closeness to the tirtha has now made the move less attractive. The sacred narratives of the Hindu gods and goddesses happened or took place in South Asia. Sacred places in South Asia are therefore often based on sacred narratives involving episodes in the life of a god or a goddess. But sacred places can be established also at places with striking features of natural beauty or some extraordinary features associated with water. As the example from Sivasubramanyar Alayam in Oslo shows, sacred Hindu places are no longer limited to South Asia. This same process is taking place also in other countries
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with a Hindu diaspora population. Hindus in the USA have replicated Indian tirthas in the American landscape and established pilgrimage routes. The Sri Venkateshwara Temple in Pittsburgh attracts around 20 000 pilgrims annually (Eck 2000). In England, Bradford Hindu Cultural Society has applied to use a part of the river Aire to scatter ashes. If permission is granted, the river will be made sacred by pouring Ganga water into it, thus turning the river into Ganga (Hinduism Today, January-March, 2002).
Conclusion Even if most Hindu tirthas are situated in India and South Asia, Hindus now establish sacred places also outside of this area. The sacred geography of India is a central feature of Hinduism, but as important is the process of power of place, that is, of establishing tirthas, of discovering or ascribing sacredness, even salvific power, to places. That tirthas can be established also outside of South Asia questions the view that Hinduism constitutes a religious diaspora similar to Judaism. The divine is in principle present everywhere in the world, not only in South Asia. The Sri Lankan Tamil diaspora is mainly caused by political events in Sri Lanka, especially the civil war in which the Tamils have fought for a separate Tamil state. The Sri Lankan Tamil diaspora, therefore, is a diaspora in the sense of having a vision for the re-establishment of a homeland. The majority of the Sri Lankan Tamils are Hindus, but at least one tenth of them are Christians. Both Christians and Tamils support the vision for the re-establishment of a Tamil homeland in Sri Lanka. Their diaspora is ethnic and national. The establishment of sacred places in the diaspora is usually considered a symbol that the group has decided to stay (Rukmani, 1999). This is certainly true to some degree with respect to the Tamil Hindus. Prospects of peace in Sri Lanka however may now postpone some of the investments in sacred places. Rebuilding the Tamil areas of Sri Lanka might take precedence of investments in the diaspora. Most likely, however, the Sri Lankan Tamil Hindus will in the future continue to establish sacred places outside of South Asia.
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Vertovec, S. (2000). The Hindu Diaspora: Comparative Patterns. London: Routledge. —. (1997). ‘Three meanings of “Diaspora,” Exemplified among South Asian Religions.’ Diaspora 6(3): 277- 299. Williams, R.B. (2000). ‘Trajectories for Future Studies.’ In Harold C., John R, Hinnells, and Raymond Brady Williams. The South Asian Religious Diaspora in Britain, Canada, and the United States. Albany: State University of New York Press.
THE HINDU RELIGIOUS TRADITION IN MINNESOTA INDIRA Y. JUNGHARE
Abstract Hinduism took its roots in America during the 60’s and it has been growing along with the growing population of Hindus. The State of Minnesota is no exception. The Twin cities, Minneapolis and St. Paul, is the home of a large number of Indian regional groups. These communities have established regional-cultural organisations in order to provide for their socio-religious needs. This paper describes the nature and scope of the religious tradition of the Hindu communities of Minnesota, through the analysis of their philosophical and ritualistic practices. It determines to what extent their non-native setting has influenced this tradition.
I. Introduction A major problem in studying Hinduism is the attempt to come to terms with the tremendous variety of practices and beliefs subsumed as “Hindu.” There has been considerable debate over whether or to what degree highly localised phenomena are integrated into philosophically broader or socio-culturally diverse institutions. Most often the issue has been set in the framework of the Hindu “Great Tradition” versus the “Little Tradition.” The “Great Tradition” of Sanskritic literature and deities, Brahmanic rites, national pilgrimage sites, and a widely recognised religious calendar is, in this approach, set out as distinguishable from the “Little Tradition” of tutelary deities and supernatural beings, folklore, charismatic or shamanic practices, local sacred sites, and a calendar with these village-level idiosyncrasies (Singer, 1960: 105-166; and 1972). Most scholars assure us that both traditions are in symbiotic relationship. They are “mutually necessary conditions of each others’ existence” (Marriott, 1955: 191), complexes that are “complementary, each serving important but differing religious purposes” (Mandelbaum, 1964: 11), and “two currents of thought and action, distinguishable, yet ever flowing
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into and out of each other” (Redfield, 1956: 42-43). Such an approach is found outside of Indian studies in cross-cultural discussions about official versus popular religion or textual versus contextual religious culture. Yet some students of Hinduism see the local or ground-level phenomena as so diverse and divorced from Sanskritic or Brahmanic tradition as to claim they are wholly distinct (Miller, 1966). By the same token, then, some suggest that a single rubric of “Hinduism” is consequently a misnomer. A more contemporary trend, however, seems to evidence the gradual disregard of many magico-religious practices and beliefs in favour of ones more widely acceptable or respected. The motivation to adopt generalised Sanskritic traits and to forego particularised village ones, the process called “Sanskritisation” (Srinivas 1956: 481-496; 1952) is catalyst to an interesting type of religious or cultural blending. Originally, as Srinivas and others have proposed, this process must have been set in course for the purpose of advancing individual or caste group prestige. Now, heightened senses of communalism and radical Hindu fundamentalism are affecting similar results in India. Among the overseas Hindu population, a parallel process of Sanskritisation and homogenisation has occurred for altogether different reasons. Hindus in numerous places outside India have been subject to changes which have “led from village and caste beliefs and practices to wider, more universalistic definitions of Hinduism that cut across local and caste differences” (Jayawardena, 1968: 444). In South Africa, for instance, Kuper (1957: 229) portrays the emergent form of religion among Indians as a new variety of “regional Hinduism” similar to the shared patterns of wide areas in India. Bharati (1970: 28-29; 38-40) describes a “complete fusion of ‘big’ and ‘little’ tradition elements among Hindus in East Africa. Along this line we find Pratap Kumar’s scholarly study (2000: 229) of the traditions and beliefs of the Hindus in South Africa. Kumar (2000: 15) informs us that the Hinduism of South Africa is a “remarkable blend of both non-brahmanical and brahmanical elements.” In their study of the ‘Sanatana Dharma’ i.e. the traditional Hinduism of Natal, Diesel and Maxwell (1993: 112) come to the nearly same conclusion that the South African Sanatanist tradition is complex and incorporates brahmanical as well as the indigenous Indian folk traditions. In virtually every case, Hinduism in diaspora has developed substantial modifications from the traditions originally carried abroad.
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Furthermore, the diasporic Hinduism takes upon unique regional characteristics. The recent scholarly studies on Hindu diaspora cover such geographical regions as Australia (Bilimoria, 1999: 3-33), Canada (Coward and Botting, 1999: 35-53), Europe (Baumann, 1999: 5379; Desai, 1994), Malaysia (Ramanathan, 1999: 81-122), and Suriname and Guyana (Ramsoedh and Bloemberg, 1999: 123-163; Singh, 1995). The study of the Hinduism of Trinidad has been made available to us by Vertovec (1992, 1991 and 1988) and Narayanan and Shrivastava (1999: 165-190). As for Great Britain, the works of Burghart (1987), and Knott (1987) are noteworthy. The study of the variants of diasporic Hinduism clearly presents to us different personalities despite common features. Indian diaspora in the United States has recently attracted some scholars’ attention. Desai and Coelho (1980: 363-386) have written on the cultural aspects of psychological adaptation and the migrant Asian Indian experiences. Fisher’s (1980) study is about Indians of New York City. Fenton’s (1995) annotated bibliography on South Asian religions in America gives us some direction for research in the field of American Hinduism. However, the scholarship on the American diasporic Hinduism is still in its infancy since the Indian migration itself to the U.S. has been of recent times.
II. Hinduism in America The birth of Hinduism in North America is often traced to the World Parliament of Religions held in Chicago in 1893 in which Swami Vivekananda delivered a lecture. However, the introduction (history) of Hinduism in America can be said to have begun in September of 1883 when Protab Chand Mazoomdar, the first Hindu teacher in America, delivered lectures on Hinduism in Massachusetts. Followed by Mazoomdar, there was a period of opposition and negativism that was integral to both Christian and secular literature on Asia during the nineteenth century until Vivekananda’s scholastic and rationalistic speech at the World Congress. Following this, in 1902, Swami Ram Tirtha, a young Vedantist, came to America and travelled across the states, spreading words of Hinduism. Baba Premananda Bharati, a devotee of Krishna consciousness formed a Krishna Samaj in New York City in 1906. By the 1920’s, a large number of Hindu organisations had begun to appear in America.
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Despite a great deal of opposition during the thirties, forties and fifties, by 1965, most large American cities, such as New York, Chicago, Los Angeles had at least one Hindu centre. In 1965, the immigration act was revised and the block on Indian immigration was removed. This saw an influx of Hindu migration and arrival of several Hindu swamis, preachers and teachers, who generated interests in concepts of reincarnation, vegetarianism, karma and spirituality. Along with other movements came the Hare Krishna Consciousness, started by Swami Bhaktivedanta. In order to promote its ideology, International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON) was founded, which became a, if not the, representative group of American Hindus during the 1960’s and 70’s. The followers of the movement were seen at airports, parks and public places spreading the teachings of the movement and soliciting money. As both a Hindu group and an organisation designated as a cult, the society grew rather rapidly. By 1970, the Krishna movement had become more regularised in terms of its devotional practices and temple lifestyles and thoroughly “Indianised” in terms of its adoption of vegetarian diet and Indian cultural customs. Disciples wore traditional Indian dresses of orange/saffron colour, creating common appearance and cultic identity. During the transition period from Prabhupada’s leadership to that of his young successors in the later 1970’s, anti-cult antagonists stepped up their attack on ISKCON. Antagonism towards the members culminated in increased kidnappings of devotees by their parents with the aid of deprogrammers, the institution of numerous lawsuits against ISKCON, and renewed pressure on the media to capitalise on the Jonestown massacre by extending the fear of violence in cults to ISKCON. All of these activities forced the Krishnas to adopt a lower profile and some times, resulted in feelings of persecution that promoted antinomian behaviour (Bromley and Shin, 1989: 13-14). The popularity of this movement over the years faded due to various reasons, including: corruption from within the organisation, drug use, and allegations of social misconduct and so forth. There are now an estimated one million Indians settled in the United States, and it is reasonable to think that about three fourths of them are Hindus. It is difficult to venture into the various degrees of Hindu identification. But as noted earlier in the introduction, one can make a general claim, following Bharati (1976: 317-339), that Hindus settled in North America are not significantly influenced or attracted
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by the neo-Hindu movements, such as ISKCON, or TM (Transcendental Meditation Group of Maharshi Mahesh Yogi), that have created large American followings. On the other hand, a sort of all-American Hindu expatriate pattern seems to emerge, which Bharati (1967: 283-320) notes, replicates much of the urban Indian religious eclecticism analysed by Singer in his seminal study of Madras.
III. Hinduism in Minnesota In the 1960’s an influx of Indian immigrants began to settle in Minnesota. The majority of these early immigrants were highly educated professionals and students at various institutions of higher learning. The next wave of immigrants consisted of Gujrati Hindus who were expelled from Africa during the 1970’s. They were shortly followed by Indians from the Caribbean, who originally had been recruited from various parts of India to work as labourers in the vast plantation system of the Caribbean. The most recent arrivals have been of Indians who have been hired to work in the computer and business industries of Minnesota. The almost 20,000 Indians presently living in Minnesota, (12,000 according to the 1990 census), represent a diversity of ethnic and regional groups, with distinct histories and patterns of migration. These variations are maintained in private forms of worship that take on local characteristics and in the creation of cultural associations that attempt to preserve specific languages and their ethnic identities, such as those of Marathi, Bengali, Punjabi, Oriya, Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, and Malayalam. However, the majority of Indians in Minnesota are united in that they share a high level of education and what is perceived as a common Hindu cultural heritage. (1) Religious and Cultural Institutions Hinduism in Minnesota is extremely multifaceted, with divergent philosophies and varied ritualistic practices. Two primary Hindu institutions were established during the 1970’s, the Hindu Mandir and the Gita Ashram. The Hindu Mandir is housed in a converted church that was purchased in August of 1978 by a Hindu community organisation. Inside the church, a series of religious objects of worship are organised. At the centre are the gods Ram, Sita and Lakshman, with their servant Hanuman. Radha and Krishna follow these. The next image is of Kartikeya symbolised in a form typical of Southern
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Hinduism. On the side are Ganesha, the elephant headed god, and Lakshmi-Narayana also represented according to Southern modes of depiction. An interesting feature is that there is also a statue of Mahavira, the founder of Jainism. In the library of the temple is a large figurine of the Goddess Kali. The eclectic mixture of representations demonstrates the diverse cultural and even religious membership of this temple. The Gita Ashram is a newly built and spacious temple constructed solely for the purpose of Hindu worship. It has a large front yard with many trees, shrubs and flower plants. In the inner sanctuary at the centre, are marble statues of Radha and Krishna. They are surrounded by images of Shiva, Durga, and Hanuman. The new wooden ones have recently replaced the old shrines and also the images have been rearranged. Additionally, new marble statues of Rama, Sita and Lakshman have been added. However, Radha and Krishna still remain the central deities. The Ashram also contains a specially designed sacrificial fire pit (an altar for hawan) for the homa practice. The images at both temples are consistent with the representation of the personalised Hindu deities in terms of their textual origin and mythical lore. In popular Hinduism, Ram and Krishna, the epic heroes, are the avatars (forms) of Vishnu with their consorts Sita and Radha, respectively. Similarly, Lakshman is Rama’s younger brother and Hanuman his devotional servant. Lakshmi and Narayana (Vishnu) have developed from Vishnu Puranas. Similarly, Shiva, Parvati, Ganesha and Kartikeya are from the Shiva Puranas and Durga from the Devi Puranas. The Puranas are the stories about the sages, gods, deities, time, and the creation and dissolution of the world. Although a majority of the people has not read the Puranas, they have heard the stories as part of religio-cultural tales. It is difficult to decide the precise date of their composition. The probability is that the Puranas are contemporaneous with the Mahabharata and Ramayana; the earliest were perhaps composed during the second half of the third century and the beginning of the second century BCE (Kunhan Raja, 1962: 76). Each Purana shows, however, different historical strata, having undergone various redactions and revisions; many have several common, and often almost identical, portions, so that some scholars have postulated that they must be derived from some older collection as a common source (Macdonnell, 1971: 252). The Puranic stories, are at the centre of popular Hindu spirituality. Hinduism is generally called the sanatana dharma, the religion that has come down from the past,
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eternal and perpetual. The three Hindu sects: Shaivas “belonging to the god Shiva”, Vaishnavas “belonging to the god Vishnu” and Shaktas “belonging to the Goddess” seem to have lost their sectarian differentiation and have obtained a compatible coexistence in both the Hindu Mandir and Gita Ashram. (2) Comparison of the Philosophies and Practices Philosophies Gita Ashram derives its name from the text Gita or the Bhagavad Gita “Song of the lord.” Therefore, the Gita constitutes a primary scripture for the members of the Gita Ashram and its philosophy serves as guiding principles for its adherents. The Gita is a book of eighteen chapters, which originally form chapters 23-40 of the Bhishmaparvan of the Mahabharata, one of the two main epics of India, written between 400 BCE to 400 CE (Van Buitenen, 1974:17). The Gita has been recognised for centuries as an orthodox scripture of the Hindu religion, possessing equal authority with the Upanishads and the Brahma Sutra. The three together form the triple canon. The Gita is a dialogue between the guru Krishna and the disciple Arjuna. It is a philosophical treatise on life and the after life. The book synthesises various paths to realise God, jnana yoga – “the path of knowledge”, karma yoga – “the path of action”, samkhya yoga – “the path of renunciation’, and bhakti yoga – “the path of devotion”. The members of the Gita-Ashram worship Krishna and follow the path of devotion in order to realise Him. On the other hand, the Hindu Mandir seems to follow the Vedantic philosophy, particularly the non-dualistic philosophy of Shankara, in which the ultimate reality is perceived to be indefinable, indescribable, non-qualified Brahman. The epic personalities such as Rama, Krishna and other popular puranic deities are the non-qualified (nirguna) Brahman‘s, personal (saguna) manifestations, which simply aid devotees in their meditation. Practices The ritualistic practices in both Hindu Mandir and Gita Ashram are bound by time constraints placed on the members by American society and its lifestyle. Hence, the weekly congregational groups come together on Sundays in both places. Furthermore, most of the calendrical festivals, such as Holi, Divali, and Ganesh Puja are celebrated
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on the weekend instead of on the actual dates on which they fall. Similarly, life-cycle rituals, such as weddings, birthday celebrations and funeral rites are arranged to coincide with the weekends. There seem to be some similarities and some differences in the congregational worship on Sundays. In the Hindu Mandir, after the devotees come together and take their seats, the learned pandit gives a lecture on a religious theme, such as karma “action”, dharma “duty”, or some other timely topic, finding support in Hindu scripture. These lectures revive the knowledge of specialists of the ancient texts and myths, who teach to the community, especially the youth. After a one hour lecture, from 10:00-11:00, about 30 minutes are allocated to questions regarding the lecture, announcements, news, and so on. The next half-hour, from 11:30-12:00 includes the singing of devotional songs, followed by arti, which consists of the waving of oil-wick lamp around the faces of the deities. Then the lamp is sent around the room so those individual members of the congregation may receive blessings and in turn offer contributions to the temple activities. Afterwards, the members gather in the kitchen and dining area and partake of prasad or “food blessings” that have been offered. This weekly ritual is called satsang “a meeting of pious or virtuous people.” Similar ritualistic practices are carried out in the Gita Ashram, as well, but with a different focus. In their Sunday activity, sections of the Gita are recited or read and a large number of devotional songs are sung in place of a philosophical lecture. However, some variables such as puja “worship” conducted through oil-lamp arti and then the offering of prasad are quite similar.
IV. Nature and Characteristics of the Religion: Some Observations The Hinduism of Minnesota seems to be a mixture or blend of Sanskritic “great tradition” and the “little” or local traditions. Public observances are more Sanskritic but private ritualistic practices, conducted at home, tend to be in accordance with the members’ lifestyles, family backgrounds, and regional or local (Indian) practices. Hinduism in Minnesota is in a stage of infancy. The members are primarily immigrants who have come to the state since the 1970’s. The leaders are educated Indians, some of whom know Sanskrit and have read the scriptures of Hinduism extensively. The leaders of both the centres are working ardently to establish a firm foundation for the
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Indian tradition’s future growth by organising youth camps and through offering classes in Sanskrit, yoga, Hindi, music and dance. The Hinduism of Minnesota seems to be syncretic. Both centres have deities from the three Hindu sects: Shaiva, Vaishnava, and Shakta. In addition, the Hindu Mandir has South Indian Murugan (Skt. Kartikeya) and Lakshmi-Narayan and also the founder of Jainism, Mahavira. This clearly demonstrates the syncretic nature of traditional Hinduism, which has incorporated various deities in its pantheon and has integrated diverse philosophies and practices from time to time. The Hinduism practised by the religious centres of Minnesota has preserved this trait. The Hindu religious tradition seems to fuse or transform into India’s socio-cultural system. It is known that Hinduism is more a cultural system than a system of belief because of its sanction of the caste system. However, it must be noted that Minnesota’s Hinduism has abandoned the caste system. It is difficult for the centres to maintain the caste structure in a small group of Hindu population when members are struggling to establish the Hindu/Indian identity in the context of egalitarian American society. The caste structure is likely to prove to be an obstacle in the development and maintenance of the Hindu tradition. Yet, paradoxically, the religious tradition seems to be becoming more of a socio-cultural system because of the centres’ important role in supporting socio-cultural activities. There also seems to be an increasing modernisation and secularisation of Hinduism in Minnesota; for example, the Gita Ashram has recently introduced a lecture series on Health and Medicine. On the first Sunday of every month, a specialist on Health Care gives a lecture on a contemporary health issue as part of the Sunday Program.
V. Conclusion The phenomenon of Hinduism in Minnesota presents students of Indian culture and society with unique situations for analysing the impact of varying conditions on processes of retention and change. The process of homogenisation of Indian culture towards “All-Indian” form is presently occurring within Minnesota’s Indian community. This community, which is often relegated a minority status, seems to be in the process of developing an “ethnic religion” similar to that of other overseas Indian communities (cf. Burghart 1987). The adher-
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ence to Hindu religious beliefs and practices, however refined, blended, or syncretised, becomes a fundamental criterion of affiliation to a specific ethnic group. It appears that there was a generalisation of religion and culture around the Indian “Great Tradition,” at least in the initial stages of Hinduism’s formation in Minnesota. Subsequently, institutionalisation and formation of Hindu identity have been taking place in accordance with the political and structural conditions of Indians within Minnesota’s multi-ethnic society. What types of manifestations of Hinduism and Hindu identity will develop in the future depend on the changing status of the Indians vis-a-vis the socio-cultural, political and religious segments of American society. At the present time, however, Hinduism in Minnesota is growing. Indians who have come to Minnesota in the 70’s and 80’s have flourished financially. In the 90’s many Indian computer scientists relocated to Minnesota and became active participants in the temple activities. Thus, the older Indians are now financially stable and the “newcomers” are already prosperous and can contribute to the financial undertakings by the temples. As a result, a new Hindu Mandir, the predicted cost of which is $7,000,000, has been planned to be built on an eighty-acre lot in Maple Grove, Minnesota. The lot has been purchased and the groundbreaking ceremony was observed on January 1st, 1999. The construction of the temple began in January of 2001. The future of Hinduism in Minnesota seems quite bright and along with it, the Hindu religious tradition is likely to become stronger in a variety of ways. With the growing population of Indians in Minnesota, Hinduism is likely to become and remain as one of the most vibrant ethnic religions of the State of Minnesota in the near future.
Bibliography Baumann, M. (1999). ‘The Hindu Diaspora in Europe and an Analysis of Key Diasporic Patterns.’ In Hindu Diaspora: Global Perspective. Ed. T. S. Rukmani. Montreal: Concordia University. 59-79. Bharati, A. (1976). ‘Ritualistic tolerance and ideological rigour: the paradigm of the expatriate Hindus in east Africa.’ Contributions to Indian Sociology 10: 317-339. —. (1970). ‘A social Survey.’ In Portrait of a minority: Indians in East Africa. Eds.
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Dharam P. Ghai and Yash P. Ghai. Nairobi: Oxford University Press. 15-67. —. (1967). ‘Ideology and content of caste among the Indians of East Africa.’ In Caste in overseas Indian communities. Ed. Barton M. Schwartz. San Francisco: Chandler. 283-320. Bilimoria, P. (1991). ‘The Making of the Hindu in Australia: A Diasporic Narrative.’ In Hindu Diaspora: Global Perspectives. Ed. T.S. Rukmani. Montreal: Concordia. 3-33. Bromley, D., Bucknell and L. Shin (1989). Krishna Consciousness in the West. London: University Press. Burghart, R. (ed.) (1987). Hinduism in Britain. London: Tavistock. Coward, H. and Botting, H. (1999). ‘The Hindu Diaspora in Western Canada.’ In Hindu Diaspora: Global Perspective. Ed. T.S. Rukmani. Montreal: Concordia University. 35-57. Desai, E. (1994). Hindus in Deutschland. Moers: Aragon. Desai, N.G. and Coelho, G.V. (1980). ‘Indian Immigrants in America: Some Cultural Aspects of Psychological Adaptation.’ In The New Ethnics: Asian Indians in the United States. Eds. P. Saran and E. Eames. New York: Prager Publishers. 363-386. Diesel, A. and Maxwell, P. (1993). Hinduism in Natal: A Brief Guide. Pietermaritzburg: University of Natal Press. Fenton, J.Y. (1995). South Asian Religions in the Americas: An Annotated Bibliography of Immigrant Religious Traditions. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Fisher, M.P.D. (1980). Indians of New York City. Columbia, MO: South Asia Books. Jayawardena, C. (1966). ‘Religious belief and social change: aspects of the development of Hinduism in British Guiana.’ Comparative Studies in Society and History 8: 211-240. Knott, K. (1987). ‘Hindu Temple Rituals in Britain: The Reinterpretation of Tradition.’ In Hinduism in Great Britain. Ed. Richard Burghart. London: Tavistock. 157-179. Kumar, P. (2000). Hindus in South Africa: Their Traditions and Beliefs. Durban: The University of Durban-Westville. Kunhan Raja, C. (1962). Survey of Sanskrit Literature. Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan. Kuper, H. (1957). ‘An interpretation of Hindu Marriage in Durban.’ African Studies. 16: 221-235. Macdonell, A.A. (1971). A History of Sanskrit Literature. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Mandelbaum, D.G. (1964). ‘Introduction: Process and structure in South Asian religion.’ In Religion in South Asia. Ed. Edward B. Harper. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 5-20. —. (1966). ‘Transcendental and pragmatic aspects of religion.’ American Anthropologist 68: 171-223.
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Marriott, McKim (1955). ‘Little communities in an indigenous civilization. ‘ In Village India. Ed. McKim Marriott. Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 171-223. Miller, R.J. (1966). ‘Button, button... great tradition, little tradition, whose tradition?’ Anthropological Quarterly 39: 26-42. Narayanan, R. and Shrivastava, A. (1999). ‘Diasporic Hindus of the Caribbean with Special Reference to Trinidad.’ In Hindu Diaspora: Global Perspectives. Ed. T. S. Rukmani. Montreal: Concordia University, 165190. Ramanathan, K. (1997). ‘The Hindu Diaspora in Malaysia’. In Hindu Diaspora: Global Perspectives. Ed. T.S. Rukmani. Montreal: Concordia University, 81-122. Ramsoedh, H. and Bloemberg, L. (1999). ‘The Institutionalization of Hinduism in Suriname and Guyana.’ In Hindu Diaspora: Global Perspective. Ed. T. S. Rukmani. Montreal: Concordia University, 123-163. Redfield, R. (1956). Peasant society and culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Rukmani, T. S. (Ed.) (1999). Hindu Diaspora: Global Perspectives. Montreal: Concordia University. Singer, M.B. (1972). When a Great Tradition Modernizes: an anthropological approach to Indian civilization. New York: Praeger. —. (1960). ‘The Great Tradition of Hinduism in the city of Madras.’ In Anthropology of folk religion. Ed. Charles Leslie. New York: Vintage, 105166. Singh, O. (1993). Hinduism in Guyana: a study in traditions of workshop. Madison: University of Wisconsin, (PhD dissertation). Srinivas, M.N. (1956). ‘A note on Sanskritisation and Westernisation.’ Far Eastern Quarterly 15: 481-496. —. (1952). Religion and Society among the Coorgs of South India. London: Oxford University Press. Van Buitenen, J.A.B. (1974). ‘A Brief History of the Literatures of South Asia.’ In The Literatures of India: An Introduction. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Vertovec, S. (1992). Hindus in Trinidad: Religion, Ethnicity an Socio-Economic Change. London: Macmillan. —. (Ed.) (1991). Aspects of the South Asia Diaspora. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. —. (1988). ‘Hinduism in diaspora: the transformation of tradition in Trinidad.’ In Hinduism Reconsidered. Eds. G. D. Sontheimer and H. Kulke, New Delhi: Manohar, 157-86.
REVERSING THE GAZE IN AMERICA: PARODY IN DIVALI PERFORMANCE AT CONNECTICUT COLLEGE LINDSEY B. HARLAN
Abstract Examining celebration of the Hindu holiday Divali at Connecticut College, this essay argues that various songs, dances, and skits demonstrate self-conscious self-translation of students from diverse cultures and regions of South Asia. In performance students reverse the gaze of U.S. citizens and set the terms for multicultural edification while gently critiquing South Asian and American cultural codes. Among the performances examined are a Bharat Natyam dance to the theme song from the film “Austin Powers” and a Bollywood spoof in which a demure Indian wife follows her husband to New York City and becomes a Hollywood star after being discovered by Steven Spielberg.
Preface When I decided to write a paper on the celebration of the Hindu holiday Divali at Connecticut College, I had imagined that my subject matter would be rather different from what it has turned out to be.1 For various reasons, including sabbatical leave, I had not attended the students’ annual Divali extravaganza in a couple of years. What I had imagined that I would be analysing in this paper is a relatively sedate performance of various types of classical and folk performance genres admixed with a few bits of contemporary culture (a song from a movie musical or two, and perhaps a fashion show). Anyway, this is what I had come to expect of campus Divali shows. What I ended up having to contemplate was, well, different. When I mentioned my subject matter to a good friend of mine, a neighbour born and raised in Trinidad, she was amazed that I would present it at a serious acad1 I wish to acknowledge my gratitude to Mridula Swamy for her work on Divali and for her generosity in facilitating the production of this essay.
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emic conference in Trinidad, which was my intention and which I did.2 Anyway, my material surprised both of us – those are the breaks. Having spent my academic career so far working on issues of gender and representation in songs and stories in Rajasthan, India, I have now chosen to shift my attention to the South Asian presence on the campus of Connecticut College, where I have taught for fifteen years. Having taught units on South Asian diaspora in various courses, I turned to analyse the ways in which South Asian students comment on the culturally mixed milieu in which they live and learn in southeastern Connecticut. I have become keenly aware of how students at the College have reversed the gaze of Americans who see them as primarily at least, other than (unmarked, non-minority) students from Euro-American backgrounds.3 Their self-representation takes the form of gentle cultural critique enacted in some delightfully silly performances. This critique, I came to realise, was not a deviation from South Asian student self-representation on campus, but the continuation of a trend that had begun a couple of years ago. To prepare you for what follows, I’ll begin my treatment with a bit of background.
Divali Imagine a newly refinished wooden stage and a stark white wall adorned with a single element, a crimson wall-hanging depicting Nataraja, “Lord of the Dance,” this epithet designating Shiva, the “Blessed One,” one of India’s most prominent Hindu deities. This stage is the site for a performance by members of NAATYA, the Bharat Natyam Club at Connecticut College. Bharat Natyam is one form of classical Indian dance, and surely the one best known to audi2 I suspect that like many people she may assume that academics are a particularly humorless sort of species. The Conference on Religion in the New World and was held at the University of the West Indies, Trinidad and Tobago, Jan. 7-9, 2002. 3 I take this phrase from the title of a book by Susanne Hoeber Rudolph and Lloyd I. Rudolph with Mohan Singh Kanota: Reversing the Gaze: Amar Singh’s Diary, A Colonial Subject’s Narrative of Imperial India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2000. The book details the life of the Rajput nobleman who received a Western education, served in the Jodhpur Lancers, and for thirty years kept an English language diary, which, the authors, contend evidences self-consciously liminal, if indigenous, ethnography.
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ences both inside and outside India. In fact, chances are good that if you’ve seen Indian classical dance, this is the form you’ve seen. I know it would surprise most South Asia scholars I know that Conn. College, a little wooded New England liberal arts school with a small population of South Asian students, would have such a club. But it does, thanks to the coincidence of three circumstances. First the College, which is well known for its dance program, draws students with wide-ranging interests in dance. Second, the school emphasises international studies and so has attracted many students eager for experiences of other cultures. And third, several years ago we were lucky enough to enroll a student named Mridula Swamy, a talented South Indian Bharat Natyam dancer, who founded the club and, by popular demand, has taught two weekly sections of Bharat Natyam: beginner and intermediate. Last spring on the stage graced by Nataraja, the dance club gave a recital for the Conn. College community. At this event Mridula Swamy did what is typically done in Bharat Natyam dance concerts outside India: she explained what some of the gestures and poses signify, then performed a simple dance methodically incorporating them. In self-consciously pedagogical style, she first explained theory, then provided concrete illustration, as professors so often do. After she took the audience through some of the basics of Bharat Natyam dance vocabulary, she brought out her troupe, which performed group dances to the sort of music one would expect to hear at a Bharat Natyam performance. Before each of the numbers that the dancers performed, she delivered a brief introduction, such as the recitation of a praise-poem for the god Shiva. His presence in iconic form and verse not only suggests the religious context of the dance, which in South India was once routinely performed in the natyamandapa (or dancing hall) of temples, but also blesses the performers, who are dancing the rhythms of creation and destruction, in the way of Lord Shiva. At the conclusion of each dance, the audience expressed a restrained appreciation, but, lacking both deep knowledge of Indian dance and the patience of Indian audiences, who are used to lengthy performances, it seemed relatively reserved. That is, until the finale. At the beginning of the final performance, the dancers all stood posed in classical natya positions, but with their backs to the audience. There was a long pause and then rang out the first few bars of a song familiar to student members of the audience. Initial giggles turned to guf-
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faws acknowledging the irony effected by the confluence of what are ordinarily cultural streams from two alternate universes: Bharat Natyam and the boy-band phenomenon incarnate here in the Backstreet Boy’s singing of “I Want It That Way.” The audience was delighted and punctuated the performance periodically with outbreaks of laughter, as performers translated the Bharat Natyam mudras (gestures) and abhinaya (“expression,” including facial expression) into well-known Backstreet Boy idioms. Playfully, the performance inscribed Indian classical dance language (expressing romantic longing, which in the traditional temple context has typically meant the longing of human devotee for a divine lover) on a contemporary and secular American popular performance mode. The choice of performing classical Indian dance to contemporary American music thus allowed dancers to interpret Indian dance gestures in ways that make sense to American audience members. The stripping of religious context (vaguely analogous to the stripping that had already taken place in the performance of classical Indian dance on stage, rather than in temples, in India) was reinstated by the inclusion of the god Shiva, who was located not only on the prominent wall hanging, but also below the stage, which positioned him as divine patron. Dancing, performers conveyed meaning through gestures designed to evoke emotion (desire) and also, contextually and subtly, to construct a religious context for that desire. At the same time, however, the combination of Indian dance and American music effected ironic juxtaposition in the form of parody. But, the question arises: parody of what? The Indian dance clearly parodied the suggestive repertoire of Backstreet Boy dancer moves, to the evident enjoyment of college students, who typically disdain the boy bands so beloved by many adolescents.4 At the same time the movement of Indian dancers to the Backstreet Boys’ music also rendered comical Indian dance, which seems to many so very serious and so very exotically ineffable. The dance text can be read both ways. With this twofold introduction to serious/not-so-serious Bharat 4 For example, facing away from the audience at the beginning of performance is a Backstreet Boys convention. Mridula Swami felt it necessary to inform me about the students’ general disdain for the Backstreet Boys, but I’d already been tipped off by my children, who, though in elementary school, had already told me that only “little kids” like the band, and by my sixteen-year-old nephew, whose best friend was able to make my fourteen year old niece laugh by suggesting that she actually listened to the band.
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Natyam performance in mind, let us move forward to a sunny Saturday this past October, when I went with Mridula Swamy to the Eastern Connecticut Valley Hindu Temple to attend its observance of Vijayadashmi, the holiday that in South India celebrates the victory of the god Rama over his nemesis, the demon Ravana. I was interested in attending this holiday at the temple because in Rajasthan, where I do fieldwork, Vijayadashmi commemorates not Rama’s victory, but the victory of the goddess Durga over demons. While I was motivated by academic curiosity about ritual diversity to visit the temple, Mridula, who is from South India (Tamilnadu), was motivated by a desire to have the ankle bracelets that she uses for dance blessed by the temple’s central deity, Satyanarayana, a form of the god Vishnu, of whom Rama is an avatar (incarnation). The seeking of Vishnu’s blessing for instruments is a common practice among dancers and musicians in South India, as it is in the Vijayadashmi celebration performed at Wesleyan, one of three colleges in a library consortium with Conn. College. On the half hour drive to and from the temple, Mridula took me through her deliberations over various issues related to representing South Asia in the context of the Divali performance at Conn. College. She was charged with providing entertainment for Divali by CCASA, the Connecticut College Asian Students Association (a prominent organisation on campus). Her reflections were initially prompted by my question of whether there would be another fashion show at Divali this year. The tradition of fashion shows was started when my Bengali student Arik De (during his tenure at Conn. College a few years back, a mover and shaker in student politics) staged the first Divali fashion show. He had a degree in fashion before arriving at the College. He, therefore, was able to put on a dazzling and highly professional performance. Many of the 350 or so audience members hooted and cheered as South and East Asian students, half of them female, half male, modelled the latest Indian fashions in a fast paced, dancing-posing, runway performance in which models flirted with the audience as well as each other. I found the show particularly interesting in that it drove home to the audience the point, often lost on students and those Americans who share the tacit Orientalist fantasies about “timeless India,” that Indian styles change. The styles in men’s vests or women’s saris – socalled traditional clothing associated with South Asia – are anything but timeless. Rather, among upper- and middleclass residents of India’s urban centres, styles change constantly, as is effectively illus-
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trated in bestselling fashion magazines and in the frequent wardrobe changes of men and women in Bollywood (Bombay film industry) films. While Mridula agreed that students at the College should be educated about change and modernity in South Asia, she also wanted them to value the classical traditions of India, of which she (like many other Indian students whom I teach) is proud. As the head of the Bharat Natyam club, she was determinated to exhibit India’s most beloved classical dance form. She said there had been enough fashion shows. I also asked her if there would be a performance of Bhangra dancing, which is always a big hit with audiences. For those of you unfamiliar with this music, Bhangra is a dance tradition from the Punjab region of India. Contemporary Bhangra combines a local folkdance form with hip-hop, reggae, UK garage music, and whatever else strikes composers as inspirational.5 Yes, said Mridula, there would, of course, be Bhangra, but along with more traditional dance forms (Garba from Gujarat, the Dapankothu from Tamilnadu). There would also be a Nepali song, accompanied not with traditional Nepali instruments, but with guitars. And there would be Bharat Natyam. As with the dance recital culminating in “I Want It That Way,” it would be set to music that would resonate with non-Indian audience members. Mridula talked about the Backstreet Boys performance, which, she said, was a joke. Then she spoke for a while about the first hybrid (my term) Bharat Natyam performance she choreographed – to George Michael’s song “Faith.” She said she started doing this because when she performed dance to Indian music, people didn’t understand it, even though she’d explain the gestures first. With the Western songs, then it’s clear what the message is. I thought about the two examples she’d given, Backstreet Boy’s “I Want it that Way,” and George Michael’s “Faith.” I contemplated their common expression of the experience of desire and was reminded of madhurya bhava (“honeylove”), the expression of romantic longing that is one of the most common bhavas or “moods” incorporated into worship of Hindu
5 One of the more interesting Bhangra songs I’ve heard is by the Scottish band, Bombay Talkie. The song, “Chargiye,” (in Panjabi, “Intoxicated”) begins with a Clint Eastwood sound bite, then proceeds to blend Indian film music and rock with Panjabi lyrics in a song about being intoxicated by love.
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deities, including the singing of devotional songs (bhajans, kirtans, etc).6 A good illustration of this is to be found in the film, “Given to Dance,” which portrays a classical (Odissi-style) dancer performing Jayadeva’s “Gitagovinda.” The Sanskrit poem details the tumultuous relationship between the god Krishna, incarnate as a cowherd, and his girlfriend Radha, a milkmaid who stands as paradigm of the faithful devotee. The film juxtaposes commentary from a stage performer with interviews of devadasis, now elderly “servants [dasis] of god [deva]” who once performed “Gitagovinda” and other dances in Orissa’s Jaganath Temple. With the comments of Mridula, another interpreter-commentator adjusting a classical form to fit a novel matrix, together with this background on previous (Divali and non-Divali) performances in mind, let me turn now to this year’s Divali on campus. On the day of the much anticipated performance, during which a full house of several hundred people ate Indian food catered by a local restaurant and were entertained by students, I viewed the performances Mridula had described during our trip to the temple. In addition to the performances about which I had been told, there was also a performance by a Sudha Mohan Rao, an amateur Indian singer (Mridula’s aunt). She had just arrived from India, and was accompanied by a Sikh guitarist named Goldy and a Sikh tabla player, Jatinder Singh, who, like some other members from the local community attending the celebration, is a Pfizer scientist.7 The tabla player gave a short talk about his drums, then accompanied the singer, who sang two film songs, one in Tamil and one in Hindi.8 Also included in the program, as promised, was the Nepali song, which, as the program explained, was called “Sayad” [Hindi: Shayad], translated as “Perhaps,” and described thus: “This Nepali pop song is about a lovestruck dude who wonders whether the woman he fancies is indeed his ‘heartthob’!” If audience reaction is to be taken as an index of what constituted highlights of the evening, there were two. Given the focus of this paper, the deployment of parody in self-representation, I’ll focus on 6 In Vaishnavite devotional poetry Krishna is frequently described as a honeybee buzzing around many “flowers.” 7 Holding a post-doc from George Washington University, he is a research scientist in toxicology. Raised in Kenya, he did his higher studies in India before emigrating. 8 Tamil: “Vasigara,” and Hindi, “Babu, Dhire Chalna.”
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these two for the remainder of this essay. One is Mridula Swamy’s Bharat Natyam performance, and the other, which I’ll use chiefly as comparative context, is a satire of Bollywood films and is entitled, “Dahi Ka Karz” (“The Price of Yogurt”). Before turning to these performances, however, I’d like to situate the performances in the context of the celebration of Divali. As is well known, Hindu holiday Divali is usually dubbed the “Festival of Lights”, the name referring to the little clay oil lamps or diyas with which Hindus typically light their entryways. With them, Lakshmi, the goddess of good fortune or auspiciousness, can find her way to their homes and bring along prosperity and happiness for the following year. There are many Divali myths told in different parts of India and there is great variety in the festival’s celebration throughout India, but, Mridula explained to me, it is the one Hindu holiday that the various students decided could be thought of as universal.9 When I asked whether Navratri, the “Nine Nights” preceding Dashara, the “Tenth” (also called Vijayadashmi) would have done (it is the yearly festival celebrated by students at Wesleyan), she pointed to variation of praxis and the theological split mentioned earlier. She also mentioned the relatively large numbers of Nepali students studying at the College and said that Divali was even important in Nepal – and, she said, more important to them than Navratri.10 It strikes me that Divali is an interesting choice in that thorough house cleaning precedes the adorning of residences with lamps to attract Lakshmi. In India, the days before Divali are dedicated to what we might call “spring cleaning,” though Divali occurs in the fall. Faithful Hindus clean every surface, wash utensils, and apply new whitewash or paint to surfaces showing wear. Thus it is a time in which many Hindus are conscious of representing their residences as attractive to a divinity: purification renders a domicile acceptable, as in the old adage associating cleanliness and godliness. In the students’ enactment of Divali on the Conn. College campus, the representation takes a different form. Students take Divali to be emblematic of South Asia. There are orange and green streamers 9 On Divali mythology and ritual in India and its diaspora communities, see Lindsey Harlan, “Divali,” Encyclopedia of Religious Rituals, Great Barrington, Ma: Berkshire/Routledge, forthcoming. 10 Divali has the same prominence at Emory University and it is widely recognized as a hugely successful student function. Joyce Flueckiger, private communication, 12/20/01. The same is true in many other institutions.
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(associated in this context primarily, but not exclusively, with the Indian flag) decorating the majority of walls. At the back of the stage there is a rainbow of ribbons, suggesting not only the diversity within South Asia, which includes Pakistan, but also, perhaps, the diversity of the student body. It is also evident in the Bharat Natyam performers, students from a variety of Asian and non-Asian countries, including the United States.11 Although there were only two Pakistanis performing in this Divali performance, other Pakistanis were present in the audience, where they cheered on their fellow students. Mridula was disinclined to think of reduced participation as reflective of world politics, but I imagine that Pakistanis, who are so visible on campus since September 11th, might feel reticent to embrace the limelight.12 The Pakistani students sitting at my dinner table told me, however, than none of them had experienced any difficulty on campus, which, one noted, was one of the benefits of going to a non-urban liberal arts school, rather than a large school located in a city. When I asked them why they weren’t in the performance, one of said that they were just too busy with school to put enough time into it. However simple or complex their motivation for abstention may be, they clearly enjoyed the performance and indicated their appreciation for the various elements of the program with vigorous applause and approbation in their informal Urdu conversation. Their approval was particularly evident in their cheering during the Bharat Natyam performance. Imagine this: a bevy of lovely maidens adorned in crimson and gold saris sways onto the stage. Then gracefully, they enact fluid mudras to the “Austin Powers” theme song. For anyone who hasn’t seen the opening scene of this slapstick comedy, try to imagine perky flute music, evocative of 1960’s jazz. In the film, the song is played as Canadian actor Mike Meyers, portraying Austin Powers (the British “International Man of Mystery”), runs around London in outrageously loud clothes and is chased by throngs of overexcited female admirers. The scene supposedly portrays the sex appeal of Austin Powers, who is throughout the film shown to be 11 The orange and green are also the dominant colors on the Bangladesh flag. Pakistan’s flag is green and white; Nepal’s is red, white, and blue; Sri Lanka’s is crimson and gold; Bhutan’s is yellow, orange, and white. 12 In the past, students have sung the Indian and Nepali national anthems, but they all decided to cut out the anthems in light of the events of Sept. 11. For the same reason, they decided to discontinue using any flags in decorating.
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a sort of debonair, James Bondish spy, but with bad teeth, “flowerpower” clothes, and a convertible sports car with a Union Jack paintjob. It is vaguely reminiscent of scenes from early Beatles movies. The Bharat Natyam dancers express their longing with classical gestures and it is clear to everyone what these gestures mean: these girls are in love. Then, just when the gag of spoofing the opening scene of the Austin Powers spoof on 1960’s spy films is about to get old, suddenly, from the dark recesses of the stage jumps out an “Austin,” but not exactly the Austin that the audience knows. This Austin wears the same 60’s Beatle wig worn by Mike Meyers, but this wig is black and this Austin, played by freshman Ben Griffen, is, we are to believe, an Indian Austin Powers. He dances around like the outrageously goofy Austin in the spy spoof and the women chase him while expressing their longing with exaggerated classical mudras. The song ends with “Austin” dropping his trousers and, with his back toward the audience, displaying his underwear: boxer shorts with the British flag on the seat. The effect is that of “mooning” (albeit veiled mooning) the audience with the Union Jack. Everyone is delighted (some students are laughing so hard that they are crying), though, technically, they have been affronted. The trick reminds me of the mooning scene in the popular British-made Indian diaspora film, “Bhaji at the Beach.” There a bus full of Indian women en route to a day of feminist consciousness raising at the beach is mooned by a bunch of boys, English ruffians pressing their bottoms against the glass of their little car as they pass the bus. Reaction among the women in the bus ranges from unabashed hilarity among the westernised young women (all of whom have diaspora-related problems, such as a medical student’s unintended premarital pregnancy from her liaison with a boyfriend of African descent) to shocked disapproval among the elderly sari clad women, who can’t believe their eyes and begin bemoaning their lot of living outside India. The ruffians’ trick reveals both flirtation and disrespect, effected by revealing what is, in polite society, concealed.13 Among the audience members at the “Austin Powers” Bharat Natyam performance, the shock effect is mitigated by the presence of underwear. The underwear demonstrates disrespect for the British flag that seems appropriate for an Indian dance parody of a (Canadi13 It is motivated not only by sexism but racism, as the film makes clear in another scene.
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an-American) parody of a British film genre (spy film), which effectively makes the chuckling American audience complicit in the ridiculing of the British.14 Read this way, the trick effects a transcendence of the ordinary divide between performers and patrons, and allows the audience to be “in” on the gag. At the same time, however, the trick can be read as an in-joke in which Bharat Natyam performers identify the audience with that which (or whom) the film parodies. Considered this way, it reads as cultural critique of Euro-American culture over against what is somehow quintessentially South Asian.15 Mike Meyers, who gained fame on the television show, “Saturday Night Live,” has become tremendously popular among younger people, who have always enjoyed an in-group (youth) humour transgressing conventional adult canons of taste. The actor under the Beatle wig is a pop-culture icon. And the comedian made up to be an Indian Austin Powers is an American (surely an Indian could have played the Indian), which effectively makes the American play the fool. As an Indian, he is “mooning” the audience, but he is also, like the vast majority of audience members, an American, whose culture consumes and appreciates films such as this one, which is so evidently and Hollywoodishly ridiculous. Of course, included in the dance troupe are Americans, and citizens of other nations, though from the short distance between the stage and the first row of tables, their “non-South-Asianness” is not at all obvious. Having dark hair and dancing skillfully, they are convincing in their apparent “Indianness.” They can be viewed as “passing” for Indians, and so conspiring with Indians in the spoof, which delivers light-hearted cultural critique reflecting on both typically serious, classical Indian dance and Euro-American pop culture. The critique is also apparent in the banal banter of Divali hosts, Abha Rao and Oslec Villegas, a duo making bad jokes, which constitute filler during costume and scene changes. The hosts’ repartee clearly mocks the format of televised award shows, such as the Oscar Awards. Throughout the trite commentaries punctuating performances, the lovely Abha adopts the role of the smart one, while Oslec serves the part of good-hearted, bad-punster buffoon. If Oslec is made to be the buffoon, however, Abha is still an object of, as well as Various things American, including Bob’s Big Boy, are also parodied in this film. Likening the United States “Super Power” to Great Britain as erstwhile colonial power is commonplace. 14
15
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performer of, parody. Her presence on stage reminds one of the mannered, pausing-musing emulation by Amitabh Bhachan (India’s widely recognised film actor) of game show host, Regis Philbin, in the hit Indian show “Kaun Banega Krorepati” (“Who wants to be a Millionaire?”).16 If at all subtle in the hosting trope that frames all performances, the double-edged nature of cultural critique – that mocks not only host country but also countries of origin – is patent in the skit that followed the Bharat Natyam performance.17 The skit, a parody of Bollywood films, tells the story of a Sweetie (played by Mridula Swamy) and a naïve country boy nicknamed Romeo. Before the performance begins, we are told that the “film” we will be seeing is a sequel to the enormously popular “film,” “Dudh ka Karz” (“The Price of Milk”, performed for the 1999 Divali) in which Sweetie and Romeo are united after many adventures.18 As our film, “Dahi ka Karz” (“The Price of Yogurt”) begins, we meet Sweetie, a modest sari-clad Indian wife waiting hand-and-foot on her beloved Romeo, who clearly loves her but misses the wonderful cooking of his deceased mother, a ghost who appears to haunt them at various points.19 Romeo announces to Sweetie that he has decided to leave India to go off to New York and make a fortune selling Indian underwear, which he assures her, will “restore Indian national pride” as it is a big foreign craze.20 This is in itself amusing to Indians as foreign or foreign-style underwear has long been a craze in India and Indian underwear has typically been less risqué than Amer16 This production was recently the subject of a paper by anthropology student Sally Steindorf at the annual meeting of the South Asia Conference at the University of Wisconsin, Madison (October, 2001). 17 In responding to a draft of this paper, Ann Gold, an anthropologist working in South Asia, told me that her husband Dan, an Indologist at Cornell, told her that in a recent Divali performance at Cornell students made fun of both parental and regional accents. E-mail communication, February, 2002. 18 The title refers to a line in which Romeo is charged, according to epic-hero convention, with fighting for his beloved to repay the debt incurred by drinking his mother’s milk. This is a common convention in hero poesis. See Lindsey Harlan, The Goddesses’ Henchmen: Reflections on Gender in Indian Hero Worship (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003). 19 The title of this sequel reflects the fact that it comes two years after “Dudh ka Karz” and by now the milk has turned to yogurt, a theme evinced in the plot’s curdling turns. 20 This reference to the restoration of Indian pride reminds one of Ashis Nandy’s famous and extensive analysis of the colonial legacy of insecurity – in The Intimate Enemy: Loss and Recovery of Self Under Colonialism. Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1983.
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ican underwear.21 The desire for what is foreign, I should note, is also suggested in the names “Sweetie” and “Romeo,” which illustrate the common practice among many urban middle- and upper-class Indians of taking English nicknames, such as Honey, Diamond, Texas, Russia, Jackie and Ricki. At the very least, the decision to employ these nicknames indicates that there is something that is, or will be, alien about these star-crossed lovers. In the second scene of the “film” we move from India to New York City, where the very first person our shy hero encounters is an unctuous, miniskirted American babe draped over the lap of a man seated in an office chair. As it turns out, this man is Kaliya (a.k.a. Mr. Black), the black-clad international criminal to whom Sweetie’s father had engaged her before she was saved and married by Romeo. That he is just an inconsequential love toy to the miniskirted strumpet is made clear immediately, when she ditches him to seduce Romeo, who forgets about Sweetie in a flash and declares his love of “multicultural babes.”22 Back in India, Sweetie learns of Romeo’s unfaithfulness from the vengeful and lustful Kaliya.23 Sweetie hops the first plane to New York where she hopes to regain Romeo’s affection. First, however, she happens to meet Steven Spielberg, who begs her to star in his next picture. She agrees and earns instant fame as a Hollywood siren. When Romeo learns of her success, he ditches his multicultural babe and tries to reconcile with what he remembers as an ever-devoted and docile Indian wife. His hopes are quickly dashed. Having absorbed American (New York/Hollywood) culture, Sweety is now a miniskirted, multicultural babe. She rejects Romeo and falls for the multicultural babe Romeo jilted. The happy lesbian couple walks off to live happy ever after.24 There is ever so much that could be said about the plot of this, er, imaginative spoof. It certainly depicts American culture as seductive:
21 The in-joke would have also worked with blue jeans, but would have probably not been as funny. 22 Mridula refers to her as the stereotypical “American slut” character, who is played in their “film” by an actress with mixed Asian and European parentage . 23 The 1980’s blockbuster “Hero” is a good example. While visiting India last year, I was told that Amitabh Bachan had come to the United States to prep for his game-show host role. 24 As they walk off stage, we hear the voice of the ghost of Romeo’s mother, who announces “It works for me!”
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seduction is verily personified by the multicultural babe, who is attracted to and seduces the exotic but naïve foreigner. That this seductress encapsulates the multicultural American babe is emphasised in the East Asian features of the actress wearing dark, sophisticated and vampish New York clothes. Romeo, who is by contrast an outsider, is portrayed as a bumbling “country bumpkin,” an innocent village boy with ill-fitting and garish, mismatched western clothes. He dons an incorrectly buttoned plaid sport coat and a badly tied bow tie. The evident allegory of (sexual, cultural) seduction stops shy of being utterly simplistic, however. Romeo’s innocence vanishes too quickly: clearly he is predisposed to losing his innocence, as is suggested by his foreign nickname, which is synonymous with romance and frequently used to designate a “ladies’ man.” Seduced too easily, we must accord him at least some agency: how quickly he forgets his sweet Indian wife and falls for a New York slut!25 In this vein, I recall the comments of one Indian student who criticised certain male South Asian students decrying the liberal sexuality of American college girls (including and maybe especially “multicultural babes”), but also taking advantage of it. The “film” critiques not only the multicultural New Yorker, but also the seething-with-sexuality denizen of Hollywood. This type is personified by Spielberg, who patently likes what he sees in our innocent Sweetie, but transforms her into a miniskirted lesbian to be swept off her feet by the sophisticated multicultural babe. Lured by Spielberg, Sweetie decides to become a star and a lesbian (her decision representing lesbianism as a lifestyle choice). Thus she is portrayed as complicit in her transformation.26 While attributing agency to the hero and heroine (who by now reminds one of the seduced star-crossed lovers in the cultic classic, “Rocky Horror Picture Show,” a spoof on horror films), this spoof on Bollywood, which also explicitly invokes and censors Hollywood, ridicules traditional gender relations in India. The Sweetie with headcover is saccharine: her constant attendance to her husband’s needs is parody, as is his preference for his mother’s cooking. Suffice it to say that this traditional Indian couple is not the paradigm of gender rela-
25 “Slut” was the word used by one of the players to encapsulate the multicultural babe character. 26 In the diaspora film “Popcorn Chutney,” the Indian-born mother of a lesbian euphemistically refers to her daughter’s sexual orientation as her “disability.”
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tions that our South Asian female students, and many male ones as well, accept uncritically. Sweetie’s decision to become a lesbian rather than return to her unfaithful, mother-worshipping husband, doesn’t represent the typical option to selfless service to a husband. Rather it underscores the inferior nature of the traditional option for female college students who have lived abroad and then must figure out how to manage marriage back home. The “film,” with its improbable plot (though not much more improbable than many Bollywood plots, which often hinge on unlikely coincidences and rely on predictable tropes like “wet sari scenes” and chasing-hiding forest flirtations) clearly delivers a multipronged critique. At the same time it expresses the dilemma of South Asian college students positioned between cultures. This positioning was initiated on the Subcontinent, where, as the Subaltern scholars based in Kalkata perpetually remind us, colonisation by American and European powers continues.27 But it is most clearly manifest in the positioning of college students taking time out from life in various locations within South Asia to dwell on Western soil. The Conn. College Divali performances I have analysed strike me as representing students’ positioning on the educational (ivory tower) middle ground between United States’ and South Asian cultures. From their liminal stance, they portray in Divali performance some South Asian conventions as antiquated and others (such as Bollywood musicals) as emulative of Western traditions in not wholly satisfactory ways. At the same time they critique the Western alternatives to South Asian conventions, including those that the players emulate, for better or for worse.28 The combination of Bharat Natyam dance and Western pop music positions the dancers between worlds in a way that subversively mimics both genres. The India/New York locations of “The Price of Yogurt,” on the other hand, allows students to parody cultural conventions from two cultures. It demonstrates that what is Indian is not simply “traditional”
27 On “betweenness,” and the dialogical construction of identity among diaspora immigrants, see Sunil Bhatia, “Acculturation, Dialogical Voices and the Construction of the Diasporic Self,” Theory and Psychology vol. 12:1 (2002), 55-77 and also his essay “Locating the Dialogical Self in the Age of Transnational Migrations, Border Crossings and Diasporas,” Culture and Psychology, vol. 7:3 (2001), 297-309. 28 This liminality, so often noted in discussions of diaspora cultures, is discussed in the context of travelers returning home after experience abroad in Susanne Hoeber Rudolph and Lloyd I. Rudolph with Mohan Singh Kanota: Reversing the Gaze.
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or “timeless,” but a combination or melange that is evident in the very name Bollywood and is particularly manifest in (non-Bollywood) film titles playing, in various ways, with the concept of admixture. “Mirch Masala,” “Mississippi Masala,” plain old “Masala,” and “Chutney Popcorn” are but a few such titles. In their celebration of Divali, the holiday that requires purificationcatharsis and ushers a new season with Lakshmi’s blessing, the Conn. College students dramatically respresent themselves as facing decisions about changing or resisting change in the context of their college education in the United States. Their self-representation in the Divali performance is collective: Divali provides the occasion and the College provides the space and means for a common enactment of a shared dilemma. True, the performance is designed to educate, and perhaps acculturate, the audience. As Mridula Swamy’s comments on our rides to and from the Satyanarayan temple suggest, South Asian CCASA students are aware that they are engaging in pedagogy and consider carefully the representations of South Asia that they want to deliver. At the same time, however, the event represents and effects a South Asian solidarity through creative, lucid performance by players. This is nowhere so evident as in the “film” ridiculing Bollywood. The direction that recent Divalis have taken – incorporating humorous double-edged cultural critique – seems to indicate an increased self-confidence shared by our South Asian students. One reason for this may be the increase in the number of South Asian students at the College in recent years. Though the absolute number of these students is small (about twenty), the South Asia presence is supplemented by American students of South Asian origin. Many of them come from South Asian communities in nearby New York and New Jersey. There are also students whose families immigrated originally to Africa and then later to Canada or the United States. Students such as these often appear in my classes with questions about their heritage. I think with fondness of one Canadian student, whose family had first migrated to Africa (Kenya, if memory serves me right); he asked me if I could tell from his name what caste his family belonged to in India. Fortunately, I could not. Having returned from spring break, he popped his head into my office doorway to tell me that he’d asked his mother what caste they came from. “Bummer,” he said. Certainly another factor that could only increase the confidence of
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these students is the increasing numbers of South Asians in the community. Our students see South Asian Pfizer employees not only at Divali, but around the neighbourhood – in restaurants, stores, parks, and so forth. They are highly visible members of the influx of highly educated scientists moving into the area after two recent acquisitions by Pfizer, rendering it the world’s largest pharmaceutical company. Also highly visible to our students are Indian owners and operators of local gas stations. During the past two years one of the two closest to the College has been bought and transformed into a (relatively) attractive mini-mart station and issues gas receipts bearing the greeting “Welcome to Bombay.” Another nearby station – and by far the most popular with South Asian students – offers two aisles of Indian groceries plus a frozen food section and a video rental booth. It is run by Gujaratis, as is the station in nearby Stonington. And there are others. Several months ago Connecticut College students were pleased to learn of the impending opening of an Indian restaurant in New London. This supplements their choice, which includes one in tiny Mystic and the nearby Old Saybrook one that caters the College’s Divali. There are other local businesses with new employees from Indian backgrounds. These restaurants and their solvency (Indian restaurants failed time after time in previous decades – even one that combined Indian and Mexican cuisine!) indicate both the presence of South Asians and the increasing popularity of their cuisine in this increasingly less rustic part of Connecticut. But the most significant factor contributing to and illustrative of the confidence of South Asian students on campus, I would argue, is their highly visible presence in student voluntary associations, particularly those related to student body governance. Sarmad Asif, a Pakistani, serves as Vice-president as well as Chair of Finance for the Student Government Association. He is also Vice-president of the Muslim Student Association, Chair of the Economics Advisory Board, and a member of eight SGA committees, including Cultural Diversity and Dean’s Grievance Committees. (All these positions are current; his past years at the College were similarly frenetic.) Bangladeshi, Hasan Mamun, who was Vice-president of SGA last year, is now SGA Chair of Academic Affairs and liaison to the faculty’s Educational Policy Committee as well as to its Academic and Administrative Procedures Committee. Mridula Swamy is currently the Political Chair of CCASA, as well as the Dormitory Housing Fellow for Earth-Unity
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House, Co-chair of the Sociology Advisory Board, CCASA liaison to the Unity Student Steering Committee and student representative on the faculty’s Multiculturalism and Diversity Committee’s Student Retention and Recruitment Sub-committee. Usman Khosa, from Pakistan, is publicity director for SGA. M. Shahad Zaveer, a sophomore from Sri Lanka, is currently Political Chair of CCASA and, last year, founded the Muslim Students Association. Vimal Vishwanathan, another sophomore, serves on the SGA Finance Committee and the Computer Science Advisory Board. He is also Treasurer of CCASA. An Indian, Annie Chu, is currently Senior Representative to House Council and has served as International Student Coordinator, Environmental Representative to House Council and the coxswain of the Men’s Varsity Crew Team. Ram Prasad Neupane, from Nepal, is Secretary of CCASA. There’s also Milan Pradhan, another Nepali, who has now graduated after various notable NAATYA and Divali performances. He has returned to the College to work with Islamicist Patrice Brodeur on the Connecticut Collegedirected research on the New London site of Harvard University’s Pluralism Project, which documents and maps the religious diversity of America. And then there is Vetri Nathan, who is omnipresent in cultural events, especially Divali, but like other South Asian students, very active in CCASA, which runs Asian Awareness Week activities each year. This list does not include all the South Asian students; nor does it include all of the activities of all the students mentioned. If it were expanded to include the names and activities of all South Asians plus the names of other North Americans of South Asian extraction together with their activities, it would be a long one indeed. All these factors doubtless contribute to the security and esprit of South Asians at the College. Their (sometimes alternating, sometimes simultaneous) mocking of South Asian and American cultures in Divali performance suggests that students feel comfortable enough to criticise where criticism seems due and to make public their evident placement “in the middle,” a location that in some contexts asserts their position right “in the midst” of college life, and in others may mean “on the margin.”29 Their performances have proven tremen-
29 For theorization on marginality and centrality, see Lindsey Harlan and Paul Courtright, “Introduction: On Hindu Marriage and Its Margins,” in From the Margins of Hindu Marriage: Essays on Gender, Religion, and Culture, ed., Lindsey Harlan and Paul Courtright (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995).
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dously attractive to both South Asian and non-South Asian students. Divali tickets (of which about 350 are available) always sell out immediately and there is inevitably a long waiting list. I had to pounce on electronic ticket reservations the first day they were sold to manage reserving enough tickets for my Hinduism class. Thus, if the performances cause anyone offence, it is not evident in ticket sales, which substantiate Divali’s popularity. Whatever the reasons for the self-confidence of South Asians, it is indicated rather wonderfully in “The Price of Yogurt,” the script for which is first enacted in Hindi, then translated into English. Because each character speaks first in Hindi, and then has his or her words translated into English, the South Asians in the audience (students as well as members from the greater New London community) are privileged to comprehend, and laugh together, first.30 Scripted this way, performance enacts an inside joke, but also, secondarily, a spoof that attending, non-South Asian outsiders can ultimately come to comprehend and appreciate, if they just bear with the players as they translate themselves.31 The scripting of “Divali” provides an opportunity for self-conscious self-translation, for “reversing the gaze” and so allowing South Asian students to set the terms for edification.32
30 This trick reminds me of graduation ceremonies from my alma mater. There seniors, not graduating graduate students, faculty members, or audience members receive in their commencement program translations of the Latin oration, which is inevitably funny. This effects evident superiority. 31 The Hindi spoken by players is almost painfully simple. The most evident reason for the simplicity is that Hindi is the lingua Franca of South Asian students, many of whom speak a dialect of Hindi or have studied it as a second language, but are sometimes more at ease at speaking English. 32 That the South Asian players understand their performance as acting not only for non-South Asians but also for themselves is illustrated in a succinct way by footage from the videotape of the Bharat Natyam recital. The camera kept rolling to record after-performance activities, in which elated performers continued to perform parodies of Bollywood. Mridula Swami is to be seen singing a masala song with a partner. The song is patently Bollywood, but their dance is strictly ballroom and it ends with her partner on his knees before this “lady love,” to whom he gives a kiss (on the cheek), after which he feigns a swoon. Meanwhile South Asians cheer and encourage them. Their parody is followed by some wildly exaggerated Bollywood performances.
THE SWAMINARAYAN MOVEMENT1 RACHEL DWYER
Abstract The Swaminarayan movement, founded in Gujarat in the nineteenth century, was one of the first Hindu groups to establish close connections between India and the Gujarati diaspora in East Africa. Since the formation of a substantial (c.400,000) Gujarati-speaking community in the UK, as a result of earlier migration from Gujarat, augmented by the arrival of an East African diaspora during the 1960s and early 1970s, the Swaminarayan movement has come to establish itself firmly in the UK. The Swaminarayan Hindu Mission marked its status as the dominant form of British Hinduism with the building of one of the largest Hindu temples outside India in Northwest London, which has become a focus of British Hinduism, both within the Hindu communities and in the eyes of wider British society. One of the last sects to arise from North India’s sixteenth-century Vaishnava renaissance was the Swaminarayan movement.2 Founded by Sahajanand Swami (1781-1830), also known as Swaminarayan, this sect has also been extremely influential: it is currently estimated that some five million Gujaratis are affiliated to the movement. While its membership is almost exclusively Gujarati, this sect has come to be regarded as the dominant form of British Hinduism. In the UK, the Swaminarayan movement claims the allegiance of a large proportion of a total population of Gujaratis estimated at around half a million, most of whom are Hindu.3 Although those who are not members of the sect may attend its most famous temple in Neasden, London, for religious festivals and other reasons, the temples’ regular congregations are initiated members of the sect. Swaminarayan leaders have Thanks to J.M. Davé for his comments on this paper. Williams 1984 remains the foundational study of the Swaminarayan movement. I am indebted to this book throughout the paper. 3 There are no accurate figures for the numbers of persons of Gujarati origin in the UK as these questions have not been included in censuses. All figures are approximate. 1 2
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come to represent British Hindus at Hindu festivals and functions in the UK. No other Hindu sect has such a substantial base in the UK, the only other large sect being ISKCON, whose Bhaktivedanta temple in Watford constitutes a major centre of Krishna devotion. However, few British Hindus are actually initiates as ISKCON’s roots lie in Bengali Vaishnavism rather than the Vallabhite variant dominant in Gujarat. In this article, I trace the historical background to the sect, its theology, its organisation and its wider practices, showing how it became the dominant form of transnational Gujarati Hinduism. The Swaminarayan movement sits on the cusp of several religious traditions. In modern Gujarat it is seen by some of its followers, and its detractors, as a hostile reformist reaction to the practices of the Pushtimarg. This seems to be an anachronistic reading of the history of these sects, given that the alleged malpractices of the Pushtimarg became a topic of discussion by social reformers only at a later date, notably in the Maharaja Libel Case of 1868.4 The writings of the sect5 show that Swaminarayan had a far from hostile attitude to the Pushtimarg, and indeed adopted many of the practices, as did most forms of Gujarati Vaishnavism.6 It is far more interesting, however, to note that the Swaminarayan movement has a number of distinctive features which make it unique. These are found not so much in its theology and ritual, which are similar to that of other Vaishnava sects, but in its sharp division of ascetics and householders, in the centrality of congregational worship, in its emphasis on social reform and social action, the strictness of its rules on sex segregation and in its widespread use of the Gujarati language. These new features of the Swaminarayan sect are striking because some of them seem to anticipate many of the ‘Hindu reform’ movements of the nineteenth century, such as Raja Rammohan Roy’s Brahmo Samaj and later the Arya Samaj,7 whose origins lay in part in the cultural climate of intellectual interaction of Indian and Western thought. The similarities, which include the emphasis on the congregational and social aspects of the religion, issues of caste uplift, See Mulji 1865 and Mehta 1976. Cf. Shiksapatri, 81-2. 6 For example, the temple at Dakor, although not Pushtimargi, has adopted the Pushtimargi liturgy. See Mallison 1991. 7 The founder of this sect, Swami Dayananda, a Gujarati by birth, wrote a scathing attack on the Swaminarayans. See Jordens 1997:150-1. 4 5
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the introduction of new sacred books and the importance of the vernacular as a sacred language. However, there is no suggestion that these features of the Swaminarayan sect resulted from contact with the west and with Christianity or western education. The sect is said to have some connections with the (Islamic) Satpanthis of Gujarat, which seems plausible in view of the plurality of religious beliefs and practices in Gujarat, at least until recently, but the link remains entirely speculative, not having been the subject of research. It is well known that towards the end of his life, Swaminarayan met two leading British men of his time, Bishop Reginald Heber, the second bishop of Calcutta, whose diocesan responsibilities included not only the whole of India but also most British settlements in the East, and Sir John Malcolm, the Governor of Bombay. Although their ideas and beliefs were unlikely to have influenced Swaminarayan, these accounts are informative about how the sect was viewed at that time. Bishop Heber met Swaminarayan on his tour of North India in 1825, after hearing about his social and moral influence, thinking that he might be persuaded to convert to Christianity. Swaminarayan, for his part, was keen to seek the Bishop’s intercession with the government in order to acquire land for land for a temple, a hostel and a hospital. Neither man achieved his goal: the Bishop, although glad to hear the Swami’s argument that although God was one, was horrified to be presented with a picture of Krishna as the form of God; Heber refused to intervene for the temple, but only for the hostel and hospital. The more successful meeting with Sir John Malcolm in 1830 has become a major feature of Swaminarayan iconography. Malcolm, who wished to encourage India’s indigenous leadership to bring about social and religious reform, had heard of the activities of Swaminarayan and wanted to show British support for his work. As these meetings suggest, Swaminarayan’s fame was clearly well established during his lifetime. The movement flourished after his death, as the sect was able to survive schisms and disputes over succession, retaining its core values and beliefs, showing itself more than capable of adapting to the changes in the lives of many Gujaratis over the next two centuries.
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Religious Background To Sect The movement’s founder, known successively as Ghanshyam, Nilkanth, Sahajanand Swami and Swaminarayan, was born near Ayodhya, in what is now Uttar Pradesh. Swaminarayan made a number of pilgrimages to Gujarat, given Dwarka’s position as one of the major sites of Hindu pilgrimage, and eventually settled near Bhavnagar. Stories of his family, his birth and his religious training are well known within the sect, following the usual patterns of Vaishnava hagiography, in that his life was predestined, a series of miracles and conventional occurrences eventually revealing his true nature. As a teacher Swaminarayan did not develop a new philosophical system, although he was influenced by Ramanuja (1017-1137), the proponent of Vishishtadvaita (’qualified non-dualism’), and also by his own teacher, Ramananda Swami (b.1739). In devotional terms he urged his followers to give their primary allegiance to Narayan or Krishna, but he also permitted worship of all the main Smarta deities such as Vishnu, Shiva, Ganapati, Parvati and Surya. Swaminarayan came to be regarded as an incarnation of Lord Krishna himself,8 and during his lifetime six major temples were built in his honour at Ahmadabad, Bhuj, Vadtal, Junagadh, Dholera and Gadhada. Swaminarayan is now regarded as the pre-eminent deity of the sect, which emphasises the oneness of God,9 and the importance of God in human form. The philosophical roots of the Swaminarayan movement lie within the vedantic school of Hinduism. Vedanta (or Uttaramimamsa) is one of the shaddarshana, the six major orthodox systems of Indian philosophy that are astika, i.e. they accept the infallibility of the Vedas. It is based on knowledge of insight from the teachings of the Upanishads,10 whose major interest is the self or atman and the relationship of this self to the universe. Along with most other Indian systems it accepts the doctrine of karma, the existence of the jiva (the transmigratory soul) and moksha as its ultimate goal. It also believes in Brahman (the supreme entity which governs the universe, who is omniscient, omnipresent and eternal), in the eternal Vedas as the source of all true knowledge, and the authority of the Bhagavadgita and the Brahma-
8 The images of Swaminarayan bear a close resemblance to the image of Krishna as Ranchod at Dwarka. Mallison 1974:83 n.1. 9 Shikshapatri, 108. 10 The major Upanishads were composed between 600 and 300 BC.
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sutras of Badarayana.11 Various schools of Vedanta, each created by the writing of a commentary in the form of a dispute on the sacred texts, were founded. These schools fall into two main divisions: the jnanamarga, which places the highest value on knowledge, and the bhaktimarga, which is Vaishnava and comprises several schools. The jnanamarga school of Vedanta was founded by Shankaracharya (788-820), a Nambudiri Brahmin from Kerala. His philosophy is known as advaita or non-dualism, although the Pushtimarg calls this school mayavada and kevaladvaita. Shankara argues that there are two levels of reality: at a lower level the world exists and evolves under a deity (Ishvara12), but at the higher level, Brahman is the sole reality, and the world is an illusion (maya). Traditionally, there are four major Vaishnava sects: Shri Sampradaya founded by Ramanujacharya (Vishishtadvaita), Brahma Sampradaya of Madhvacharya (Dvaita), Sanaka Sampradaya of Nimbarkacharya (Dvaitadvaita) and Rudra Sampradaya of Vishnuswami (Shuddhadvaita). Ramanuja, traditionally said to have lived 1017-1137,13 was an administrator in the Shrirangam temple. He wrote nine works, all in Sanskrit, of which three are philosophical and one is a manual of daily worship. He was the first of the Vaishnavas to set up a theistic philosophical system (Shrisampradaya or Shrivaishnava) striving to integrate a vedantic position with devotion to a personal deity. His commentary on Badarayana’s Brahmasutras argues that the Upanishads teach the doctrine of bhakti rather than the strict monism propounded by Shankaracharya. He argues that the world is ultimately real, as are its two components of matter (prakriti) and soul (atman), with Brahman (called Ishvara) containing elements of plurality, being a personal deity, having auspicious qualities. The deity is real and independent while the souls are also real but totally dependent on the deity. The soul can have a qualified existence separate from Brahman as can the soul from the body; hence the name for this philosophy is Vishishtadvaita, ‘qualified advaita‘. Even after liberation, the atman is in full communion with Narayana, but is still distinct. Karmayoga leads to jnanayoga which in turn leads to bhaktiyoga. One must put oneself completely in the deity’s hands (prapatti ‘surrender’), trusting in his will 11 12 13
Dating from the beginning of the Christian era. Usually taken to be Shiva, since the other Vedantic acharyas are Vaishnava. This is probably too early. Dasgupta 1940:94-398.
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and waiting his grace (prasada). In the fourteenth century there was a schism of belief about prapatti. It was about whether human effort or only divine grace was necessary for salvation. Two schools were formed, that of the monkey and that of the cat (baby monkeys have to cling to their mothers to be carried whereas the kittens do not have to make any effort). The deity is Vishnu, mostly called Narayana, along with Shri or Lakshmi. He is sometimes called Rama but never uses the name of Krishna although Vasudeva is mentioned as a name of Vishnu. He has a large number of followers today, mostly in South India. However, his influence has reached the north through Ramananda14 who established his own sect with Rama and Sita as the combined supreme deity and who was among the first teachers to encourage the use of vernacular languages in religion. He influenced many of the saint-poets of north India, including Kabir and Tulsidas. While Vishishtadvaita forms the theological and philosophical basis of the Swaminarayan sect, there are several significant differences. Swaminarayan argued that the most important forms of God are his saguna manifestations on earth, as avatars and as images of God and his saints. Swaminarayan used two key terms for God: Purushottama, the ultimate form of God, and Akshara, which is the divine abode of God (Brahman) and also his supreme devotee. Despite this close association with Vishishtadvaita, the ritual practices and liturgy of the Swaminarayan movement are largely the same as those of the Pushtimarg, the dominant form of Gujarati Vaishnavism, founded by Vallabhacharya (1479-1531).15 Vallabha accepted the leadership of the philosophical school founded by Vishnuswamin,16 but the sect believes that the teachings were not created by Vallabhacharya, but revealed to him by Krishna himself.17 The philosophical basis of his teaching is called shuddhadvaita Vedanta, ‘the Vedanta of pure non-dualism.’18 Vallabha’s son, Vitthalnath (151648) made little philosophical change to the sect, but his major contri-
Not to be confused with Ramananda Swami, Swaminarayan’s guru. Shikshapatri, 81-2. 16 It is unclear as to whether Vishnusvamin ever existed, and even if he did exist, whether there was any genuine connection with Vallabhacharya (Dasgupta 1949:382-3). 17 Barz 1976:56. 18 See Dwyer 2001, Chapter 2 for a summary; for a more detailed account see Barz 1976, Dasgupta 1949:320-383, and Redington 1983. 14 15
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butions were to the institutionalisation of the cult and to the organisation of its leadership. He brought the sect firmly under family control as a result of his teaching that Pushtimargis should take Vallabhacharya’s male descendants as their gurus. This organisation is similar to that instituted by Swaminarayan for his followers (see below). One unusual feature of the Pushtimarg is that there is little room for contemplation and meditation. Instead emphasis is given to worship of the guru and the tending of the image (seva), practices which have been followed by the Swaminarayan sect, both within the temple and in the home. The attitude, which the devotee must adopt, is called bhakti (’loving devotion’). Like other sects of the bhaktimarga, Vallabhacharya accepted the division of bhaktibhava (’sentiments of devotion’) into four. These are: dasya bhava (the adoption of the servant’s attitude to his master), sakhya bhava (acting as if Krishna was one’s equal in age and status); vatsalya bhava (acting with devotion as if one were the deity’s parent), the approach favoured by Vallabhacharya and followed by most members of the sect; and, lastly, madhurya bhava (imagining oneself as one of the Gopis), the approach favoured by Vitthalnath. Swaminarayan’s followers, like those of Ramananda Swami, have called themselves followers of the Uddhava sampradaya, suggesting the importance of sakhya bhava (the attitude of a friend), although for the purposes of seva, vatsalya bhava is preferred, while some of the sect’s lyrics prefer madhurya bhava. Pushtimarg Vaishnavism lays emphasis on monotheism in that Krishna is worshipped with ananyabhakti, namely devotion (to Krishna) without another. The Swaminarayans, on the other hand, worship all the major smarta deities, where the major deity is Swaminarayan as an incarnation of Krishna. The early images of the sect suggest that Narayan was the major deity in the early days, which would be as expected given the sect’s origins in Vishishtadvaita. The inclusion of the worship of these other deities, even though the emphasis on the oneness of God is central, shows the Swaminarayan movement to be more orthodox than the exclusive focus on Krishna of the Pushtimarg. It is probably significant in the conversion of nonVaishnavas to the sect, in that they are able to continue worshipping their traditional gods, with a gradual shift in emphasis to the worship of Swaminarayan.
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Texts All vedantic schools give particular importance to three texts known as the Prasthanatrayi, namely the Vedas (including the Upanishads), the Bhagavadgita and the Brahmasutras). For most Vaishnava sects, the primary authoritative text is the Bhagavata Purana (c. 9th or 10th century AD), while Swaminarayan mentions five more key texts, namely the Vishnusahasranama, the Yajnavalkyasmriti, the Vidurniti, the Vasudevamahatmya,19 while the sect’s own texts establish its doctrine, ritual and organisation. The most important is the Shikshapatri, which was written by Swaminarayan himself in 1826.20 This Sanskrit text comprises 212 verses, covering dharma or rules of behaviour for members of the sect, ranging from the Acharya and their wives, to householders, married women, widows and ascetics. It is reckoned to be ‘an idol of Lord Sahajanand Swami, alias Lord Swaminarayan Himself depicted in words’,21 and replaces all other Shastras. Second in importance is the Vacanamrutam,22 the first major work in modern Gujarati prose, a collection of Swaminarayan’s sermons, arranged in chronological order, labelled by place of delivery. Other key works are the Satsangijivanam, a hagiography of Swaminarayan in Sanskrit by Shatananda Muni and the Lekh, Swaminarayan’s rules for the Ahmadabad and Vadtal dioceses. The latter is not of great significance for BAPS (see below), for whom the Swamini Vato, sermons of Gunatitanand Swami, are particularly revered. This use of Gujarati in the writings of Swaminarayan can be contrasted with the texts of the Pushtimarg, which reveres the Sanskrit writings of Vallabha and the later Braj writings of Vitthalnath’s son, Gokulnath (1552-1641). Gokulnath was the first to switch from writing in Sanskrit to the vernacular, Braj Bhasha, a dialect associated with the sacred land of Braj, the other sacred language of the Pushtimarg. Goluknath’s younger brother Gopeshwari wrote the Shikshapatra, a collection of Sanskrit verse with a Braj prose commentary, which is the most widely read doctrinal text of the Pushtimarg. The liturgy of the sect was composed in Braj by the ashtachap, a group of eight poets, whose compositions are known as Havelisangeet (’the tem19
Shikshapatri, 93-102. Swaminarayan gave a copy of this text to Governor Malcolm on their meeting mentioned above. 21 ’‘A word from the publisher’, in Swaminarayan 1986. 22 For an extensive study of this text see Mukundcharandas 1999a. 20
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ple songs’). There were no further significant writers in the sect until Dayaram (1777-1852),23 who wrote in Braj, but is best known for his Gujarati lyrics. The Swaminarayan movement, whose foundation is roughly contemporaneous with Dayaram, has an important role in the development of Gujarati literature, simultaneously publishing the first pieces of Gujarati prose and introducing Gujarati as an important religious language. Gujarati Vaishnavism has a rich lyric tradition, including the work of major poets such as Mira and Narasimha Maheta and Premananda, its last important writer being Dayaram. Among Swaminarayan’s devotees were eight major poets,24 notably Muktananda (1750-1830) and Devananda (1830-54), who also composed lyrics, in Gujarati and Braj, in a similar to style to Dayaram. Dayaram is known to have met the most celebrated poet of the sect of Swaminarayan, Premanand Swami (1784-1855). The two refused on religious grounds to visit each other, but were said to have met in Dabhoi by chance and to have had a long conversation. As a result of this encounter the lyric: ruda diso cho Rajendra, mandira mara avata re 25 was composed, but it is disputed as to whether it was by Dayaram or by Premanand.26
Organisation of the Sect In his teaching Swaminarayan put a great deal of emphasis on social reforms and the need for charitable work. In broad terms the sect can also be described as puritanical. In other words, moral rectitude and the maintenance of ritual purity being accorded great importance since Swaminarayan was an ascetic who observed strict celibacy himself and the sect contains an ascetic order. Followers of Swaminarayan are divided into four main classes: brahmacharis, (ascetic priests) who may be only Brahmins; sadhus (ascetics, some of whom are also priests) who may not be from a lower caste than the Kanbi, and from whose ranks the mahants (chief ascetics) and kotharis (temple managers) are drawn; palas (temple ser-
23 24 25 26
See Dwyer 2001 for a study of this poet. See Caudhari 1981. For translation see Heehs 2002:339. Text from Raval 1953, No. 70.
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vants); and finally the satsangis (laity), who constitute the majority of the movement. Since the satsangis are not ascetics, they may mix with women and participate in ordinary commercial affairs, from which they are expected to contribute an annual tithe of 10-20% of their income. Although Swaminarayan was an unmarried ascetic who headed the movement during his own lifetime, he adopted one son of each of his two brothers shortly before his death. By devolving his spiritual authority within his own family, Swaminarayan ensured that a hereditary line of householder-acharyas would succeed him and thus established a household and an ascetic division of the sect. He also laid the foundation for the movement to be split into two ‘dioceses’: one based in Ahmadabad, covering the area to the north of a line between Calcutta, Dwarka, Vadodara and Rajkot, while the second is based in Vadtal and covers the entire area to the south of this line. There have been further schisms within the sect, most of which have revolved around the question of whether the ascetics, rather than the descendants of Swaminarayan, should lead it. One of the most important of these breakaway movements is the Bochasanwasi Akshar Purushottam Sanstha (BAPS), a large and rapidly growing group now over a million strong. The group split away from Vadtal in 1906, under the leadership of an ascetic called Shastri Maharaj, and its current leader is Pramukh Swami, a Patidar from Chansad in Vadodara District. Because of the stress placed on asceticism, leadership in the Sanstha is much more a matter of spiritual merit than hereditary descent. As a result its leaders have been drawn from a wide range of castes, which has undoubtedly contributed to its popularity. In a similar fashion, since 1981 the Sanstha has accepted members of all castes as sadhus, excluding Dalits, formerly called ‘untouchables’, and more recently Pramukh Swami has given full initiation to both tribals and Dalits, not restricting recruitment to this role solely to Brahmins, as do the other Swaminarayan sects. The movement’s strong commitment to asceticism, as well as its careful maintenance of the rules of ritual purity has ensured that this has not been achieved at the cost of a lowered status. Sex segregation is very rigorously imposed: ascetics have no contact whatsoever with female devotees and a member of the laity must read out letters from women to them. Indeed popular perception regards the Swaminarayan movement as a highly prestigious social institution, such that joining it is very likely to be associated with upward social mobility.
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Similarly, the Pushtimarg has always been patronised by the urban rich, mostly from the mercantile communities of Gujarat and Rajasthan,27 and hence its followers are found mostly in these areas and in those to which members of these castes have subsequently migrated, with a small following in Braj. This connection with northwest India is reinforced by the location in 1669 of the main image of the sect in Nathdwara in Rajasthan, near the border with Gujarat. While the dominant culture of Nathdwara is that of Braj, which has been transported to Rajasthan, its leaders are South Indians while the sevakas (’worshippers’) are from different parts of the country, although they are mostly Gujaratis. The Swaminarayan movement also attracts large numbers of wealthy followers. Its puritanical ideals offer an excellent foundation for business success, not least because the adoption of a simple lifestyle facilitates the accumulation of wealth. Moreover, membership of the Swaminarayan movement also brings direct social advantages, viz., the religious prestige arising from the sect’s reputation for purity. It is often suggested that the sect operates in a manner akin to the Freemasons by providing a forum for establishing and providing a guarantee for business contacts. If Swaminarayan is described as a sect of emerging commercial farmers and capitalist entrepreneurs,28 most of its members take that appellation as a compliment. Although the Swaminarayans are not active proselytisers, there have been many converts, drawn in as a result of visits to the villages by the movement’s leaders, and of the many social programmes they have set up. Swaminarayan himself pioneered the sect’s work in this sphere, and even today devotees often point to building projects on which he himself laboured. Impressive and well-maintained temples and guest-houses which have been constructed in this way can be seen throughout Gujarat, and provide constant reminders of the movement’s affluence and prestige. In 1992, the Bochasanwasi Akshar Purushottam Sanstha built an impressive new temple in Gandhinagar and provided a state-of-the-art audio-visual display to accompany it. Through widespread press coverage and word of mouth, this brought the prestige of the sect home to a wide audience. Whatever their precise sectarian affiliation, temple worship is of great importance to followers of Swaminarayan, of whom many 27 28
See Dwyer 1994 for the underlying factors. Hardiman 1987.
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spend Saturday and Sunday evenings at the temple. Here Swaminarayan prescribed the basic rituals similar to those followed in the Pushtimarg, but talks and discussions supplement these, and meals are also provided. For domestic worship many followers keep a Thakorji at home,29 as do the Pushtimargis, along with an image of Swaminarayan and perhaps of their own personal guru. Many of the images and symbols in these domestic shrines are virtually identical to those used by the Pushtimargis, and likewise all food is first offered to the deity; however the degree of ritual care rarely approaches the degree of elaboration found in the Pushtimarg. The Swaminarayans eschew the Braj language used by the Pushtimarg, keeping Sanskrit for certain formal and ritual contexts, and use Gujarati almost exclusively for discourses, hymns and record-keeping.
International Spread India is the sacred land of Hinduism, its shrines and places of pilgrimage mapping out its boundaries. Ancient texts describe pilgrimages made around the country, and great spiritual teachers usually tour sacred places as part of their acquisition of learning and authority. Swaminarayan was no exception to this, ultimately settling in Gujarat, where lies the sacred city of Dwarka, a major centre of the Krishna cult, and home of his guru Ramananda Swami, who also originally came to Gujarat from Ayodhya, although his significant spiritual training was in Shrirangam, centre of Vishishtadvaita. Overseas travel, on the other hand, carries the risk of losing caste. Many Hindus have been pragmatic in their approach to ritual purity, performing expensive rites of atonement (prayashcitta) after overseas travel or taking with them all their own food and water from India. Despite these risks, Gujarati merchants have traded in the Indian Ocean area for thousands of years and hence were quick to seize the trading opportunities offered by the British colonial government’s building of the railway in East Africa at the beginning of the twentieth century. However, this was the first time that a significant numbers began to settle overseas. Even though they returned to India for reli29 While for Vallabhites, this is exclusively a sculpted image of Krishna, it seems that for Swaminarayans this can be either a sculpted image of Krishna or of Swaminarayan himself.
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gious ceremonies (in particular weddings and scattering of funeral ashes) and often for education, it soon became clear that these communities wanted to set up their own religious organisations outside the sacred land of India. Most of the merchants were Vallabhite Vaishnavas, a sect that has always appealed to rulers and wealthy urban merchants. Their emphasis on domestic and private ritual allowed a relatively easy transfer of religious practices. However, the followers of Swaminarayan were keen to establish centres of congregational worship in East Africa on similar organisational principles to those they followed in Gujarat. As early as 1945, the first Swaminarayan temple opened, its images (pictures, not statues) consecrated in India. Many more followed, as the Gujarati settlements expanded rapidly during the first half of the century. Leaders of the sects visited East Africa, but they did not set up the full organisational structures they had in India, having only the laity and priests and none of the ascetics. Individuals in the community were particularly active in organising affairs, notably Dharmajivandas Swami, Harmanbhai Patel and Maganbhai Patel.30 The new temples had clearly demarcated congregations. East Africa had a tripartite social system, in which the British, the Indians and the Africans lived in separate spheres. There was no effort to proselytise to these other groups. The almost exclusive use of Gujarati removed any possible attractions the sect may have had to Punjabis, while Gujarati Muslims had their own strong social and religious arenas. This reinforced the Gujarati cultural elements of this religious group, by which it became an important centre for a public Gujarati sphere in which Gujarati was spoken, Gujarati clothes worn, Gujarati songs sung and Gujarati food eaten. Other arenas, such as caste and village associations, allowed for cultural gatherings, but they could not offer the same combination of religion, culture and social activities. During the policy of Africanisation in the 1960s and 70s, a large number of Gujaratis was displaced from East Africa. Some Swaminarayans went to Gujarat, where they founded temples for East Africans, such as the one in Vadodara, while the majority migrated to the UK. For much the same reasons as in East Africa, the community began to build its temples in the UK beginning in 1970 and throughout the world there are now 350 Swaminarayan temples. The most 30
See Williams Chapter 7.
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important of the overseas temples is the BAPS temple in Neasden, London, which opened in 1995.31 This is the largest stone-built temple outside India, whose design follows ancient texts, its limestone and marble carvings made in India then assembled on site at an estimated cost of £12m.32 The opening of this temple was widely covered in the British media and led to a radical change in the position of the Swaminarayan movement in the diaspora. The members of the movement asserted their position as the leaders of British Hinduism, both to the wider Asian communities of Britain and to the population in general. This can be seen to represent a turning point in the status of the movement over the last two centuries. The Swaminarayan movement had established itself as an important sect in Gujarat even during Swaminarayan’s lifetime. Its status was further boosted when it became the dominant from of Hinduism in East Africa, and no doubt the funds that were sent to Gujarat from East Africa contributed to its growing status within Gujarat itself. Of far more importance were the features, which have continued to play an important role in its flourishing in other diasporic contexts. These include its reinforcement of a ‘traditional Hindu identity’ through the orthodoxy of its practices; the adherence to canonical scriptures; including the Vedas, the strictness of its high-caste, Sanskritic practices (vegetarianism, teetotalism, no smoking), and its enforcement of sex segregation. This has been strengthened through the extensive organisational structures of the sect. These are networked through temples with their roles for the priests, laity, women’s and youth groups who are linked locally and internationally through a wide range of media (newsletters, WebPages and the publication of audio and video cassettes, books, posters, calendars and images). The leadership of the sect remains unchallenged – the leader (one of the householder Acharyas or Pramukh Swami) being in close contact with devotees worldwide, through both use of the media – Internet news, video messages sent weekly to be played during services – and also through personal visits.
31 For more information see the BAPS website (http://www.swaminarayanbaps.org). 32 Although this is the widely held view, found on such websites as that of the BBC – http://www.bbc.co.uk/london/yourlondon/unitedcolours/hinduism/welcome– history.shtml and in the Guinness Book of Records, other temples in the USA claim this status, notably Bartlette, Chicago; the Hindu Temple and Cultural Society of the USA’s temple in Bridgewater, New Jersey; and Barsana Dham in Austin, Texas, the headquarters for the International Society of Divine Love.
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The movement has also proved a way of reinforcing a sense of Gujarati identity that was already established during the long history of the Gujarati diaspora. They kept Gujarati as its major language for sermons and services, but published English translations of key works and used English for its newsletters and Internet sites. They accepted that the younger diaspora are more familiar with this as their written language, but nevertheless organised Gujarati language classes in the temples. This is of great importance given the lack of other public spaces for Gujarati in the diaspora. Gujarati theatre, other community organisations and social functions such as weddings and the creation of Gujarati shopping areas (such as Ealing Road in London, Belgrave Road in Leicester) are the only other public arenas. Many of the South Asian public arenas are not Gujarati. For example music is largely Punjabi dominated, as is the important arena of cinema, where the Hindi film is preeminent, while Asian television in the UK consists mostly of Hindi/Urdu genres such as soaps, music, religious soaps, and other religious programmes. Television and radio have few programmes in Gujarati and little coverage of specifically Gujarati events. There is an active Gujarati press, notably the publications of CB Patel’s Gujarat Samachar, but few of the younger generation can read Gujarati, as can be seen from the inclusion of an English-language section in the weekly newspaper. The sect’s commitment to social work and reform remains strong, and this is undoubtedly one of its attractions among the diaspora who take pride in the charitable work which the movement organises, mostly in India. For example, BAPS is recognised as an NGO in consultative status with the Economic and Social Council of the UN. It runs educational institutions (nine primary and secondary schools, three colleges/research centres), and funds others in the North-East, focusing on tribal education and literacy projects. It provides medical help (free dispensaries, clinics and hospitals); carries out ecological projects (tree-planting, well-sinking); and social reform projects (antiaddiction, anti-dowry campaigns, including organising dowry-free mass marriages of 371 couples); and organising disaster relief. Since this is administered by 635 sadhus and 40,000 volunteers from all backgrounds no money is spent in administration.33 This status of the Swaminarayan movement, I argue, marks it out 33 Letter from Yogesh Patel, Press & Publicity Dept., Swaminarayan Hindu Mission (BAPS). Gujarat Samachar/Asian Voice, Fri 3 Dec 1999: 20.
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as a particular new form of religious sentiment, namely a form of transnational Hinduism. By this I mean a form of Hindu beliefs and practices which is marked by its global nature, marking a world whose boundaries are not those of the nation or, more importantly, of the sacred land of India, Bharatavarsha. The Swaminarayan movement has a different understanding of sacred and profane/national space from other religious groups and its rise to dominance and subsequent prestige can be located within this view. According to orthodox views, travel outside of India results in pollution, which has to be atoned for by ceremonies of prayashcitta. This view was clearly in conflict with the worldly interests of the Baniyas, or merchant classes, who formed the majority of the Gujarati Vaishnavas,34 who had long standing trade networks, largely in the Indian Ocean. It seems that one of the ways they dealt with this was by observing strict Sanskritic practices such as those observed by the Swaminarayan sect and by the Pushtimargis. In the absence of material dealing directly with the Baniyas’ view on space and travel, I should like to make the following suggestions based on my own conversations with such people. It seems that pilgrimage and travel was always a key part of Vaishnavism, whose texts include a Digvijaya, or victory tour of India, by its leaders. Just as Vallabha settled in Braj, far from his ethnic roots in South India and his educational years in Varanasi, so Swaminarayan lived far from his natal home near Ayodhya, in a state of ascetic homelessness in Gujarat. Lord Krishna himself migrated to Gujarat from his homeland of Braj, and it was here he spent his last days. This pilgrimage and ascetic homelessness, however, was entirely based in India and with Swaminarayan, Gujarat was closely associated with the sacred lila or activity of Lord Krishna. Among his followers, it is likely that the world maps of the traders were significantly different from that of these Brahmin ascetics. The wealth of Baniyas is not primarily based on territory or land but on moveable wealth in the form of money, gold, promissory notes and so on. This influences the world view of the Baniyas, which is constructed around migration and movement associated with trade and hence primarily based on urban space rather than on land. Urban space, of course, consists of fixed places, notably the sacred (the temple or haveli) and the pol (‘caste quarters’) but the space in
34
See Dwyer 1994.
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between these centres is only that to be crossed. This can be seen in the way that many Gujarati Baniyas and migrants to Africa talk in terms of towns rather than countries, with the suggestion that moving from Rajkot or Jamnagar to Nairobi is, despite the difficulties of the journey itself, no different from moving from one gaam (‘town, village’) to another. Gujaratis talk of their travels in terms of towns, which are connected only by networks of kinship, caste and sect, rather than by any notion of space. For example, many Gujaratis living in the UK may have visited Nairobi, Baroda, Ahmadabad and Bombay but have only visited ‘Gujarati towns’ (London, Leicester) in the UK.35 There is no idea of country but only of village and of village communities into which the Baniya and his family insert themselves, just as they could move from Gujarat to Bombay. Nevertheless, the sacred sites of India remain important for pilgrimage, and for the Swaminarayans include not only the orthodox Hindu sites (Kashi/Varanasi, Badrinath and so on), but also those visited by Swaminarayan and his descendants. It remains to be seen to what extent the Neasden temple becomes as much a sacred site as these. Would this involve the creation of a new sacred space in the diaspora or would it be part of a move away from the idea of geographical space into the idea of cultural space? Perhaps also the long history of migration of these Gujaratis does not give them such an idea of a national space, whether India or Gujarat, instead they have found new spaces can be created in any environment. A more productive way of looking at this development of cultural space would be extending Appadurai’s concepts of a new ‘global cultural economy’36 to include the category of a ‘religioscape’. Appadurai’s category of the ‘ethnoscape’ is certainly supported by the idea of a Gujarati identity which is associated with language and religion (many Gujarati Hindus and Jains argue that Gujarati-speaking Muslims are ‘not Gujarati’), but not with a nation or a geographical region. This Gujarati identity can be incorporated into national identities, so it is possible to be a British Gujarati, and Indian Gujarati etc.37 Gujarati is also compatible with being British (though not ‘English’), but Indian is seen as a political as well as ethnic identity to
Thanks to Divya Tolia and Aanal Chandaria for this information. Appadurai 1997:32. 37 This was brought to my attention when teaching Chapter 1 of my Gujarati language course. See Dwyer 1995. 35 36
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which few British Gujaratis would subscribe. (Gujarati Muslims may chose to define themselves in terms of sect (Ismaili, Daudi Bohra), coming from pre-Partition India, they may even define themselves as Pakistani, although they have never visited the country nor have any place of origin therein.) However, since the riots in 2001 in the former industrial towns of northern England, many British Asians of Indian origin argue that they no longer wish to be seen as British Asians but as British Indians, defined as distinct from British Pakistanis, whom they regard as being involved in these riots in particular but also as being economically and socially inferior. The centrality of language to this ethnoscape remains to be seen, since many of the younger generation have a very restricted knowledge of Gujarati, and that usually only of the spoken form. The incorporation of English into the Swaminarayan movement may become greater as time passes, but is as yet unpredictable. Perhaps we should return to my suggestion of a ‘religioscape’ since nowadays many British Asians define themselves primarily by religion (Hindu, Muslim) or by sect (Swaminarayan, Ismaili) and to some extent by caste (Patidar, Lohana), rather than as Gujarati. This is probably due less to the fact that they have never lived in Gujarat, and that they speak other languages at home (Swahili, English, Kutchi), for this was the situation in East Africa. In the UK, being a Swaminarayan means being Gujarati, but does not make requirements of caste (although given the narrow range of castes found in the UK would usually mean Patidar), nor does it necessarily distinguish the East African from the direct migrant. However, this is also due to the fact that in the diaspora, religion increasingly forms the defining feature of the new identity of many British Asians. It can be seen clearly in the case of the younger generation of British Muslims for whom a Muslim identity is seen to be of far greater importance than that of country, language or culture.38 This can be said of the Swaminarayans too, and their status as pre-eminent British Hindus may be an attractive feature to other British Hindus who increasingly visit their temple as the centre of British Hinduism. It may be that through the Swaminarayan movement a new form of transnational Hinduism is emerging as a ‘religioscape’.
38
I am indebted to Shagufta Yaqub for her insights into this situation.
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Bibliography Appadurai, A. (1997). Modernity at large: cultural dimensions of globalisation. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Barz, R.K. (1976). The bhakti sect of Vallabhacarya. Faridabad: Thompson Press India. Caudhari, R. (ed.) (1991). Rangbhara Sundarashyama rame. Ahmadabad: BAPS. Chavda, V.S. (1979). ‘Social and religious reform movements in Gujarat in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.’ In Sen 1979: 197-228. Cohen, R.J. (1984). ‘Sectarian Vaishnavism: the Vallabha sampradaya.’ In P. Gaeffke and D. Utz (eds.) Identity and division in cults and sects in South Asia. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. 65-72. Dasgupta, S. (1940). A history of Indian philosophy. III. Cambridge: University Press. —. (1949). A history of Indian philosophy. IV: Indian pluralism. Cambridge: University Press. Dave, H.T. (1974). Life and philosophy of Shree Swaminarayan, 1781-1830. London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd. Desai, I.S. (1886-1913). Brihat kavyadohan. Dash granthmam. Bombay: Gujarati Printing Press. Desai, I.S. (1909). Brihat kavyadohan. Dash granthmam – granth 6ththo. Bombay: Gujarati Printing Press. Dwyer, R.M.J. (1994). ‘Caste, religion and sect in Gujarat: The followers of Vallabhacharya and of Swaminarayan.’ In R. Ballard (ed.) Desh pardesh: the South Asian experience in Britain. London: Hurst & Co. 166-91. Dwyer, R. (1995). Gujarati. ‘Teach yourself’ series. London: Hodder and Stoughton. —. (2001). The poetics of devotion: a Bakhtinian study of the Gujarati lyrics of Dayaram (1777-1852). London: Curzon Press. Hardiman, D. (1987). The coming of the Devi: Adivasi assertion in Western India. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Heehs, P. (ed.) (2002). Indian religions: a historical reader of spiritual expression and experience. London: Hurst & Co. Jordens, J.T.F. (1997). Dayananda Sarasvati: his life and ideas. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Orig. 1978. Joshi, U. et al. (eds.) (1976). Gujarati sahityano itihas. Granth 2. (I.S. 1450-1850). Ahmadabad: Gujarati Sahitya Parishad. Kothari, J. and Gadit, J. (eds.) (1989). Gujarati sahityakosh, khand 1: madhyakal. Ahmadabad: Gujarati Sahitya Parishad. Laird, M.A.(ed.) (1971). Bishop Heber in northern India: selections from Heber’s Journal. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Maheta, C. (1976). ‘Madhyakalna sahityaprakaro.’ In U. Joshi et al. (eds.) Gujarati sahityano itihas. Granth 2. (I.S. 1450-1850) Ahmadabad: Gujarati Sahitya Parishad. 16-39.
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Mallison, F. (1974). ‘La secte Krichnaïte des Svami-Narayani au Gujarat’ Journal Asiatique 262 (3-4): 437-71. —. (1991). ‘Lorsque Ra˛achodaraya quitte Dwarka pour Dakor, ou comment Dvarakanatha prit la succession de Dankanatha.’ In D. L. Eck and F. Mallison (eds.) Devotion divine. Bhakti traditions from the regions of India. Studies in honour of Charlotte Vaudeville. Groningen: Egbert Forsten and Paris: EFEO. 197-208. Mehta, M.J. (1970). ‘Maharaj Libel Case: a Study in Social Change in Western India in the 19th Century.’ The Indo-Asian Culture. 19.4:26-39. —. (1979). ‘From Sahajanand to Gandhi: role perception and methods.’ In Sen 1979: 229-248. Mukundcharandas, S. (1999a). Handbook to the Vachanamrutam (spiritual teachings of Bhagwan Swaminarayan). Ahmadabad: Swaminarayan Aksharpith. —. (1999b). Lord Swaminarayan (an introduction). Ahmadabad: Swaminarayan Aksharpith. Mulji, K. (Published anonymously) (1865). History of the sect of Maharajas, or Vallabhacharyas, in Western India. London: Trübner. Munshi, K.M. (1935). Gujarata and its literature. Calcutta: Longmans, Green & Co. Ltd. Raval, S.C. (ed.) (1953). Dayaram-rassudha (ras-garbi-garbo and gito) Bombay: N.M. Tripathi. [1943] Redington, J.D. (1983). Vallabhacarya on the love games of Krishna. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Sen, S.P. (ed.) (1979). Social and religious reform movements in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Calcutta: Institute of Historical Studies. Swaminarayan, Lord (1986). Shiksapatri. Transl R.L. Pandya. Vadtal: Kanji Bhagat, Shri Swaminarayan Bhagwan Kala Kendra Trust. Taraporewala, I.J.S. (ed.) (1936). Selections from classical Gujarati literature. Volume III. (Seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.) Calcutta: University of Calcutta. Thoothi, N.A. (1935) The Vaishnavas of Gujarat. London and Bombay: Longmans, Green and Co., Ltd. Williams, R. (1984). A new face of Hinduism: the Swaminarayan religion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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PART THREE CHRISTIANS
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TRANSFORMATION OF MARRIAGE PATTERNS IN THE KERALA DIASPORA IN THE U.S.1 ANNA LINDBERG
Abstract Immigration to the U.S. from the South Indian state of Kerala is examined with regard to marriages and identities in the first and second generations. To a greater extent than Hindus, Christian immigrants have maintained and transferred their original Malayalee ethnic identity to the second generation. The large Malayalee Christian community in the U.S., active churches, and lively transnational networking have been decisive factors in this process. Hindus from Kerala, whose numbers are considerably fewer, appear to have abandoned their regional ethnicity, constructing instead an Indian national identity, as seen by the fact that their marriages often cross caste and religious (but rarely Indian national) boundaries.
Introduction Diaspora studies have commonly employed such dichotomies as traditional-modern, originality-acculturation, isolation/persecutionassimilation, and home-host country. In the context of Asian Indians in the U.S., these dichotomies presuppose the conceptualisation of a process in which members of one cultural group (immigrants) adopt the beliefs and behaviours of mainstream American society, even though the acculturation may be reciprocal. These concepts result in the identification of essential national categories and identities, such as “Indian” or “American”. Post-colonial authors have stressed the limitations of the term “national identity” by pointing to migratory movements and people in exile (or in the diaspora), and by arguing that identities are fluent, overlapping, and historically and contextual1 I wish to express my appreciation to the Wenner-Gren Foundation of Sweden for sponsoring this study and to the Department of History, University of Pennsylvania, for hosting me.
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ly determined. Homi K. Bhabha, for example, has asserted that cultural identities are produced, rather than simply being reflections of cultural meaning. As a consequence, he has introduced the concept of the “Third Space” to articulate a culture’s hybridity, as opposed to multiculturalism or diversity of culture (Bhabha 1994:1-8, 36-9; cf. Hall 1993 and 1996). Considering the concept of nation, it has been argued that Asian Indian women have a specific role in becoming the symbols of tradition and bearers of a constructed Indian national identity (Ray 2000). Although it is commonly believed that these women have lost “traditional” social bonds and therefore live in isolation and disempowerment in the U.S., their situation in the American diaspora must not necessarily be attributed to oppression or lack of emancipation. A recent study shows that South Indian women in the U.S. have become empowered by building new social networks and adopting religious roles in the public sphere – something that would have been impossible in India, where temples are generally male dominated (Rayaprol 1997). These women have not reproduced a tradition but have created a new one, demarcating space for themselves by becoming bearers of Indian national (Hindu) identity through their religion.
A Brief History of the Asian Indian Diaspora in the U.S. The Keralites (or Malayalees, as they are usually referred to, since they speak Malayalam), are one of the dominant groups among Asian Indian immigrants in the U.S. Of some 1.7 million individuals who identified themselves as Asian Indians in the U.S. Census of 2000, approximately 300,000 were Malayalees. If one looks back on immigration to the U.S. from India, it can be seen as falling into two distinct periods: the pre- and the post-1965 eras. Each exhibits different characteristics, largely determined by circumstances related to the labour situation prevailing in India and in the U.S. at that time. Relatively few immigrants arrived from India during the nineteenth century. A major wave of Indian immigration appeared during the two first decades of the twentieth century. Those who emigrated consisted mainly of single male peasants having limited education and coming from the Punjab. The migration of young men, recognisable in many historical contexts as a means of keeping a family’s land undi-
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vided where only the eldest son inherits all the property, was a strategy to adjust to burgeoning population growth (Leonard 1992:67). Most of these early immigrants ended up in California, where improved irrigation and the opening of newly cultivated lands in the aftermath of the Gold Rush of 1849 led to increasing demands for farm labourers. From 1899 to 1914, some 6,000 to 7,000 peasants, of whom about 85% were Punjabi Sikhs, arrived on the west coast of the U.S. (Leonard 1997:42-3). During this early period, the proportion of men among Asian Indian immigrants was extremely high: 1,572 men per 100 women (Leonard 1992:23). Many of the men were married but had left their wives back in India. Because U.S. law did not permit immigration for the purpose of reuniting families, the new arrivals were unable to bring their wives across, even after establishing themselves. Then in 1917 a discriminatory law was passed that almost totally blocked Asians from entering the U.S. In so doing, it further obstructed Punjabis from creating families within their own communities (Leonard 1997:45; Chandrasekhar 1982:11-28). Interracial marriages were against the law at the time, and until 1967 would remain so in sixteen states. These restrictions and prohibitions help explain the family patterns that emerged among these early Indian immigrants. Sikh men formed liaisons with Mexican Catholic women, a group with whom they could legally establish families. Such marriages, however, would differ from those in traditional Punjabi families in important respects. The families of the spouses did not arrange them; they were not endogamous; they suffered a high rate of divorce (20%); and, in many cases, both husband and wife had been married before. Sometimes children from a previous marriage were brought into the new family. The children of these couples subsequently tended to marry Hispanic or Anglo men and women. This epoch was succeeded by a widespread return to traditional, endogamous marriages among later Sikh immigrants, something facilitated by a change in American immigration law (La Brack 1988; Leonard 1992 and 1997). The new Immigration Act of 1946 eased prohibitions and established an annual quota for Asian Indians. The number was relatively low until 1965, when it was raised dramatically to 20,000, the intention being to encourage skilled immigration within certain occupations where the demand for labour exceeded the supply (Shah 1998:210). The number of Indian immigrants to the U.S. has
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increased steadily since then. The majority of those arriving between 1965 and 1980 were well- educated professionals or businessmen and women from urban centres in India. In contrast to the earlier agricultural labourers, most of the newer immigrants settled in major cities in California, Texas, and the eastern U.S. (Sheth 1995:172-7; Lessinger 1995:4-6). The dramatic growth of the Asian Indian community in recent years is reflected in official census reports. Its numbers have more than doubled in one decade, from approximately 350,000 in 1980 to above 800,000 in 1990. During the next decade it increased to almost 1,700,000, according to the 2000 census. Asian Indians in the U.S. have long been called “the model minority”, both for their financial success, and because of the perceived absence among them of social problems such as unemployment, poverty, racism, delinquency, and family conflicts (Dasgupta 1998:5). More recently, however, this view has been denounced as a myth in the face of suppressed evidence of domestic violence and other forms of female oppression, as well as the growing class disparity among South Asian immigrants (Krishnan et al. 1998; Lessinger 1995:84-9, 144; Mazumdar 1998; Shah 1998). Many of those arriving after 1980 did not belong to a professional, educated elite. They may be more accurately referred to as a third wave, consisting of the less educated relatives of second wave immigrants who sponsored them under the policy of family reunification. About 80% of the 44,121 immigrants from India in 1991 were brought across by family members already settled in the U.S. (Williams 2000b: 215).
The Malayalees in the U.S. Malayalee immigration has generally paralleled that of other Asian Indians to the U.S. Very few arrived prior to 1965. As with most other second wave Asian immigrants, the Malayees who came were mainly professionals who held degrees in education from their native country. In 1982, about 40% of all Malayalees in the U.S. consisted of doctors, nurses, or healthcare technicians (Andrews 1983:102-5). In contrast to female immigration from other parts of India, where women typically left to join male relatives already in the U.S. (Lessinger 1995:12), women from Kerala were mostly primary immigrants with jobs awaiting them. While some were either accompanied
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by their husbands or later joined by them, a significant number, were unmarried. During the 1960s (just as at the present writing in 2003), the U.S. was experiencing a shortage of trained nurses – something that Kerala, with its long tradition of educating nurses, was positioned to help alleviate (George 1999). At the same time, unemployment was becoming widespread among the educated classes in Kerala, and so the prospect of emigrating to seek a better life was tempting to many Malayalees, including female nurses. As a result, approximately one-fourth of all the Malayalees who arrived in the U.S. between 1965 and 1982 were single females. Of all the women who emigrated from Kerala to the U.S., it has been estimated that approximately 50% were trained nurses (Andrew 1983:270-1). Malayalee immigrants in the U.S. were disproportionate to Kerala society as a whole. The population of Kerala was made up of about 60% Hindus, 20% Muslims, and 20% Christians, whereas a clear majority of those who emigrated to the U.S. were Christians (Andrews 1983:105). One may conjecture that this is because so many came to work in the medical field, an occupation that had traditionally been pursued by Christians in Kerala. Keralite Christian groups can be broadly subdivided into “Syrian Christians”, “Latin Christians”, and “newly-converted Christians”. The determination is based on how long ago conversion took place and to which caste the convert had originally belonged. The Syrian and newly-converted Christians include Catholics as well as nonCatholics. All Christians in Kerala have a rank within the traditional social hierarchy and are, therefore, indirectly part of the caste system. Syrian Christians consider themselves upper-caste, and so intermarriages between them and Latin Christians or newly-converted Christians (whom they regard as low-caste groups) are seldom seen (Fuller 1996:195-212). The same Malayalee Christian communities have replicated themselves in the U.S. (Williams 1996).
Arranged Marriages versus Love Marriages No consideration of the position of women in Indian society (whether in their native land or in the U.S.) can be undertaken without examining the question of dowry. The institution of dowry, a marriage payment from the bride’s family to the bride or to the groom and his family, has become one of the most serious problems related to the
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subordinate position of women in India (Chaturvedi 1997:18; Leslie 1997). It is intimately linked to arranged marriages in which the families of the bride and groom, rather then the principals concerned negotiate the match. So-called love marriages are fairly rare in India, although it is sometimes hard to distinguish between different forms of Indian marriages. In any case, it can be stated with certainty that where arranged marriages occur, they are only concluded between prospective spouses of the same religion and caste. From a Western perspective, the payment of a marriage dowry may be dismissed offhand as a traditional practice that will fall into disuse with “modernisation”. It generally has been hypothesised that the dowry system declined when European women began entering the labour market on a large scale: women were no longer seen as an economic burden to their husbands, but as capable of maintaining themselves (Kaplan 1985:6-7). In India, however, there has been a remarkable, largely unanticipated development with regard to the practice of dowry during the twentieth century: rather than dwindling, dowry has taken on enormous proportions, spreading aggressively and with grave social consequences among groups that did not have this custom as recently as fifty or sixty years ago (Radha 1994:7). The entire dichotomy “traditional-modern” is here called into question; dowry was unknown as a tradition in many of the groups in Indian society that cannot separate themselves from it today. In 1961, watershed legislation was passed by the Indian parliament outlawing dowry in all of India. This act, however, is a paper-tiger and has had no effect in curbing the practise of dowry or its increase. In Kerala today, most marriages are endogamous and include a dowry. This is true not only among Christians, but in most communities. For some Hindus like the former matrilineal Nairs and some lower castes like the Ezhavas, the payment of a dowry is a phenomenon that only has become common during the last few decades. In an effort to explain dowry and other systems of marriage payments, writers whose approach is primarily economic have stressed the importance of the inheritance system. Dowry has been equated with pre-mortem inheritance, a custom not unlike a reverse mortgage, which gives a daughter her share of the parental inheritance upon marriage (Goody and Tambiah 1973:64; Teja 1993). Such a dowry is referred to as stridhana (literally, “women’s wealth”) and is conveyed directly into the keeping of the prospective bride. On the other hand, a dowry that is demanded, received, or controlled by the
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bridegroom or his kin is termed a “modern dowry” (unrelated to the notion of “modern” [love] marriage) (Srinivas 1996:161). Economic interpretations of the dowry system may include a presumption that if women were able to provide for themselves, the impetus for dowry would be eliminated. The rationalisation continues: in marrying a woman, a prospective husband is undertaking a financial burden for which he must be compensated. In point of fact, however, the correlation between a woman’s income and the dowry payment negotiated is weak or non-existent (Srinivas 1996:171; Lindberg 2001:181). Previous research on marriage among Asian Indians in the British Diaspora shows that endogamous and traditionally arranged marriages continue to be the most common form of matrimony. Excessive dowries have been reported to be a significant problem within this group in England (Barot 1998; Jhutty 1998). Our knowledge of the whole issue of dowry among Asian Indians in the U.S. rests on investigations that are limited in scope. Arranged marriages were apparently common in the 1970s and 1980s, a conclusion sometimes drawn from the proliferation of matrimonial advertisements in various American newspapers of the period aimed at Asian Indian immigrants (Bhargava 1988; Ryali 1989; Luthra 1989; Lee and Yamanaka 1990; Sharda 1990). In such advertisements, the often-repeated phrase “decent marriage” has been taken as a euphemism that a dowry is involved (Luthra 1989). On the other hand, studies of advertisements placed by Indian Americans in newspapers on the Indian subcontinent point to the intended bride’s residence in the U.S. as something offered in place of a bridal dowry: her prospective husband will benefit financially by having an entrée into job opportunities in America. Some advertisements show that bridegrooms in America seeking brides from their native India will not demand dowries if the bride is educated and therefore likely to find a highly remunerative job in the U.S. However, in India, even if women work, dowries are presumed to be paid. There are instances where a dowry is neither requested nor presumed, but these seem to be special cases; the norm in recent years has been a dowry payment. Other studies of matrimonial advertisements in American publications suggest a decline in the importance of caste and religion in favour of personal characteristics and interests. This is viewed as part of the process of modernisation, and includes the abolition of dowry payment (Ryali 1989; Siddiqi and Reeves 1989; Melwani 1996). The latent contradictions in the above interpretations caution against gen-
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eralising about Asian Indians; rather, one must distinguish between newcomers and those who have resided in the U.S. for some time, taking education and job opportunities into account, as well.
Marriages among Christian Malayalees in Philadelphia and Washington, D.C.2 The first generation Christian Malayalees in the interview group, of whom the majority were Syrian Christians, began arriving in the U.S. around 1970. Most were newly married or would travel back to Kerala to marry within a few years. Without exception, they all concluded traditional, arranged marriages in their native homeland. One commonly hears it remarked that such marriages are superior to so-called love marriages since they are looked upon as insurance against divorce. As one woman put it, “potential reasons for problems are eliminated through considering a family’s community and religion, financial situation, educational, and health status” (Malayalee Syrian Christian woman of the first generation, interviewed in Philadelphia in the spring of 2002). Christian Malayalees in the U.S., like the woman cited above, try hard to uphold the tradition of arranged marriages, discouraging their children from dating prior to marriage. In the 1970s, when the Malayalee community in the U.S. was small, those who were nearing marital age felt obliged to secure their partners from Kerala, usually through the agency of parents or relatives. As the years passed, the Malayalee Christian community grew enormously and gained the resources to organise churches of their 2 The present study is mostly based on qualitative interviews with forty families whose ages span two generations. The first generation consisted of Malayalee men and women who came to the U.S. from 1965 to 1978. Most were twenty to thirty-five years old when they arrived, and the majority – both men and women – have spent their adult lives working in the U.S. They may be characterized as belonging to the middle-class. The second generation are their children. Some were born in the U.S., some were only a few years old when they arrived, and a few came to the U.S. in their early teens. Half of those interviewed were Hindus, and half Christians. Malayalee temples, churches, and cultural organisations in Philadelphia and the greater Washington, D.C. area served as places to meet people willing to be interviewed. The interview population was large enough to track certain tendencies, although the results cannot be generalised to include all Malayalees in the U.S. For one thing, the present study has its geographic limitations. Moreover, Malayalees who do not visit temples, churches, or cultural organisations linked to Kerala were not represented.
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own along various denominational lines. An outspoken aim of these Christian communities was to have children meet other Malayalees in order to “keep up their culture”, and especially to find suitable marriage partners. The annual youth and family conferences that are a common fixture of Malayalee churches in the U.S. are even more targeted toward the second generation and the issue of marriage. Parents who have raised their family in the U.S. have come to negotiate the matter of arranging marriages with their children. Generally, the actual determination is left to the younger generation, although there are numerous limitations imposed on their choice. The following statement by a Protestant woman who has lived in the U.S. for twenty-seven years typifies the sentiments encountered among first generation Syrian Christian Malayalees: “My son may find his own bride, but he knows that we must acknowledge her. Our ultimate criterion is that she must be Christian. We hope that she will be a Malayalee, but if not, we will even have to accept an American girl. But she must be Christian. I can even think of it being a Latin girl!” This mother was willing to break with the endogamous Keralite social hierarchy, as long as Christianity could remain the overarching criterion. The Christian Malayalees in the interview group who had been teenagers when they arrived in the U.S. all married other Malayalees. For some of them, their marriages were arranged with prospective spouses still living in Kerala. For those who may have spent half of their lives in Kerala up to the time of their marriage, this was not very problematic. For others born and raised in the U.S., the situation was quite different. The cultural gap between Asian Indians of the first and second generations with regard to such issues as dating, drinking, and frequenting bars and discos was such that several young Christian Malayalees confided to me that they had to hide their American lifestyle from their parents. Nevertheless, when it came down to marriage, most of them seem to follow their parents’ preferences. The majority of Christian Malayalees born in the U.S. select their spouses from within their own communities. My interviews recorded only one marriage between a Christian Malayalee and a member of another church. Although parents are often still involved in the process of searching for a marriage partner, young people tend to do this more and more on their own – lately, via the Internet. The expressed wish of the new generation seems to be to find someone like themselves who, in addition to satisfying certain cultural criteria, has
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been raised in the U.S. This may be less a matter of submissively obeying one’s parents than an expression of their collective identity as Asian Indian immigrants of the second generation. Young people have thus constructed their own collective identity in the diaspora: they are Malayalees raised in the U.S., neither Indian nor American, but a hybrid identity produced as a result of certain historical circumstances. In addition, Asian Indian Christians have been able to establish transnational religious relations by networking among communities in Europe, Canada, and the U.S. This has led to the construction of new transnational identities (Williams 2000b:13-5). It is instructive to see how the issue of dowry has been dealt with in the parent-child accommodation of “semi-arranged” marriages. Among Christians living in Kerala, the tradition of paying a marriage dowry had been customary for many hundreds of years. The Travancore Christian Succession Act of 1916 presupposed that a dowry (stridhana) was paid to the bride. The act was openly gender-biased in favour of men in that it stipulated the value of a daughter’s dowry should to be fixed at one-fourth of a son’s inheritance (Agarwal 1996:223-4). When, almost a half century later, the introduction of a prohibition on dowry began to be debated in Kerala, Christians asked to be exempted from the proposed legislation, arguing that the prosperity of their community was based on their system of dowry and inheritance (Deshabimani 2). From this one sees how deeply rooted arranged marriages, including the dowry system, are among Christians in Kerala. Those of my respondents who were Malayalee Christians and who had wed in Kerala before 1980 had all concluded marriages involving dowries. These dowries were a combination of gifts for the bride (stridhana) and so-called “modern dowry” (money or substantial presents bestowed on the family of the groom). In the case of many Malayalee nurses preparing to emigrate, their bright employment prospects in the U.S. stood in lieu of any dowry they may have been expected to give to the groom’s family. In addition, some single Malayalee women holding positions in the U.S. went back to Kerala, where they married without paying a (modern) dowry to their husbands. It was openly understood that their spouses were, in essence, receiving “green cards” (permanent resident visas in the U.S.) in lieu of a dowry payment in the form of money or property.
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Marriages among Hindu Malayalees in Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. The Hindus interviewed for this study belonged to the Brahmin, Nair, and Ezhava castes. The majority were Nairs, traditionally a land-owning community of relatively high status in the caste hierarchy. Ezhavas, by contrast, are today categorised as the so-called “Other Backward Caste” (OBC) in Kerala. They were formerly victims of the rules of untouchability, although they were never the most discriminated against, the latter distinction being held by the lowest castes, formerly called Untouchables, but now referred to as Scheduled Castes. This group is not in evidence in any Malayalee immigration in the U.S. They still constitute a group in Kerala that is educationally and financially disadvantaged. Although a considerable number of first generation Hindus in the U.S. married outside their caste – several women taking white American husbands – the majority of them formed arranged marriages. As in the case with Malayalee Christians, many returned to Kerala after a few years to marry within their own caste. Children of Malayalee Hindu women and white American men seem to be largely unaware of the caste system. They also lack Malayalee identity and do not feel themselves under any constraints when it comes to choosing a spouse. Assimilating into U.S. society, they principally identify themselves as Americans, and incline more toward white American than Indian identity. Having a white parent also seems to have made them Americans in the eyes of the surrounding society. Children of other couples, however, developed a more complex identity, since they had been raised with either specific Malayalee or other Indian values and were referred to as “Asian Indians” by society. They considered themselves neither Malayalees nor “true” Americans; they stressed their Indian background and tended to seek friends and partners among those born in the U.S. whose parents may have come from any part of India. Religion appears to have been of less importance for the first generation of Hindus than for Christian Malayalees. As with other Asian Indians, when these Hindus arrived in the U.S., their main identity consisted of their link to their birthplace, the State of Kerala, and to Keralite culture. For the majority, caste was also an important part of this identity. Over time, however, partly as a kind of rapprochement or negotiation with the next generation, their sense of self seems to have changed. A Hindu woman descended from the Ezhava caste,
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now living in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., told me a story that may be typical. We were sitting in the cafeteria of the hospital where she had risen to the post of nursing supervisor: When I arrived thirty years ago, I always thought that when I had children, they would marry Malayalees – and, of course, Ezhavas. When they were teenagers, I had changed my mind and found caste less important. But at least I wanted them to marry Malayalees. Then, when the time came for their marriages, I felt that the most important thing was for them to marry Indians. Now my daughter is married to a North Indian man, and my son to a Muslim woman from the Punjab. They found each other without our involvement, but we all were in agreement. In the beginning, it is true, my husband was a bit more reluctant than I was.
Hindu women have generally been viewed as more traditional and conservative when compared to Hindu men. The present study, however, discloses another pattern: Hindu men appear to be the ones who affirm the traditional values of Kerala, especially with regard to such issues as marriage, divorce, and the raising of children. Women may well be the “symbol and bearers of tradition” (Ray 2000), donning their saris on formal occasions. Nevertheless, as several women have pointed out, they have achieved a certain freedom, status, and emancipation in the U.S., none of which would have been possible in Kerala. In contrast to women who may have been empowered by participation in the religious affairs of their communities (Rayaprol 1997), the ones I spoke with had achieved power through activities related to their work – driving a car, handling financial matters, conducting meetings, and assuming responsibility for people working under them. Their empowerment is derived from economic freedom. A similar financial freedom among working middle class women in Kerala has not given them the equivalent spatial mobility and feeling of power, illustrating the immense significance of the American cultural context. Women’s freedom and their increasingly emancipated lifestyles have sometimes led them into conflict with their husbands, who in many cases prefer them to have remained housewives. Such conflicts were the main reason given for the few cases of divorce I encountered among Hindu interviewees. Malayalee Christians, however, generally tended to characterise divorce as unthinkable. If religion seemed to be the ultimate criterion for marriage among Christian Malayalees, the primary aim of Hindus interviewed was to
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preserve some semblance of Indian culture through marriage, with regional caste and religious traditions being of secondary concern. Hindus marrying white Americans did not consider religion an essential element in a marriage, nor did they reject practising Christians as potential spouses. However, when a Christian Malayalee of the second generation contemplated marriage to an American, only a Christian would come into consideration. In fact, Malayalee Christians preferred Christian American spouses to Indian Hindus. Among both Christians and Hindus, arranged marriages involving either a dowry given to the bride, or payable to the groom or his family, were extremely rare occurrences in the second generation. It seems as if such marriages mainly took place among “newcomers”. American-born Malayalees looked down upon dowry payments as archaic and unacceptable. In fact, some had not even heard of them. The expression “a decent marriage”, however, signifying that the bride’s family was expected to pay for the wedding, often came up in interviews. The sum involved frequently represented a prodigious expense to the bride’s parents, as it might have to cover several hundred, or in some cases more than a thousand, guests invited to an expensive hotel wedding as a sign of status. Such a wedding may put a bride’s family into debt for years.
Conclusion The results of this study suggest that Christians from Kerala have transferred their Malayalee identity to the second generation to a greater extent than their Hindu counterparts. When the first generation of Hindus left Kerala, their ethnicity was primarily Malayalee. Over time, and transferred to the second generation, a new ethnic identity has emerged, which we may term an Indian national identity – a “homogenised” composite where regional cultural patterns tend to be smoothened down. The second generation clearly sought partners who were not only of Indian parentage, but who, like themselves, had been raised in the U.S. Another difference between Christians and Hindus was their attitude toward temples and churches. Church members unequivocally consider a South Indian (Malayalee) Christian church a religious institution, although it also serves to uphold broader regional cultural practices. A Hindu temple, on the other hand, is as much a space
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for celebrating Indian national culture as it is for the practice of Hindu religion. This is seen by the fact that even Malayalee Muslims sometimes visit Indian temples in the U.S. “I am here to imbibe the Indian culture”, a young Muslim woman from the Keralite city of Thiruvananthapuram told me at a Hindu temple in Maryland. It has been said that South Asians often become more religious in the U.S. than they were before their emigration from India (Hinnells 2000:2). However, among the Hindus interviewed for this study, many people indicated they frequented temples out of nostalgia – to meet others who felt similarly, and to keep up what they felt was their Indian culture. Several explanations may account for differences in marriage practices in the U.S. between Christian and Hindu communities. Perhaps second generation Christian Malayalees tend to seek spouses in their own (Christian) community more than Hindus because their parents have raised them as regular churchgoers. This new generation, unlike the case of their Hindu counterparts, has been received in American society as less exotic, less as “outsiders”, since they simply constitute one of many Christian denominations in the U.S. The presence of large, organised Malayalee churches in the U.S. facilitates the meeting of Christian immigrants from the same church in Kerala. Thus, with the help of their religious institutions, they are able to sustain their Malayalee identity. Lively networking with other Malayalee Christians in the Western diaspora has contributed to the maintenance of Malayalee Christian self-awareness and, at the same time, to the development of a transnational identity. Since second generation Malayalee Hindus have had a much smaller pool of ideal spouses – young Malayalee people from the same caste, but born in the U.S. – they have compromised, negotiated, identified themselves with other Indians (those from North India, for example), and have begun to view themselves as “Asian Indians” instead of Malayalees. This generation has become more “Indian” (although, strictly speaking, “diaspora Asian Indian”) than their parents, who primarily considered themselves Malayalees. Cultural identity is never fixed, but is always a hybrid, constructed within very specific historical formations and contexts (Hall 1993, 1996:502). Circumstances have caused Malayalee Christians and Hindus in the U.S. to consider themselves either as transnational Christian Malayalees or as (Hindu) Asian Indians. It remains to be seen how these identities will develop among the third generation.
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RETHINKING HYBRIDITY: THE SYRO-MALABAR CHURCH IN NORTH AMERICA CLARA A. B. JOSEPH
Abstract Through an examination of creative and historical works, including literary journals, oral traditions, architecture, symbols, and historical documents relevant to the Syro-Malabar Church in Canada and the United States, the article responds to Homi K. Bhabha’s theories on hybridity. As links are drawn between the pre-colonial, colonial, and postcolonial church, an argument is made for hybridity as being both historical condition and diasporic process. Where the culture of the particular and autonomous church is seen to meet with some resistance within North American multicultural policies, the final call is made for a movement toward integration, involving more than the immigrant.
Introduction: Hybridity and an Oriental Church In the journal Kerala Dhwani published by members of the Syro-Malabar1 community in Toronto, there is a poem by Alex Abraham in Malayalam called “Nirabhedhangal” (Colour Differences). The poem defies easy translation on account of its alliteration, idiom, and native rhythm. It resists translation also because there is a cultural and racial barrier in the maintenance of the stereotypical Other, where the marginalised Other ‘is black/brown/yellow,’ and ‘looks the same anyway.’ In the poem, the narrator ponders over the paradox of his people never thinking twice about whether the giver of milk and eggs was white or black and yet, the minute an infant is born, queries – “Is the 1 This group of Christians was variously referred to as the “Nazaranis” (Nazarines), “the people of the Way,” “the St. Thomas Christians,” and “the Syrian Christians;” now they are called “the Syro-Malabar Christians.” This name too is currently under re-consideration and may likely be revised to “The Church of St. Thomas Christians” to reflect its diasporic borders that go well beyond “Malabar” or Kerala. (Mundadan, 1995:55)
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baby dark or fair?” Exposing other instances of colour bias, the narrator ends with a shocking possibility: Should the Son of God turn out not white, who knows who all would not have wished His Way away. (Abraham, 2000: 3) This poem, coming as it does from a certain group of immigrant Indian Christians in North America, hints at the heterogeneous identities that form this group. It simultaneously challenges mainstream ideologies and multicultural policies that are burdened with ‘respect for difference’ where ‘difference’ stands for a strictly homogeneous ‘racial’ other. As Homi K. Bhabha argues, “At the point at which liberal discourse attempts to normalise cultural respect into the recognition of equal cultural worth, it does not recognise the disjunctive, ‘borderline’ temporalities of partial, minority cultures” (1998: 32). To trace the history and traditions of the second largest Oriental Catholic church2, the Syro-Malabar Church, and its presence in North America, is to re-assess theories of cultural hybridity. It leads to a re-examination of the East meeting the East, of the West meeting the East, and of the East meeting itself and the West in performative traditions and historical narratives of religious cultures that are lived, discovered, debated, denied, recovered. The postcolonial literary critic, Homi, argues that relationships between cultures can thrive neither through “the exoticism of multiculturalism” nor through “the diversity of cultures”; success lies in “culture’s hybridity.” Accordingly, meaning is in the “in-between space” – the “Third Space”’ – created by hybridity, where we become “the others of our selves” (1994: 38-9), defying myths of authenticity and purity of roots and race. Bhabha brings Lacanian linguistic and psycho-analysis and Derridian post-structuralist readings to the term introduced by Mikhail Bakhtin to theorise the space where cultural systems are made as ‘the in-between’ or ‘the hybrid.’ If biologically a hybrid is an offspring of different species, culturally too a hybrid is an offspring of different cultures. Yet, cultural hybridity is testimony to a complex array of power relationships and manipulations that appear to exceed simple or equal mixing present in concepts of breeding. A narrative of the 2 Three great churches that grew out of the Church of Jerusalem in the early centuries were Rome, Antioch, and Alexandria. The Syro-Malabar church traces its tradition to the East Syrian, Chaldean branch of the church of Antioch. The Ukrainian church that branches off Antioch through Constantinople is the largest Eastern Catholic Church.
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coming into being of what is now referred to as the Syro-Malabar church and of the migration of some of its members into the diaspora revisits the premises and implications of concepts of hybridity in the context of the Syro-Malabar diaspora in North America, particularly in the metropolitan cities of Chicago and Toronto3, and suggests that caution must be made in categorising cultural artifacts as ‘belonging’ to one and not the other culture when diagnosing diasporic hybrid identities or hybridentities. The narrative also points to the function of partial agency as a response to Bhabha’s emphasis on hybridity as a given condition. Revised immigration rules in the 1960s that stressed the “point-system” where the criteria are age, education, English/French language proficiency, and job skills rather than nationality or ethnicity opened the way for educated and/or skilled South Asians and their families to migrate to North America. Many Syro-Malabar Christians thus migrated to Canada and the United States. In Canada, these scattered groups got in touch with Syro-Malabar priests who were in the country on student or visitor visas. A Syro-Malabar mass once in two months or so was for them a hopeful beginning. The late Fr. Thomas Thotungal who assisted the community in Toronto in those early years was made the Chaplain for the Indian community, of both the Latin and the Syrian rites, in the Archdiocese of Toronto. In 1982, Fr. Joseph Kannath was appointed the first Vicar of what came to be called the St. Thomas the Apostle Mission Parish. This Toronto based parish, the largest Syro-Malabar parish in Canada, has around seven hundred families as members.4 A parallel growth took place in the United States, particularly in the city of Chicago. The community that attended Latin Mass regularly missed its own traditional liturgy, language, and a life-style to go with it. As in Toronto, in Chicago too members approached student or visitor priests for liturgical service. In 1979, in an attempt to bring together all the different Rites from Kerala, a lay organisation called The Indian Catholic Association of America was created (Kottukappally, 3 According to 1996 Statistics Canada, the City of Toronto has three times as many immigrants as the rest of Canada. Indians rank fifth in place among immigrant population. Chicago too has a high Indian population. The city is twin to Delhi. 4 I gratefully acknowledge those members of the St. Thomas Mission Parish in Toronto, particularly Isaac Chakkalaparampil, Paul Varghese Moonjely, and Rapai Nedumpara, for sharing with me information on the history of this church as well as for pointing me to relevant published material.
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2001: 303).5 Missions and Communities sprouted after that, with Syro-Malabar priests being appointed in these places. In 1983 a priest of the endogamous Knanaya group of the Syro-Malabar Catholics was assigned to the Knanaya community in Chicago. In 1985, the Chicago Syro-Malabar Mission was established. Today this mission has about seven thousand members (Kottukappally, 2001: 112). On March 13, 2001 a diocese, the first ever outside India, was created for the Syro-Malabar Catholics of the United States. Mar Jacob Angadiath was appointed its first bishop and the Permanent Apostolic Visitator to Canada.6 St. Thomas Syro-Malabar Catholic Diocese of Chicago has become the largest diocesan jurisdiction. (Angadiath, 2001: 25). The parishes in Chicago and Toronto like many other Syro-Malabar communities in other parts of North America serve their member-communities and neighbourhood communities through several religious and cultural organisations.7
The Other Christian, a Hybrid North America’s enthusiasm for diversity and multiculturalism that takes the form of ‘a mosaic’ in Canada and ‘a melting pot’ in the United States, encounters challenges of hybridity where immigrating identities are less different than they ought to be. An Indian Christian who is not a (recent) convert is liable to make little sense and less visi5 It is interesting to note that an association, the goal of which is to communicate with people from Kerala, is given a national level title – ‘Indian Catholic Association.’ The title may reflect the pressure on the particular communities to adhere to widesweeping categorising (as in “Indian,” “South Asian,” “Third World,” “Immigrant,” “Minority,” etc.) in North America as a strategy for survival. 6 I would like to thank George Madathiparambil and Zacharias Thottuvelil for referring me to appropriate sources on the history of the Syro-Malabar Church in Chicago. 7 Some of these organisations are: Little Flower Mission League, St. Vincent de Paul Society, Legion of Mary, Catholic Youth Movement, Women’s Forum, Men’s Forum, Syro-Malabar Catholic Congress of North America (SMCC), Senior Citizen’s Association, Syro-Malabar Youth Organization, Malayalee Catholic Youth Association (MCYA), United Malayalee Catholics (UMC), Yuvadeepthi, and Save a Family whose leading Syro-Malabar priest, Sebastian Edayanthrath, of the Diocese of London, Ontario has more recently been appointed Auxiliary Bishop of the SyroMalabar Archiepiscopal Church. The Catholic Charismatic Movement has influenced Syro-Malabar communities in North America through visiting priests, religious and lay preachers from Potta, Kerala which has the world’s largest retreat centre. Many Syro-Malabar parishes, missions, and communities in North America hold regular prayer gatherings in the Charismatic manner.
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bility within either the North American mosaic or pot. That the history and traditions of the Syro-Malabar church as an Eastern or South Asian religion is rarely part of academic research in the West partly testifies to the need of the West to maintain its ‘other’ as absolutely not the self, as different from the self. The West’s definition of itself as a “Christian” civilisation, in spite of its increasing secularisation, puts the pressure on writers of North America to see the East as non-Christian. Significantly, many encyclopaedias and handbooks that focus on religions in the United States make no mention of the Syro-Malabar group of Christians despite the fact that their missions and parishes have been actively present in both Canada and the United States since at least the 1970s8 and its membership is currently around 100,000 (Angadiath, 2001: 10). Neither J. Gordon Melton’s 1989 publication, The Encyclopedia of American Religions nor his millennium publication, American Religions: An Illustrated History refers to the Syro-Malabar Christians as any one of the faiths of the immigrant communities of the otherwise much covered ‘East’ or ‘the Third World.’ William B. Williamson’s edited collection of 1992, An Encyclopedia of religions in the United States: one hundred religious groups speak for themselves does not find the voice of the Syro-Malabar group. The few North American investigations in the general area include Kerala Immigrants in America: A Sociological Study of the St. Thomas Christians (1984) by Annamma Thomas and T.M. Thomas, sustained research by Raymond Brady Williams (October 1986; 1988; 1996; 2000) on the Kerala Christian communities in mainly the United States but also in Canada and Britain, and Sheba George’s “Carolling with the Keralites: The Negotiation of Gendered Space in an Indian Immigrant Church” in Gatherings in Diaspora: Religious Communities and the New Immigration (1998) which examines the gender struggle between male adults and female youth in the context of church related activities of the Malankara (Jacobite) Orthodox Syrian Christians. In “The Kerala Christian Community in Metropolitan Toronto” (1990), George M. John provides a brief overview of the beginnings of the various Syrian Christian (Reformed and Catholic) churches in Toronto and 8 The Commemorative Souvenir published on the occasion of the inauguration of the St. Thomas Syro-Malabar Catholic Diocese of Chicago lists a total of 38 parishes, missions and centres in North America. (Kottukappally, 2001: 144-147). According to Fr. Paul Varghese Moonjely, current pastor of St. Thomas the Apostle Mission Parish in Toronto, the first Syro-Malabar immigrant came to Toronto in 1961. (253)
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comments on some of the socio-cultural characteristics of the members. In the context of such profiling in North America, the recent publications of the newly established St. Thomas Syro-Malabar Catholic Diocese of Chicago may be seen to take the position of what R.S. Sugirtharajah might call “voices from the margin.” Sugirtharajah redefines the “margin,” as not the periphery of Western scholarship. Borrowing from Gayatri Spivak’s understanding of the margin he redefines it as “a place pulsating with critical activity, a place alive with argument and controversy and a place of creative discourse” (1995: 2). Diocesan bulletins that trace the history, mission, and vision of the diocese are for member-readers not just in Chicago but also in the rest of the United States and Canada. The Commemorative Souvenir of 2001, published on the occasion of three simultaneous and historical events – i) the second Syro-Malabar Catholic Convention of North America ii) the inauguration of the St. Thomas Syro-Malabar Catholic Diocese of Chicago iii) the Episcopal Ordination of Mar Jacob Angadiath as the first bishop of the diocese – takes variously the form of a record of events through glossy photographs and topical articles, felicitations from around the globe, brief testimonies that refer to issues of migration, gender, and faith, as also reports on the activities and status of the various member parishes and communities in North America. Perhaps as a means to prepare the immigrant church in North America for the creation of a new diocese, Daniel J. Thottakara compiled and edited a booklet authored by A.M. Mundadan entitled The Syro-Malabar Church: An Overview apparently to inform the immigrant population of North America of the history and traditions of their church. This work which is in the form of questions and answers of the catechetical style is a rare resource for the casual as well as a more serious reader. These works together with individual parish newsletters, community circulars, and increasingly, the websites intervene in an otherwise impassable gap in North American communications on Christianity in the Indian diaspora.
A Hybrid Past To narrate the past of what is today called the “Syro-Malabar Church,” one has to begin in tradition. As process and as content “tradition” constitutes “beliefs, doctrines, rituals, Scriptures, and life of the
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Church.” Yet, narratives of trade, travel, and colonisation have revealed that there are “traditions” that are “the particular customs of separate churches or movements” (Mcbrien, 1995: 1261). The Council of Trent’s recognition that the gospel is “contained in the written books and unwritten traditions” (qtd. in Mcbrien, 1995: 1261), as well as the Second Vatican Council’s refusal to oppose the written and the oral but to see the two as of a ‘single source,’ suggest the inalienability of history and tradition, their common origin, and have wide ranging consequences for the particular churches of especially the East in a postcolonial period. Of special relevance in a narrative of the coming into being of the Syro-Malabar church is “Apostolic Tradition.” Where the group claims a faith handed down by one of the twelve apostles, the quarrel is between fact and fiction. The ‘legendry arrival’ of St. Thomas to the shores of India is met by a tradition that maintains the factuality of that arrival in the past while also developing that tradition in the present that holds more than the trace of encounters with the Jews, the Hindus, the Syrians, the Persians, the Muslims, the Portuguese, the Dutch, the English, and its own hybrid self. Church historians and ecclesiasts have relied on three categories of testimonies, in the written, the oral, and the architectural, to prove the Apostolic Tradition of the Thomas Christians of India. When Western manuscripts have pointed to an awareness of the presence of Thomas Christians in India, and where Western interpreters and commentators have denied the identity, period, or location of such apostolic mission (as in the argument over the ‘India’ of the 9th century Anglo-Saxon chronicle), many Indian scholars have resorted to the native oral traditions that affirm the South Indian tradition of this faith. In his book Christian Folklore (1988), Chummar Choondal discusses the various ballads that provide an account of the Saint Thomas tradition. One of the most important of these ballads is the Rambhan Pattu or the ‘Monk Song’ which was supposedly composed by Maliekal Thomas Rambhan of Niranam, the successor of the first Brahmin convert of St. Thomas. According to Choondal, the song underwent several versions in later periods (49). The versions reflect the native and foreign influences on the beliefs and rituals of the St. Thomas Christians. The past is revised based on new understandings as introduced by the apocryphal Acts of Thomas as well as other Chaldean and possibly later Portuguese sources, as well as by the changing political environment of South India (Mundadan, 1970: 61-
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63). A.M. Mundadan’s Sixteenth Century Traditions (1970) and History of Christianity in India (1982) as well as Placid J. Podipara’s The Thomas Christians (1970) examine the ‘monk song’ as well as other songs such as the Margam Kali Pattu (‘the song of the dance of the Way’) and those sung about the Christians by the non-Christians to corroborate the St. Thomas tradition. Commenting on Podipara’s historical investigations, Mundadan notes: “the modern redactor of the Rabban Song regards himself to be the 48th successor of the first priest of his family who was allegedly ordained by St. Thomas the Apostle” (1982: 33). The claim to roots, authenticity, thus begins on account of historical conditions of hybridity. The several oral sources tell a similar story. St. Thomas came to the South West coast of India, i.e., Malabar, in c. 52 C.E.9, preached the Gospel, baptised the King and a certain number of the upper caste in seven villages10, was imprisoned for spending the royal treasury on the poor, worked miracles, and was finally killed by devotees of the goddess Kali in 72 C.E. He was then buried in Mylapore. The Tomb of St. Thomas at Mylapore in a way symbolises the texture of the faith of the St. Thomas Christians. E.R. Hambaye summarises his archaeological findings in excavations of the tomb and its premises as a discovery of the layered influence of different architecture. According to him there are remnants that suggest a first century C.E. wall, a church of around the 7th century, a renovation dated the 13th century, a restoration in the 16th century, and the present church about a century old (Menachery, 1973: 7). Excavations on the most significant monument of the tradition extol neither purity nor essence, but rather point to the significance and divinity of a portmanteaued past and of a present that can at best be described as a “hybrid.” Unlike the free flow of genes in horticultural hybrids, cultures hybridise through resistance. The “hidden” walls, the tombstones that have to be “unearthed,” the “buried” beads, coins, and pots, signify the mode of resistance and counter-resistance in the history of architecture and archaeology. This mode of resistance as a condition of the 9 The Ramban Pattu refers to 50 C.E. as the date of arrival of the apostle in Malabar. (Choondal 50). Most other sources refer to 52 C.E. 10 Six villages are mentioned in the Ramban Pattu as opposed to the seven mentioned in most other sources. The Souvenir mentions ‘seven and a half’ villages. These are: Chayal, Kollam, Kottakavu, Maliamkara, Niranam, Kokkamangalam, Palayur, Thiruvamkode. (Kottukappally, 2001: 30)
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hybrid marks also the practices and beliefs of the Indian tradition of the St. Thomas Christians, what is referred to in the Synod of Diamper as “the Law of Thomas.” Mundadan explains this “Law” in terms of a “Rite,” which he defines quoting the Canon Law of the Eastern Churches: as: “a heritage made up of liturgy, theology, spirituality and discipline” that is “differentiated by the culture and the circumstances of the history of peoples and is expressed by each Church sui juris (autonomous) in its own manner of living the faith” (Mundadan 1995: 16). As such, the Law of Thomas encountered two laws, one native, the other foreign, viz. the Hindu Dharma and the Portuguese’s Law of Peter (49-50). A consequence of these, often unequal, ‘encounters’ was a Rite that not only hybridised with the Hindu and the Portuguese ways, but also expressed its oppositional autonomy as already one of hybridity, involving for example the upper caste Hindu rituals11 and the East Syrian or Chaldean rite, or an Oriental form of worship. While themselves becoming agents of assimilation, the Portuguese undertook, as it were, to de-hybridise the St. Thomas Church through the rhetoric of purification. Purification became the synonym for Latinisation. The following excerpt from a letter of Archbishop Menezes to the Pope in 1597 highlights the tug-o-war between the condition of hybridity and the colonial insistence on assimilation: The priests with many of the people held a meeting and took an oath that in case his holiness appointed a Syrian bishop, they would obey him, but if he sends a Latin bishop, they will consider what course they will adopt. I propose to purify all the Churches from the heresy and errors which they hold, giving them the pure doctrine of the Catholic faith, taking from them all heretical books that they possess . . . I humbly suggest that he (the Latin bishop, preferably a Jesuit) be instructed to extinguish little by little the Syrian language, which is not natural. His priests should learn the Latin language, because the Syriac language is the channel through which all that heresy flows (qtd. in King, 1948: 449-450).
The excerpt makes clear the pro-Roman yet anti-Latin position of the St. Thomas Christians who were by then referred to as the “Syrian Christians” on account of their undesirable affinity with the Chaldean Church. Archbishop Menezes’ terminology that would invoke the Inquisition at varying levels of gravity defines the condition of hybrid11 See Aerthayil, chapter 3: “The Legacy of Hinduism” (1982) on Hindu rituals in the St. Thomas Church.
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ity as “error” and “heresy.” The antidote was, to put it briefly, “the pure doctrine of the Catholic faith.” The manner of its administration involved the suppression of literature and language – the confiscation of “heretical books” and the extinguishing of the inherently heretical and, therefore, “unnatural” Syriac. The unarticulated yet blasphemous threat of the Syrian Christians, that “they will consider what course they will adopt,” suggests the possibility of a break from the ‘natural’ consequences of heresy determined by the Inquisition. The Syrian Christian’s interstitial position of being pro-Roman and anti-Latin and Cardinal Menezes’ agenda of purification highlights the condition of the hybrid as a problem. Applying Walter Benjamin’s theories of translation to the condition of the one who is in-between cultures, Homi Bhabha defines hybridity as indeterminate identity. According to Bhabha, the interstitial space of the hybrid is well beyond the dream of the assimilationist and the nightmare of the racist. (224) This space beyond is the space of heresy. That ‘hybridity is heresy’ (225) is a lesson driven home when the Catholic News Service of the United States in publishing news of the installation of the Bishop of the St. Thomas Syro-Malabar Catholic Diocese of Chicago returned to Cardinal Menezes’ story of “error” and Nestorian heresy to conclude that these are colonial converts to Catholicism. Fr. Xavier Thelakkatt’s letter to the editor of Catholic News Service is clearly an instance of subject-responsible agency that however is thwarted by socio-historical conditions that require the writer to repeat and differentiate in an attempt to ‘tell the truth.’ Recognising the Catholic News Service as an “agency” explains the limits placed on the letter and its writer within the North American media. Further, references in the letter to the possibility of the Portuguese mis-reading the Syriac texts so as to endow it with heresy suggest that heresy is a process of translation, and as such a condition of the hybrid (see Kottukappally, 2001: 125). Blasphemy, then, is not a matter of misrepresenting the sacred, but a consequence of cultural translation: “[blasphemy] is not merely a misrepresentation of the sacred by the secular; it is a moment when the subject-matter or the content of a cultural tradition is being overwhelmed, or alienated, in the act of translation” (Bhabha, 1994: 225). As a process of translation, such blasphemy is for the Syrian Christians as empowering as a dream; “it is the dream of translation as ‘survival”’ (226). Acknowledging the nightmarish nature of cultural translations, Bhabha finds hope and
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power in the act of blasphemy. For him, blasphemy is almost an empowering dream amidst tensions of cultural translations. If the heretical is a condition, the condition of hybridity, then ‘to blaspheme’ can suggest its (redemptive) agency, hybridity as process. The blasphemous survival of the ‘Syrian’ Christians is marked by their stubborn insistence on Syriac as a liturgical language and on a Chaldean liturgy, the Qurbana. Varghese Pathikulangara’s ChaldeoIndian liturgy (1982), Joseph Cardinal Parekkattil’s Syro-Malabar Liturgy as I see it (1987), Edward J. Kilmartin’s The particular liturgy of the individual church: the theological basis and practical consequences (1987), Lonappan Arangassery’s Ecclesial dimensions of East Syrian liturgy: an introduction to liturgical ecclesiology (1990), Augustine Thottakara’s East Syrian spirituality (1990) invariably trace the history of the struggle of the church to revise and maintain its particularity in its Oriental form of worship. These works also respond to and inevitably initiate controversies on the issue within the lay and ecclesiastical communities in India and the diaspora at large. The controversies revolve around the (im)possibility of being ‘entirely Chaldean’ in liturgical identity versus its (un)desirability in the socio-political environment in India. Today, as it is once again being reconsidered for revision, the Holy Qurbana as the key determiner of the Rite signifies hybridity as the condition of the St. Thomas Christians even as it admits translation from the Latin back to the Syriac, then to the Malayalam, and possibly an English version, soon, to meet the needs of non-Malayalam speaking generations in the diaspora (Angadiath, 2001: 12).
A Hybrid Present The creation of the St. Thomas Syro-Malabar Catholic Diocese of Chicago is one major milestone in a church that asserted its independence from the colonisers well before the rest of the nation. Named “Syro-Malabar’ in 1887, the church in India strengthened through local vicariates, a restored hierarchy in 1923, and the first exarchate outside Kerala in 1962. In 1992, the church was elevated as Major Archiepiscopate (Archbishopric Major) (Mundadan, 1995: 15). The Coat of Arms of the St. Thomas Syro-Malabar Catholic Diocese of Chicago bears among other ecclesiastical and cultural symbols the heraldic crown that represents communion with the Universal Catholic Church and the Holy Father as also union with the Major
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Archiepiscopal Church of Ernakulam-Angamaly and its Major Archbishop. (Kottukappally, 2001: 16). So, when carefully compared to the Coat of Arms of the Archdiocese of Chicago, the heraldic crown of the Coat of Arms of the St. Thomas Syro-Malabar Catholic Diocese of Chicago is ‘almost the same but not quite.’ The space of ‘the same but not quite’ is Bhabha’s Third Space of which the question of agency, according to John Krianiauskas, goes largely ignored. Krianiauskas argues that Bhabha presents an “asocial agency,” i.e., one that is unmediated and unconscious (Brah and Coombes, 2000: 244). Francis Cardinal George, Archbishop of Chicago, provides in some ways the answer to this question of agency when he summarises the hybridentity of the new diocese in saying, “You have got what you needed to be yourselves” (qtd. in Kottukappally, 2001: 85). The Cardinal’s words point to the levels of consciousness present in political and ideological structures that register the intervention of the particular church. But such interventions are ambivalent. In arguing that Empire, if not Imperialism, is still alive and well, Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri examine the at once internalised and universalised aspect of intervention. They conclude: “intervention is an effective mechanism that through police deployments contributes directly to the construction of the moral, normative, and institutional order of Empire” (38). However, this ‘contribution’ is in the Bhabhian sense “the effect of an ambivalence” (1994: 110) which is the result of the presence of cultural differences within dominant discourse that take the avatar of terms and concepts such as ‘minority’ or ‘visible minority.’ Positioning themselves as “authentic” St. Thomas Christians, descendants of the first converts of the Apostle on his migration to India in C.E. 52, the Syro-Malabar Christians are hard-pressed to prove their ‘unique’ tradition and their history even as they claim disaporic identity and national allegiance in North America. Their voice and visibility of essential difference alone rationalise their presence in the mosaic/pot. This ‘difference’ they themselves provide in the name of tradition and history thereby representing themselves as not the mainstream, what Bhabha would refer to as “less than one,” and as one that breaks the myth of a homogenised Other so that what the mainstream sees is itself in a way, a “double.” “Less than one and double” (120), they reconstitute the United States and Canada. The knowledge of the Syro-Malabar church as the ‘other’ consequently circulates within the mainstream not only as difference but
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also as reiteration. The President of the United States sends felicitations to this group of Christians by citing one of their own eminent historians, the late Placid J. Podipara. “I commend your efforts to preserve your ancient liturgical customs and traditions,” writes President George Bush on the occasion of the inauguration of the new diocese, “as Christian in faith, Oriental in worship, and Indian in culture” (reproduced in Kottukappally, 2001: 40). In an article in The St. Thomas Christian Encyclopaedia of India (Vol II), Podipara’s order and terms somewhat differ. “Hindu in Culture, Christian in Religion, Oriental in Worship” defines Hindu as “Indian” (107) and redefines the order of things where culture is seen as foundational to both religion and worship. Alternately, the sequence of ingredients – of faith, worship, and finally, culture – when tossed into the ‘melting pot’ should make a tolerable recipe for ‘multiculturalism.’ The unmarked appropriation of these phrases within the Presidential letter illustrates what Bhabha calls the eternal ambivalence of the colonial presence, “the split between its appearance as original and authoritative and its articulation as repetition and difference” (1994: 107). On the other hand, a strategic sharing and celebration of dissimilarities once expedited the process of relative integration between the minority and majority groups in Kerala. Podipara stresses the integrative life of the ancient St. Thomas Christians of Kerala when he begins with the ‘Hindu culture.’ Re-evaluating the issues around the Synod of Udayamperoor or Diamper of 1599 that among other things under Portuguese rule terminated the history of relationships with the Church of Mesopotamia, Latinised the liturgy, customs and architecture of the St. Thomas Christians, and also led to schisms on the side (see Zacharia and Nedungatt), Mathias A. Mundadan writes: The Synod is right in attributing the ‘error’ to the contacts the St. Thomas Christians maintained with ‘pagans’ (Hindus). It would take centuries before the Europeans acquire a life-experience of other religions, before a theology of the religions of the world would emerge, which would give due respect to the positive elements in those religions and their providential salvific role for millions of people. But the Indian Christians had been living for centuries in positive encounter with the high caste Hindus and had developed a theological vision of the Hindu religion – a vision more positive and liberal. Today in the light of modern theological approaches to world religions one must admit that the vision of the Indian Christians was a more enlightened one than that of their European contemporaries (1999: 252).
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Where colonial authority required “modes of descrimination (cultural, racial, administrative . . . [sic]) that disallow a stable unitary assumption of collectivity” (Bhabha, 1994: 111), the St. Thomas Christians in Kerala appeared in the in-between space of the negative, of being neither ‘pagan’ nor ‘Christian,’ in the eye of the beholding coloniser. This ‘native hybrid’12 was too threatening an entity to reckon with and had to be disavowed through the controversial Synod where the Portuguese ecclesiastical authority took the place of the collective church. The Syro-Malabar church in North America is the unrepressed and different hybrid incarnation of that disavowed past whose current position in the heart of the neo-colonial metropolis once again functions as an agency of dis/similarities resisting dominating discourses that bring about “hierarchy, normalisation, marginalisation and so forth” (110-111). A practical question that the prioritising of culture poses for this diaspora is ‘to be or not to be “American”.’ If the survival of the St. Thomas Christians for two millennia was in many ways dependent on its “Hindu culture,” would not its birth and continuation in North America depend on a more relevant culture? In their article, “Impact of Acculturation On Socialization Beliefs and Behavioral Occurences Among Indo-Canadian Immigrants” (1998), Zeynep Aycan and Rabindra N. Kanungo present their findings of case studies on the acculturation attitudes of Hindu, Sikh, Christian, and Muslim parents and their children of the Indo-Canadian diaspora. Of four alternative attitudes: of assimilation, separation, integration, and marginalisation, integration – namely “an interest in interacting with the larger society while conserving one’s ethnic identity,” proved a more successful method of acculturation. On the other hand, those who attempted assimilation, where “an acculturating individual does not wish to maintain his/her ethnic identity, but seeks relations with the larger society” (451), experienced the greatest difficulties in terms of disciplinary and behavioural problems (462). Searching for “the main reason” for a majority integrational attitude, the authors commend Canada’s “multiculturalism policy” where “maintaining one’s cultural heritage, while seeking full participation in the host society is advocated by the Canadian government” (462). Yet, less than a page later, the authors confirm the finding of Berry and Kalin (1995) that Sikhs 12 In Cartographies of Diaspora: Contesting Identities (1996), Avtar Brah considers the process of hybridity outside relationships with the West.
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and the Indo-Pakistanis were least favoured by the mainstream. (Aycan and Kanungo, 1998: 463) Where ‘Indo-Pakistanis’ are invariably of the Islamic faith and therefore, like Sikhs, more visible in their religio-cultural identity, they appear to fall short of mainstream expectations. The difference between being “American” and “Americanised” where the former is a term ‘natural’ to the mainstream and the latter a Macaulayan effort by mainstream government and society to maintain ‘the mimic man’ who is “almost the same but not white” results in what Bhabha terms, “the metonymy of presence” (89). The metonymy of presence lies between stereotypes, between the American and the Americanised, between the Canadian and the Canadianised. In the Church it raises a private eyebrow at a pastoral letter that places the reason for an active Archdiocese of Toronto on “the most important factor” viz., “the social virtue inherent in the Anglo-Saxon mind and heart, namely fairness” (Ambrozic, 1999), and responds with: ‘the Sacred Heart, I know; the Immaculate Heart, I know; but the Anglo-Saxon Heart...’ Anticipating the Hindu extremist Rashtriya Svayamsevak Sangh’s declaration by almost two years, that ‘the wellbeing of the minorities in India depends on the goodwill of the majority,’ Aloysius Cardinal Ambrozic’s epistle reveals the chasm between ‘the Canadian’ and ‘the Canadianised.’ According to Lakoff and Johnson (1980), personification as the most obvious ontological metaphor allows us “to make sense of phenomena in the world in human terms – terms that we can understand on the basis of our own motivations, goals, actions, and characteristics” (34). The structural and ideological conditions that legitimise, ‘make sense of,’ Cardinal Ambrozik’s statement, also bear testimony to a past and a present that highlights the one-way salvific activities of the western civilising missions in the East. In Culture and Imperialism (1993), Edward W. Said comments on an encounter he had with a visiting Arab Christian clergyman, one of the successors of those converted to Protestantism from the Greek Orthodox church over a century ago by American and European missionaries. The American ecclesiasts had more recently changed their mind; they wanted the Arabs to return to the Eastern fold. In this situation, the most grievous cut for the Arab clergyman was the West’s dismissal of a century-old partnership and history. Said writes, “The implicit argument made by the Western authorities was that the Arabs had gotten something valuable out of what had been given them, but in this relationship of historical dependence and subordination, all the giving went one way,
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the value was mainly on one side. Mutuality was considered to be basically impossible” (41). The metonymy of presence is thus in the confusing concept of ‘Eastern missions in the West,’ in the historical presence of over 500 Syro-Malabar priests in various parts of North America serving around 100,000 Catholics in parishes, hospitals, and communities where the majority population is neither Syro-Malabarian nor South Asian, and a few hundred Syro-Malabar women in the religious orders serving the various communities in North America (Kottukappally, 2001: 17 ).13
Conclusion: A Hybrid Future as Vocation If the church has received its form of Oriental worship, Podipara’s middle term and second definition, of the Syro-Malabar church as “Christian in religion,” needs a second look. It is deeply rooted in the first characteristic, of its basis in culture, pointing to the impossibility of a ‘neutral Christianity.’14 As Thomas Groome puts it, “There is never a cultureless Christianity nor a faithless culture” (122).15 The cultural foundation in the diaspora calls for inculturation of not only the diaspora but also of the host community, thereby challenging ecclesiasts of the Latin and Syro-Malabar rites and the community at large to a vocation of integration. In The Spiritual Heritage of the St. Thomas Christians (1982), on the strength of the “Declaration on the Relationship of the 13 The 2001 Commemorative Souvenir notes the following about the clergy and religious in India: “There are about 7000 priests in the ministerial priesthood. This makes a remarkable ratio of about one priest for every 500 devotees – an unprecedented number among other Churches. Moreover, 2300 seminarians are studying in various seminaries to join the priesthood. The Syro-Malabar Church has approximately one female member in the various Institutes of Consecrated Life & Societies of Apostolic Order for ever 100 members” (Kottukappally, 2001: 17). 14 It is this point that Diana L. Eck misses in A New Religious America: How a “Christian Country” Has Now Become the World’s Most Religiously Diverse Nation. (2001) Eck’s subtitle presumes a Christian religion that can know ‘diversity’ in non-Christian religions only. Not surprisingly, the Indian diaspora she covers is never Christian. 15 In “Christianity and Inculturation in Latin America,” Fernando Castillo traces the fatal consequences to certain races of natives when a European Christianity interpreted their social and cultural differences at the anthropological level as ‘nonhuman nature’ (80-81). According to him what could have saved the situation was an “inculturation of the gospel,” a route taken by a minority of missionaries. But what prevailed was an ‘inculturation’ involving solely the culture of the elite groups (the ‘properly human’) within the structures of European expansion; the rest were excluded if not ‘demonised.’ In later years a certain ‘popularisation’ from “the fringes of the official church” came closest to an inculturation of the gospel. (81-82)
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Church to the Non-Christian Religions,” issued by the Second Vatican Council (Vatican Council, 1975: 662), James Aerthayil lists the numerous socio-religious ceremonies and political privileges that once defined the Hindu upper-caste cultural basis of the Christian faith of the St. Thomas Christians of South Western India (Aerthayil, 1982: 58). Podipara’s entry in the Encyclopedia refers to these but also stresses the give and take, the mutuality, in religious and social practices of the St. Thomas Christians and the upper caste Hindus. This mutuality is the Third Space that is beyond tokens of diversity or multiculturalism. Yet, this is in some ways not Bhabha’s Third Space. Bhabha’s Third Space, with its emphasis on explanation over solution, appears to be the automatic locale of either assimilative or agonistic cultures. It is “a complex act that [automatically] generates borderline affects and identifications, peculiar types of culture-sympathy and cultureclash” (1998: 30). But Bhabha also refers to “strategies of hybridisation” (34) that imply the voluntary. However, he interprets these in terms of a presence rather than a process thereby once again apparently denying agency. The best that such theorising can do is to exult in ‘disturbances’ (30) and ‘equivocations,’ (34) in short, to settle for existential vagueness. The series of passive sentences that Bhabha uses to reach the conclusion that an “interstitial’ agency” ‘is made possible,’ reflects the deficiency if not the very lack of that agency. The Syro-Malabar Church in North America, on the other hand, is not in itself a salvific symbol, but its assertive process of conscious integration can be salvific through partial agency. It then spells the undoing of the homogenised ‘multicultural’ other whose hybridentities are sealed by the similarities of just that possibility, of the uncertain pigmentation of the Son of God. It is then the strategic cultural definition of a Jewish Christianity circumcised of circumcision through the Christianising of the religion of Gentiles; it then invokes the hybrid space where natives, settlers, and immigrants, all, are indeed called to a vocation of integration.
Bibliography Abraham, A. (March 2000). “Nirabhedhangal“ (“Colour Differences”). Kerala Dhwani. 1:5. Aerthayil, J. (1982). The Spiritual Heritage of The St. Thomas Christians. Bangalore: Dharmaram Publications.
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Ambrozic, A. [Cardinal] (November 1999). “Pastoral Letter: Our Yesterday and Our Today.”
. Angiadath, M.J. (October 2001). “Pastoral Letter.” St. Thomas Syro-Malabar Diocesan Bulletin. 10. Arangassery, L. (1990). Ecclesial dimensions of East Syrian liturgy: an introduction to liturgical ecclesiology. Kottayam, India: Oriental Institute of Religious Studies. Aycan, Z. and R.N. Kanungo (Autumn 1998). “Impact of Acculturation On Socialisation Beliefs and Behavioral Occurrences Among Indo-Canadian Immigrants.” Journal of Comparative Family Studies. 29 (3): 451-467. Bakhtin, M. (1981). The Dialogic Imagination. Ed. Michael Holquist. Trans. Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist. Austin: University of Texas Press. Berry, J.W. and R. Kalin (1995). “Multicultural and ethnic attitudes in Canada: An overview of the 1991 national survey.” Canadian Journal of Behavioral Science. 27 (3): 301-321. Bhabha, H. (1994). The Location of Culture. London and New York: Routledge. —. (1998). “Culture’s In Between.” In Multicultural States: Rethinking Difference and Identity. London and New York: Routledge. Brah, A. (1996). Cartographies of Diaspora: Contesting Identities. London and New York: Routledge. —. and A.E. Coombes (eds.) (2000). Hybridity and Its Discontents: Politics, Science, Culture. London and New York: Routledge. Castillo, F. (1994). “Christianity and Inculturation in Latin America.” Concilium: Christianity and Cultures. (No. 2) Norbert Greinacher and Norbert Mette (eds.). London: SCM Press, 74-87. Choondal, C. (1988). Christian Folklore. Trichur: Kerala Folklore Academy. Eck, D.L (2001). A New Religious America: How a “Christian Country” Has Now Become the World’s Most Religiously Diverse Nation. New York: HarperSanFrancisco. George, S. (1998). “Caroling with the Keralites: The Negotiation of Gendered Space in an Indian Immigrant Church.” In Gatherings in Diaspora: Religious Communities and the New Immigration. R. Stephen Warner and Judith G. Whittner (eds.). Philadelphia: Temple University. Groome, T. (1994). “Inculturation: How to Proceed in a Pastoral Context.” Concilium: Christianity and Cultures. (No. 2) Norbert Greinacher and Norbert Mette (eds.). London: SCM Press, 120-133. Hart, M. and A. Negri (2000). Empire. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press. John, G.M (1990-91). “The Kerala Christian Community in Metropolitan Toronto.” Polyphony. Vol 12, Double Issue. 113-119. Kilmartin, E.J. (1987). The particular liturgy of the individual church: the theological basis and practical consequences. Bangalore: Dharmaram Publications. King, A.A. (1948). The Rites of Eastern Christendom. Rome: Catholic Book Agency.
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Kottukappally, G.J. (ed.) (2001). Commemorative Souvenir. N.p: n.p. Lakoff, G. and M. Johnson (1980). Metaphors We Live By, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Mcbrien, R.P. (1995). The Enclyclopedia of Catholicism. New York: HarperSanFrancisco. Melton, G.J. (1989). The Encyclopedia of American Religions. Detroit, Mich.: Gale Research. Menachery, G. (1973). The St. Thomas Christian Encyclopaedia of India. Vol 2. Trichur: The St. Thomas Christian Encyclopaedia of India. Mundadan, M.A. (July-September 1999) . “Cultural CommunicationEncounter of the St. Thomas Christians with the Hindus in Kerala.” Journal of Dharma. Vol. XXIV No. 3: 244-254. —. (1995). The Syro-Malabar Church: An Overview. Daniel J. Thottakara (ed.) Keralam, India and MI, USA: The Department of Communications, Sacred Heart Provincial House and Dan Thottakara. —. (1982). History of Christianity in India. Vol 2. Bangalore: Published for Church History Association of India by Theological Publications in India. —. (1970). Sixteenth Century Traditions. Bangalore, India: Dharmaram College. Nedungatt, G. (ed.) (2001). The Synod of Diamper Revisited. Rome, Italy: Pontificio Istituto Orientale. Parekkattil, J. [Cardinal] (1987). Syro-Malabar Liturgy as I see it. Trans. K.C. Chacko. Ernakulam: Fr. Abel. Pathikulangara, V. (1982). Chaldeo-Indian liturgy. Kottayam, India: Oriental Institute of Religious Studies. Podipara, P.J. (1970). The Thomas Christians. London: Darton, Longman & Todd. Said, E.W. (1993). Culture and Imperialism. New York: Vintage Books. Spivak, G.C. (1990). The Post-colonial Critic: Interviews, Strategies, Dialogues. London: Routledge. Sugirtharajah, R.S. (1995). Voices from the Margin: Interpreting the Bible in the Third World. New Edition. London: Orbis/SPCK. Thomas, A. and T.M. Thomas (1984). Kerala Immigrants in America: A Sociological Study of the St. Thomas Christians. Cochin, India: Simons Printers. Thottakara, A. (1990). East Syrian spirituality. Rome: Centre for Indian and Inter-Religious Studies. Vatican Council (2nd: 1962-1965) (1975). Documents of Vatican II. Austin P. Flannery (ed.) Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans. Williams, R.B. (October 1986). “Translating Indian Christianity to the United States.” The Christian Century. 19:27-8. —. (1988). Religions of Immigrants from India and Pakistan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. (1996). Christian Pluralism in the United States: The Indian Immigrant Experience. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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—. (2000). “South Asian Christians in Britain, Canada, and the United States.” In The South Asian religious diaspora in Britain, Canada, and the United States. Eds. Harold Coward et.al. Albany: State University of New York Press. Williamson, W.B. (1992). An Encyclopedia of religions in the United States: one hundred religious groups speak for themselves. New York: Crossroad. Zacharia, S. (1994). The Acts and Decrees of the Synod of Diamper 1599. Edamattam, Kerala: Indian Institute of Christian Studies.
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PART FOUR MUSLIMS
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NEGOTIATING IDENTITIES: THE CASE OF INDIAN MUSLIMS IN SOUTH AFRICA S. E. DANGOR
Abstract The Muslims of South Africa have diverse origins and were drawn from a medley of social classes, ranging from slaves to kings. Due to the fact that slaves at the Cape in the 17th and 18th centuries and the indentured labourers in Natal in the 19th century shared the same space in terms of employment and residential quarters, a syncretic form of Islam developed in both regions. The subsequent emergence of institutional Islam can be attributed to the establishment of the mosque and madrasah (Islamic school). Islam was further consolidated through numerous community-based organisations, which provided vital services, relief and support. The slaves and ex-convicts, indentured workers and traders, as well as migrant workers have all contributed to the South African economy. While the early theological debate at the Cape became redundant, the more recent debates in Natal and the former Transvaal reduced substantially as Muslims began to search for a common identity in the new political dispensation. Nonetheless, the current discourse surrounding the principle and form of recognition of Muslim Personal Law by the state could prove equally divisive. In a sense, People Against Gangsterism and DRUGS (PAGAD) symbolises the rejection of the new moral order. The participation of numerous individuals and several formations in the liberation struggle has ensured Muslim representation at various levels of government. Finally, the development of an indigenous Islam – likely to be intensified by recent African Muslim immigrants – is a challenge to the Asian Muslim majority in South Africa.
Introduction Muslim minorities have a tendency to respond to their environment from a majoritarian paradigm, i.e. a situation where Islam is the dom-
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inant and determining order. This common flaw has been criticised by several Muslim scholars. Syed Z. Abedin, the late director of the Institute of Muslim Minority Affairs, rejected the majoritarian model as inappropriate for minorities. While advising both Muslim majorities and minorities to accept the reality of “minorityness,” he cautioned the latter against divisive and separatist tendencies since these would lead to their isolation and alienation.1 Taha al-Alwani, a leading American Muslim scholar, disapproves of attempts by minorities to establish their uniqueness by destroying the distinguishing features of the majority.2 In South Africa, the Muslim Youth Movement – established in 1971 – operated on the basis of the majoritarian paradigm until the intervention in 1984 of Khuram Murad, a member of the Jammate Islami based in England, who directed the movement to position itself as a minority.3 Other groups, such as the Muslim theological councils, went to the other extreme and acquiesced in their status as a minority with limited rights and obligations. They were content with “formal citizenship” which, in terms of Bottomore’s definition, is a limited form of citizenship where minorities seek nothing more than membership of the nation state.4 This chapter will discuss the origin and class of Indian Muslim immigrants, their role in the establishment and consolidation of Islam, their struggle for civic rights, and their positioning in the current political dispensation in South Africa. In the process, it will charter the course of Indian Muslim identity formation and demonstrate how social and political developments have continuously impacted on this identity.
Origin and Class There is no consensus on the exact number of Muslims in South Africa. While official statistics put the number at 500 000, unofficial estimates range from 750 000 to one million. The overwhelming Syed Z. Abedin, Muslim Minorities: The Dependency Syndrome, unpublished paper. T. J. al-Alwani, “Naturalization and the Rights of Citizens,” American Journal of Islamic Social Sciences, vol. 11, no 1, 1994. 3 A. Tayob, Islamic Resurgence in South Africa, University of Cape Town Press, 1995, pp. 139-141, 161. 4 See T. Bottomore, “Citizenship and Social Class Forty Years On,” in T.H.Marshall & T. Bottomore (eds.), Citizenship and Social Class, London: Pluto, 1992. 1 2
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majority of South African Muslims have their origins in South East Asia, with about equal numbers from India and the East Indies. Muslims of Malay origin constitute about 45% of this population and reside mainly in the Western Cape; a similar percentage is of Indian origin and resides mainly in Kwazulu-Natal, Gauteng and Mpumalanga. A small percentage has its roots in Africa. There were two main waves of Muslim migration. In the 17th century the Dutch brought slaves from their colonies in the East Indies and India, as well as from Africa, to work on the settlement they had just established at the Cape of Good Hope. The majority of slaves from India and the East Indies were Muslims.5 Slaves were kept in abject conditions by the Dutch authorities. They often complained about unpalatable food, lack of warm clothing during the bitter Cape winters, severe punishment for minor violations of rules, etc.6 Most slaves were named after the slave traders who purchased and sold them or after their owner. This explains why the majority of Cape Muslims have distinctly Christian surnames, e.g. Davids, Da Costa, Harris, etc7 and why their Muslim identity is only recognised through their first names. In the19th Century, the British brought indentured workers from India to cultivate sugar cane in their newly acquired colony on the coast of Natal.8 Muslims constituted a very small minority (estimated to be 10%) of these workers.9 However, Muslims formed the overwhelming majority of Indian traders who decided to migrate from India, Mauritius and East Africa to seek their fortunes in to South Africa.10 A small contingent of Pathan Muslims was brought from India by Lord Roberts to fight for the British against the Boers in the Anglo-Boer war.11 5 A. J. Boeseken, Slaves and Free Blacks at the Cape -1658-1700, Cape Town: Tafelberg, 1977, 74-75; F.R. Bradlow, “The Origins of the Early Cape Muslims,” in The Early Cape Muslims, F.R. Bradlow & M. Cairns, editors, Cape Town: Balkema, 1978, 86-91, 103-105, 118-124; R. C-H Shell, The Establishment and Spread of Islam from the beginning of Company rule to 1838, unpublished Honour’s essay, University of Cape Town, 1974, 4, 15, 29; E. A. Walker, A History of Southern Africa, London: Longmans Green & Co, 1962, 43. 6 M. Wilson & L. Thompson, editors, The Oxford History of South Africa, London: Oxford University Press, 1969, 1: 268. 7 See S. Dangor, “Muslim Slaves in the Cape Colony,” in al-‘Ilm, Journal of the Centre for Research in Islamic Studies, 1985, 5: 103. 8 S. Bhana & J. Brain, Setting Down Roots, Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press, 1990, 37-41. 9 H. Kuper, Indian People in Natal, Pitermaritzburg: University of Natal Press, 1960, 6. 10 Bhana, ibid. 11 Kuper, 8-9.
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Indian slaves who constituted half of the total slave population at the Cape in the 17th century, became gradually assimilated by the East Indian community and their identity came to be subsumed by the generic title of “Malay”. The reasons for this have not been adduced to this day by researchers on Cape Muslim history. Given the tenacity of Indians to maintain their unique identity, there must have been compelling reasons for the loss of their cultural heritage. In fact, until Boeseken published her research on the Cape slaves, it was generally assumed that the first Indians arrived in South Africa only in the 19th century.12 One plausible reason for this “subjection” of Indian identity is the fact that the religious scholars and sufi shaykhs of that period were all of Malay origin, resulting in the dominance of Malay culture and its adoption by Indian slaves as the norm. Due to the fact that the term “Malay” in reality includes early Indians who were absorbed into this category, historians now prefer to use the term “Cape Muslim”. Furthermore, Cape Muslim culture has been revealed to be an amalgam of Malay and Hindu culture.13
Establishment and Consolidation of Islam
The First Century (1860-1960) There is very little information, apart from statistics, on Indians brought by the Dutch to the Cape in the 17th and 18th centuries. One of the few references to the role of Indian Muslims in the consolidation of Islam at the Cape is to the exemplary life of an ex- slave, Achmat Van Bengalen (Ahmad of Bengal), who served as imam (leader of congregation), qadi (jurist) and teacher all at once.14 The contribution of Haji Sullaiman Shahmahomed of Kathiawar (India), who arrived in 1883 at the Cape is well documented. This wellknown traveller and philanthropist built a mosque and school, reno-
12 Most historical works have been guilty of perpetuating this myth. See P.S. Joshi, The Tyranny of Colour, Durban: E.P & Commercial Printing Co, Ltd., 1942; B. Pachai, The International Aspects of the South African Indian Question 1860-1971, Cape Town: C. Struik, 1971. 13 A. Davids, The Words the Slaves made, Cape Town: University of Cape Town, 1989, 5. 14 A. Davids, The Mosques of Bo-Kaap, Athlone: The South African Institute of Arabic & Islamic Research, 1980.
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vated Shaykh Yusuf’s shrine (karamat) and founded a trust to fund a chair in Eastern philosophy and languages, including Arabic and Islamic Studies.15 However, the paucity of data on the first wave of Indian Muslims to arrive in South Africa compels us to confine our focus to the second wave of Muslim immigrants from India in the 19th century. Indian Muslims wasted little time in spreading from the coast into the interior towns of Natal and even beyond in the Transvaal colony and setting down their roots in South Africa.16 The Juma Masjid (popularly known as the Grey Street Mosque), which is the largest mosque in Southern Africa, was built in 1884, within three decades of the arrival of Muslims in Durban. It served mainly the trader class, which had settled in the city centre and soon became a focal point of its community life.17 Despite their apparent religious enthusiasm, Indian Muslims had not shed their ethnic prejudices. This became evident when Gujaratispeaking Muslims established their own Juma Masjid (commonly known as the West Street Mosque) a year later in 1885, a short distance away from the Grey Street mosque. This followed a remark by a member of the Grey Street mosque congregation (presumably Memon-speaking) to another member (presumably Gujarati-speaking) that the latter had no rights in that mosque.18 Since Memon traders financed the Grey Street mosque, it became popularly known as the “Memon mosque”. In contrast, the West Street mosque, whose chief backers were Gujarati-speaking Muslim traders, came to be called the “Surti mosque.” The first mosque established in Johannesburg was also called the Juma Masjid, though it became better known as the Kerk Street mosque. Although the mosque proper was completed in 1888, a mar-
15 See M. Ajam, The Raison D’Etre of the Muslim Mission Primary School in Cape Town and Environs from 1860-1980 with special reference to the role of Dr A. Abdurahman in the modernisation of Islam-orientated schools, D. Phil thesis, University of Cape Town, 1986, 236244. 16 S. Bhana, “Indian Trade and Trader in Colonial Natal,” in B. Guest and J.M. Sellers (eds.), Enterprise and Exploitation in a Victorian Colony: Aspects of the Economic & social History of Colonial Natal, Pitermaritzburg: University of Natal Press, 1985. 17 E. Sulliman, A Historical Study of the largest Masjid in the Southern Hemisphere – the Juma Masjid, unpublished B. A. Hons paper, University of Durban-Westville, 1985, 23-24. 18 R. Jamal, A Study of the West Street Mosque, unpublished B.A. Honours paper, University of Durban-Westville, 1987, 12.
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quee served as a makeshift mosque since 1870.19 The first mosque in Pretoria was built in 1887.20 Indian Muslims who migrated to the Cape built a mosque soon after their arrival there in 1892, called Quawwatul Islam, which they patronised.21 This indicates that unlike the early Indian Muslims, who assimilated with Muslims of Malay origin, they chose to maintain their distinct identity, despite the fact that they intermarried quite freely with “Malay” Muslims. Yet, many chose to classify themselves as “Malay” in order to enjoy the benefits this would confer on them.22 Due to the fact that Hindu and Muslim indentured labourers in Natal in the 19th century shared the same space in terms of employment and residential quarters, a syncretic form of Islam developed here. The expression of Islam among this sector reveals distinct traces of Hindu customs and traditions.23 These early migrants found their “spiritual home”, located some distance away from the city centre near the Umgeni River, at the Riverside complex established by Sufi Sahib who was sent to South Africa in 1895 specifically to serve the needs of the poor. Sufi Sahib established mosques, orphanages, madrasahs (religious schools) and initiated the milad (Prophet’s birthday commemoration) and ‘urs (commemoration of the birth or death anniversary of a saint).24 He is said to have located the grave of Sheik Allie Vulle Ahmed of Madras, popularly known as Badshah Peer,25 who is venerated and whose ‘urs is commemorated to this day – despite the fact that virtually nothing is known about him. The madrasah has played a significant role in imparting fundamental Islamic teachings to the young since the arrival of Indian Muslims in Natal. Teachers – referred to as “munshi ” – were recruited from India specifically for this purpose. In the early 20th century, young men were sent to study Islam in the seminaries in India. These graduSunday Times Extra, 29 October 1989. E. Mahida, History of Muslims in South Africa: A Chronology, Durban: Arabic Study Circle, 1993, 48. 21 Davids, Mosques of Bo-Kaap, 97. 22 W.J. Argyle, “Muslims in South Africa: Origins, Development and Present Economic Status,” Journal: Institute of Muslim Minority Affairs, 3: 2, 1981, 230-232. 23 G. R. Smith, “A Muslim Saint in South Africa”, in The Saint, ed. A. B. Mahomed, Durban: The Soofie Saheb Badsha Peer Musjid, Madressa & Yateemkhana, 1970, 2. 24 S. E. Dangor, Sufi Sahib, Durban: Iqra Publishers, 1995, 9. 25 Pamphlet: Hazrat Badsha Peer, Durban, 1984. 19 20
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ates replaced the munshis as teachers, imams and general religious guides. At the outset, Christian missionaries provided education to Indians. When the state did concede to the right of Indian children to basic education, it placed all types of conditions that were not acceptable to Indian Muslims. Perhaps, for this reason, religious scholars discouraged Muslims from acquiring education in the early decades of the 20th century.26 In spite of this, Indian Muslims made substantial financial contributions towards the establishment of schools for the Indian community. Since 1947 Muslim state-aided schools became the vogue in Natal. Of the five that were established between 1947 and 1959, two have become private schools, one has shut down and two have become fully-fledged public schools in terms of the state’s education policy. Indian Muslims also donated generously to universities and technikons, especially to those that served the Indian population essentially, but now serve the general population. The M.L Sultan Technikon in Durban, established in 1956 by Malukmahomed Lappa Sultan, an indentured Indian labourer from Malabar (South India), stands as the most celebrated monument to the promotion of Indian education.27 Furthermore, an Indian Muslim philanthropist by the name of M.A. Motala established a hostel for delinquent Indian boys, built and financed several schools and clinics, and donated land to the Natal Indian Blind Society for the building of a home and Vocational Training Centre.28 The A M Moola Charity Trust (established 1959) has contributed to social welfare, provided scholarships and bursaries, and donated generously to schools and universities, mosques and madrasahs, hospitals and clinics, hostels and orphanages, and libraries and social centres for Indians.29 R.K. Khan (formerly of Bombay), another regular contributor to educational projects, bequeathed a huge sum of money for health-care. It was his bequest that eventually made possible the establishment in 1969 of the R.K. Khan hospital in Chatsworth, the largest Indian suburb in South Africa.30 Many Muslim scholars from India – and later, Pakistan – visited Towards Understanding Islam, November 1944. Y. Mahomed, M. L. Sultan – His life and his Contributions, unpublished B. A. Hons paper, University of Durban-Westville, 1992. 28 E. Mahida, History of Muslim in South Africa, 68. 29 Ibid., 89. 30 Indian Opinion, 14 October, 1932. 26 27
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South Africa from time to time. They helped to consolidate Islam through their expert advice, guidance and leadership. One such scholar was Mawlana Ahmad Mukhtar Siddiqui who was instrumental in founding an association for the promotion of Urdu through prose and poetry (Buzme Adab), an orphanage (Muslim Darul Yatama wal Masakeen) in 1934, the Buzme Ikhwanus Saffa, the Jumma Masjid Madressah for girls, and the Anjuman Islam Madressah.31 The Young Men’s Muslim Association – a grouping of highly motivated young Muslims – was founded in 1942 and organised lectures and published pamphlets on Islam. The Natal Muslim Council, which was established in 1943, played a significant role in promoting education, coordinating social welfare, and flagging the importance of the Arabic language. The Arabic Study Circle was founded in 1950 in Durban chiefly to promote Arabic in schools and at community level. However, it also founded a library, held speech contests, created a forum for debate on world religions and on diverse aspects of Islam, and provided bursaries to students of Arabic and Islamic Studies.32 Since its inception in 1952, the Jamiat al-Ulama of Natal engaged actively in social welfare, dispute resolutions, Islamic education, managing mosques and issuing legal edicts.33 It remained apolitical, in contrast to the Cape Muslim Judicial Council which publicly proclaimed its opposition to the apartheid regime. The Islamic Propagation Centre in Durban emerged in 1957 in response to anti-Islamic sentiments in the media and the attempts of Christian missionaries to convert Muslims.34 Ahmed Deedat, a man with a passion for public speaking, resolved to study the Bible and challenge evangelists in public debates. His formula for defending Islam was to expose fundamental Christian beliefs in Original Sin, Crucifixion, Incarnation, Atonement and the Trinity as erroneous. Many Hindus – themselves the targets of Christian missionaries – attended Deedat’s debates and cheered for him.
31 M. Mahomedy, A Study of the Muslim Darul Yatama wal Masakeen, B. A. Hons paper, University of Durban-Westville, 1986, 22. 32 H.I. Bhayat, Arabic Study Circle, B.A. Hons paper, University of Durban-Westville, 1992, 7-21. 33 Tayob, pp. 65, 70; Brochure: Jamiatul Ulama Natal. 34 See R.C. Jamal, The Role and Contribution of the Islamic Propagation Centre International in the field of Da‘wah, unpublished M.A. thesis, University of Durban-Westville, 1991, 24-25.
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In Johannesburg, the Hamidia Islamic Society was established in 1906 by Indian Muslim traders. Its major aim was to galvanize both merchants and workers to protest against unjust laws, along the lines of the Indian Congress, through regular meetings.35 While the Jamiat al-Ulama of the Transvaal (established in 1923) provided Islamic education and literature, as well as religious counsel and social services,36 the Waterval Islamic Institute (established in 1940) provided muchneeded secular and Islamic religious education when educational facilities were few and far between.37 In 1952, the Indian Muslim traders of Johannesburg founded the Central Islamic Trust. Its major activities are Islamic education, social welfare and provision of bursaries. The Islamic Missionary Society founded in 1958 had as its main objectives propagating Islam, educating Muslim children, assisting indigent Muslims, establishing mosques, madrasahs and centres, publishing Islamic literature.38 For a brief period after their arrival in South Africa, the Indian Muslim trading class courted the idea of being classified “Arab”, expecting to be accorded the same status as British subjects of the Colony.39 These “would-be Arabs” were soon disenchanted when White traders began a campaign against them, and realised that their long-term interests lay within the broader Indian community. While their Indian identity was, without doubt, born out of pragmatism, there is no gainsaying that the majority of Indian Muslims had not severed their connection with India. The creation of Pakistan in 1947, though supported in principle by many Muslim leaders, did not engender any hostility between Hindus and Muslims.40 In fact, both communities celebrated the independence of India.41 Since their arrival, Hindu and Muslim Indians behaved as a single community in diaspora. They lived and worked in close proximity, sharing the same concerns and articulating their demands collectively through the Indian Congress leadership. They had close economic ties and attended the same schools. They also attended or participated in each other’s festivals. Hindus participated in the Ashura rites in 35 36 37 38 39 40 41
E. Mahida, 49. Ibid., 57-58. The Indian Views, 32: 9, September 1945. E. Mahida, 75. Bhana, Setting Down roots, 65-66. The Leader, 30 January 1943. The Leader, 2 September 1947.
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the month of Muharram, merrily joining the ta‘zia or pagoda procession that began outside the Grey Street Mosque, advanced through the city’s streets and ended on the banks of the Umgeni River.42 Some Muslim traders attended Divali celebrations.43 The fact that the Women’s Cultural Group – the first organisation established by a group of Indian Muslim women in 1954 – was dedicated to the promotion of cultural and educational activities of Indian South Africans44 confirms that Indian Muslims viewed themselves as part of the broader South African Indian community. The advent of the National Party in 1948 and subsequent introduction of the policy of apartheid or racial segregation reinforced “Indian consciousness” of both Hindus and Muslims. They operated within the framework of race classification that was imposed on them. In terms of the Group Areas Act they were compelled to live in Indian residential areas, attend Indian schools, and pursue their pastimes at facilities earmarked for Indians. Socialisation occurred at weddings, at the work place and on the sports field. For at least a century, Indian Muslims maintained an emotional bond with India and kept abreast of developments in the land of their birth. They looked forward to visit the village of the ancestors. Publications such as “The Views and News” carried many articles on Indian politics. The editor of Indian Views, Moosa Ismail Meer (d. 1963), was known to have been highly respected by Muhammad Ali Jinnah (founder of Pakistan) and Kunwar Sir Maharaj Singh (governor of Bombay).45 The alumni of Aligarh University established the Aligarh Old Boys Association in Johannesburg in 1952. Its major activities were provision of scholarships and sponsoring an annual speech contest.46 From 1960 to the Present From the 1960’s, however, Indian Muslims began to identify more with the Muslim World than with India. This could in part be ascribed to two major factors: 42 G. Vahed, “Indian Muslims in South Africa: Continuity, Change and Disjuncture, 1860-2000,” Alternation, vol. 7, No. 2, 2000, 70, 82. 43 Indian Opinion, 16 November 1907. 44 F. Moola, Women’s Cultural Group, B.A. Hons. Paper, University of DurbanWestville, 1992, 3-6. 45 The Views and News, 15 September 1967. 46 The Muslim, October 1966.
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(a) The acceptance of Indians as permanent South African citizens in 1961. (b) The emergence of educational, cultural, literary, juridical and missionary organisations during the 1940’s and 1950’s. While many Muslims were prepared to accept their Indian designation politically, and some of their leaders served on the various Indian councils and committees that were established, others rejected it on ideological grounds. Increasingly, Muslim leaders and intellectuals began to seek affirmation and acceptance on the basis of their faith rather than on the basis of their ancestry. The host of new organisations began to reorientate their thoughts and ideas, and they began to view themselves as South African Muslims and as members of the global Muslim Community. The Tabligh Jama‘ah, a puritanical reform movement that originated in India and established itself here in 1962, may have also contributed to the identity formation of Indian Muslims in this period, despite the fact that many African Muslims view it as an Indian brand of Islam. With its insistence on strict imitation of the precepts of the Prophet of Islam, the movement has effectively divested Muslims of any trace of Indian culture and tradition. The Muslim Youth Movement was established in Durban in 1971 with a reformist agenda and also played a pivotal role in altering the mind-set of Muslims.47 In its early phase, it was influenced essentially by revivalist thinkers like Mawlana Mawdudi of Pakistan, Hasan alBanna and Syed Qutb of Egypt. In its later phase, it began to identify with South African-specific issues, including issues of justice and political liberation. The Muslim Students Association was launched in 1974 with the same earlier agenda of the Muslim Youth Movement, but with a specific student focus. It underwent a similar phase of transformation, though its activities are much more limited. It was also during this decade that eminent scholars of Islam visited South Africa and presented a perspective of Islam that had an immediate impact on students, professionals and activists. They soon began to challenge what they perceived to be the hegemony of traditionalist scholars over the Muslim community. They voiced their disagree-
47 A. Asmall. The Muslim Youth Movement of South Africa with special reference to issues and Challenges of the Present Phase, B.A. Hons paper, University of Durban-Westville, 1987. For a detailed study of the Muslim Youth Movement, see Tayob’s Islamic Resurgence in South Africa.
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ments on various issues such as the role of women in society, priorities for Muslims in the modern world, manifestation of Islam in public life, etc. In 1977 a high- powered six men delegation from the Islamic Council of South Africa (an umbrella body for South African Muslims) visited Saudi Arabia to obtain recognition for Muslims by the World Muslim League (al-Rabita al-‘Alam al-Islami).48 The closer rapport established with Saudi Arabia opened the door for students to enroll in Saudi institutes and universities for Arabic and Islamic Studies. This cemented their identity with the Muslim World. Propagation of Islam by Muslim individuals and organisations, including the Islamic Propagation Centre in Durban, has met with relatively limited success. Converts to Islam (or the now more favoured “reverts”) number in the tens of thousands at the most and constitute a significantly small minority of the overall Muslim population of South Africa. In the past two decades the Islamic Propagation Centre began to distribute or sell booklets and videos of Deedat’s debates. These booklets and videos are very popular among Muslims in Africa, Europe and the United States. The transformation of education in South Africa created many uncertainties, especially among minority communities. Among their chief concerns was maintenance of their cultural identity. One consequence of this insecurity was the mushrooming of private or independent schools. While the first Muslim private school was established only in 1984, more than seventy such schools have been established since then. Most are co-educational; a few cater for girls only. Though some Muslim leaders encourage the establishment of more private schools, others view them as elitist and exclusive. The majority of Muslim children, however, attend public or state schools. At the same time, however, hundreds of young men and women now leave public school to attend the seminaries that have been established in regions with a substantial Muslim population. These by and large are transplants of the Deobandi and Barelwi seminaries in India, and reflect the same theological orientation. Followers of the former adhere to an orthodox form of Islam; those of the latter participate in various innovative practices that they consider as meritorious. With the establishment of seminaries in South Africa, fewer and fewer students go to the seminaries in India. Even before their establish48
Muslim Today, 6 April 1977.
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ment, the discord between these groups became so pronounced that it began to manifest itself in the form of verbal disputes, “pamphlet wars”, and even isolated cases of violence. The Sunni Jamiat-e-Ulama was established in 1978 to challenge the hegemony of the Jamiatul Ulama, which represents orthodoxy. Most Muslim children still attend madrasah in the afternoons, after the normal school hours. While earlier madrasahs were mainly private, today many are run by organisations on a highly professional basis. The latter provide in-service training, syllabi, curricula, textbooks and inspection.49 The Lenasia Muslim Association that was established in 196250 is one of the largest providers of Islamic education in South Africa. It was the first organisation to offer madrasah education on a professional basis. It developed syllabi, published its own textbooks and trained its teachers. Furthermore, it conducted evaluation through tests and examinations. In many ways, it set the standard for other providers of madrasah education in South Africa. The Islamic Educational Organisation, established in 1985,51 is the main provider of organised madrasah education in Kwazulu-Natal. Most madrasah teachers are women, in both the public and private sectors. Another recent development is the establishment by Muslim legal, accounting and health care practitioners of professional organisations which host conferences and workshops, publish articles, journals and booklets and arrange training and development programmes for their members.52 These organisations tend to be more democratic in their structure and function than many earlier organisations, which tended to be autocratic parochial, hierarchical and bureaucratic. While some practices initiated by Sufi Sahib in Natal are popular to this day, many traditions and customs that distinguished the early Indian Muslim migrants relating specifically to rites of passage have either been appreciably altered or completely abandoned. This could be attributed to the following reasons: influence of the local madrasah, role of religious scholars who graduate from seminaries in the Indian sub-continent and in South Africa, the “reform” programme of the Tabligh Jama‘ah, access to Islamic literature, visits by scholars of Islam 49 M. Haron & Y. Mohamed, “The Theory and Practice of Islamic Education with reference to South Africa,” in Perspectives on Islamic Education, Lenasia: Muslim World League, 1989, 13. 50 Ibid., p. 94 51 Report: Islamic Educational Organisation of Southern Africa, 1989-1990. 52 S Dangor, “The Muslim Community in South Africa,” in al-‘Ilm, vol. 11, 1991.
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to South Africa, contact with Muslim organisations abroad, Islamic conferences.53 It is estimated that there are no less than 400 mosques and 400 Muslim organisations in South Africa today.54 The latter differ substantially in terms of size, resources, services, ideological orientation and influence. While commercial enterprises, social welfare and relief organisations provide a valuable service to the communities in which they function, the media and educational institutions have been the prime shapers of opinion, in addition to the mosques. The seminaries and Muslim private schools play a major role in shaping the attitudes, views and perceptions of Muslim youth. In recent years the media, too, has begun to impact on Muslim society on a fairly substantial scale. Newspapers and radio stations managed and administered by Indian Muslims range from the very traditionalist to the modernist in orientation. Most are regional, one is national and one international. Indian Muslims have contributed to national development and social relief through the establishment of schools and health-care clinics for the general African population in under-serviced areas, and financial and material contribution to the victims of flood, drought, unemployment, etc. They have now embarked on empowerment projects by offering skills development programmes for the unemployed, for women and for those wishing to improve their competency. The Struggle for Rights Indian indentured workers lived in abject conditions.55 Indian traders, while enjoying greater independence, were viewed as economic competitors by the British who made it difficult for them to acquire residential and trading rights.56 It may be argued that Indians were the first victims of xenophobia in South Africa. The Indian Committee Durban was established in 1894 originally to pursue these rights for Indian traders, the majority of whom were Muslims.57 It is this committee that gave birth to the Natal Indian Congress and 53 See S.E. Dangor, “The Expression of Islam in South Africa,” Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs, vol. 17, no. 1, 1997, 149. 54 M. Davids, Directory of Muslim Institutions and Mosques in South Africa, Maraisburg: SPAL, 1996. 55 M. Swan, Gandhi: The South African Experience, Johannesburg: Ravan, 1985. 56 Swanson, “Asiatic Menace”, cited in Vahed, Indian Muslims in South Africa. 57 H. Seedat, “The South African Trailblazer,” Part IV, Leader, 1980, 14.
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explains why the majority of the earlier Congress officials were Muslim traders, including its first six presidents.58 Their struggles have been documented in numerous publications.59 Mahatma Gandhi, the man identified with the founding of the Natal Indian Congress, was brought to South Africa from India to represent a Muslim firm, Dada Abdulla and Company, in a civil suit against Tayob Hajee Khan Mahomed and Company, another Indian Muslim firm.60 Muslims fully supported Gandhi’s Passive Resistance Campaign, the protest movement against discriminatory practices against Indians, which acquired for Gandhi international fame and honour. One of the best known N.I.C. stalwarts was Abdulla Ismail Kajee who formed part of the delegations to India in 1922 and to the United Nations in 1946 to demand civil rights for South African Indians. In the Transvaal, two of the most prominent figures of the Congress movement were Moulvi Cachalia and Yusuf Dadoo. While the former spent most of his political life in exile in India, Yusuf Dadoo became one of the leading figures in resistance against White minority rule in South Africa. He was president of the Transvaal Indian Congress, chairman of the Anti-Segregation Council as well as the Transvaal Passive Resistance Council. He, with Monty Naicker, led the defiance campaign in 1939 aimed at reversing discriminatory practices against black South Africans.61 The two attended the AllAsia Conference Delhi in 1947 and the United Nations General Assembly in Paris in 1948. For the first half of the 20th century, Indians and Africans enjoyed a harmonious relationship. Leaders of the African National Party and the Indian Congress had regular joint meetings, exchanged ideas and information and worked closely together for their civic rights.62 The Group Areas Act passed in 1950 had significant economic, social and political ramifications. It denied Africans, Asians and Coloureds trading and residential rights in the prime areas in city centres, prohibited
58 S. Bhana, Gandhi’s Legacy: The Natal Indian Congress 1894-1994, Pietermaritzburg: University of Natal Press, 1997. 59 D. Bagwandeen, “Historical Perspectives” in A.J. Arkin, K.P. Magyar, G.J. Pillay (eds.), The Indian South Africans, Pinetown: Owen Burgess, 1989, 5-18. 60 see Swan. 61 G. H. Calpin, Indians in South Africa Pietermaritzburg: Shuter & Shooter, 1949, 130. 62 Pachai, 223-224.
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them from obtaining senior positions in the productive sectors, and virtually prevented them from obtain credits from the White-owned banking establishment. Furthermore, the enforcing of separation between races created suspicion and hostility between Indians and Africans and impeded social interaction between them. Nonetheless, many Muslim individuals sacrificed their wealth, education, family life, etc for the sake of freedom and justice. Some were compelled to go into exile (such as Aziz Pahad, current deputy minister of foreign affairs) many were incarcerated (among those imprisoned with Nelson Mandela was Ahmad Kathrada who has now retired from politics), and a few (Ahmad Timol, “Babla” Saloojee, Haffejee) were killed in custody. Prominent African leaders of the ANC have acknowledged that political liberation in South Africa was achieved through the collaborative efforts of all sectors of the population, including Indians. Mandela’s personal lawyer, Ismail Ayyub, was an Indian Muslim. South African Indians collectively demonstrated their opposition to the racist ideology of the Nationalist Party government in the seventies. An overwhelming majority rejected the Tricameral system, introduced in 1984, which provided separate chambers in parliament for Whites, Indians and Coloureds, because it entrenched apartheid and excluded Africans. The fact that the Africa Muslim Party, established in Durban and consisting mainly of Indian Muslims, failed to win a single seat in the 1994 elections indicates that Muslims did not wish to marginalise themselves from mainstream politics. Likewise, the Africa Moral Party, which contested the last elections, gained little support.63 Thus, at a political level at least, Muslims in general were averse to placing themselves in a ghetto. The call for a boycott of elections by a small sector of Muslims, including the Mujlisul Ulama in the Eastern Cape,64 received little support. The active participation of various individuals and formations in the liberation struggle has ensured Muslim representation at various levels of government. Today, there are several cabinet ministers, and a sizeable number of Muslim parliamentarians, councillors and civil servants in South Africa. Most have aligned themselves with the African National Congress. A few have joined opposition parties such as the New Democratic Party and the Nationalist Party. Al-Qalam, May 1999. See Muslim participation in kufr politics, Port Elizabeth: Mujlisul Ulama of South Africa, n.d. 63 64
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There is, nonetheless, great concern among Indian (including Muslim) leaders about the lack of involvement of Indian youth in political party activity, of voter apathy among Indians in general and their propensity (in Kwazulu-Natal particularly) to vote for White-dominated parties. This appears to have had some ramifications in relation to the allocation of state resources. Evidently, some Indians have little faith in the new political dispensation, accusing it of corruption, elitism, abandoning the masses, caving in to international finance and promoting immorality and vice. The Contemporary Scene According to the Islamic Council of South Africa, about 20% of South African Muslims are engaged in trade and commerce, 40% are employed as skilled artisans, 25% are semi-skilled workers and 15% are professionals or white-collar workers.65 Though these figures are far from accurate, they give some idea of the distribution of human resources among Muslims. Muslims are established in trading, manufacturing, banking, property and real estate, plastics, construction, processed foods, confectionery, travel and tourism, pharmaceuticals and textiles. Though comprising only a fraction of the total population of the country, Indian Muslims make a fairly significant contribution to the South African economy. While descendents of indentured labourers are now factory-workers, clerks, artisans or professionals, most descendents of traders who traditionally inherited the family business now pursue a professional qualification. This in part has led to the demise of several reputed businesses houses. Another factor that has impacted negatively on the Muslim manufacturing sector is economic globalisation that has led to the flooding of imported goods into the country. The advent of the shi‘ah in South Africa post 1994 has, interestingly, contributed to the rapprochement between the Deobandi and Barelwi schools of thought. Leaders of both groups are highly apprehensive of shi‘ah influence on the Sunni majority and view the shi‘ah as a more menacing challenge. The fact that the shi‘ah have succeeded in “converting” a small number of Sunni Muslims has added to their apprehension. Their common interest in the recognition of Muslim Personal Law by the state has led to the formation of the 65 ICSA, Meet the Muslims of South Africa, Durban: The Islamic Council of South Africa, 1984, 21.
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United Ulama Council which includes both these groups, as well as the Cape-based Muslim Judicial Council. The Hajj and Umrah Council is another forum where representatives of the two groups share common concerns in relation to the welfare of pilgrims. Nonetheless, recent disputes concerning the certification of halal products could easily be manipulated to reopen old wounds between the two groups. The recognition of Muslim Personal Law is currently a major area of debate. Up to the present day, South African law recognises only Christian marriages solemnized by the Church. Muslim marriages have been denied recognition specifically because they were considered potentially polygamous. These marriages have had to be validated by being solemnised by a marriage officer. The South African Law Commission’s offer to recognise Muslim Personal Law in 1987 received a mixed response. While some sectors of the population welcomed the offer, others rejected it, viewing it as an attempt by the state to co-opt Muslims.66 The South African Law Commission under the ANC-led government has now made the same offer. The Muslim Personal Law Board established in 1993 was subsequently dissolved because of irreconcilable differences among its constituencies. The Law Commission has now released an issue paper entitled “Islamic Marriages and Related Matters” in May 2000 and invited comments from Muslims on the proposed legislation. The Association of Accountants and Lawyers for Islamic Law, the United Ulama Council and other stakeholders in the community have held several workshops on Muslim Personal Law and submitted comments to the Law Commission. While the majority of Muslims are inclined to accept the offer of recognition, believing that it will accord women greater protection of their rights, many reject it on the grounds that there are substantial differences between provisions of the proposed bill and Muslim Family Law. Still others are of the view that the constitution should guarantee special institutional protection for faith communities. Given the fact that the attitudes of traditionalists and secularists have largely remained unchanged, and that several academics and politicians prefer Muslims to accept a uniform civil 66 S. E. Dangor, “The Muslims of South Africa: Problems and Concerns of a Minority Community,” Journal, Institute of Muslim Minority Affairs, vol. 13, no. 2, 1992, p. 124.
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code,67 there is little likelihood of consensus and the eventual outcome is likely to be contested. The generally cordial relationship between Hindu and Muslim Indians has become somewhat strained ever since the release of the video “From Hinduism to Islam” by the Islamic Propagation Centre. It created a furore among Hindus who threatened to boycott Muslim business houses. The condemnation of video by Muslim organisations, including the Islamic Council of South Africa and the Muslim Youth Movement, diffused the tension but the potential for conflict has not been completely eliminated. While the destruction of the Babri Mosque has not affected the cordial relationship between Muslims and Hindus, events in India such as the demolition of other mosques and sacred sites in India and communal violence could easily disturb this harmony. While Indian Muslims have always favoured a harmonious relationship between faiths and cultures, there is little support for interfaith activities. The World Conference on Religion and Peace, the primary inter-faith body in South Africa, has very few active Muslim members. Muslims are represented on the Religious Leaders Forum established by the former state president, Mr. Mandela, and on interfaith groups. In general, however, there is little support for inter-faith activities among all the major South African faith traditions. The establishment of a multi-faith leadership group to work in partnership with government may inspire greater interest in and involvement with multi-faith activities in future What might prove to be a significant development in inter-faith relations since 1994 is that the Islamic Propagation Centre has abandoned its polemical approach which was born out of debates between Ahmad Deedat and Christian evangelists for over thirty years. This was due to the culture of respect for all religions and traditions demanded by the new government, coinciding with the eviction of Ahmad Deedat from the trusteeship of the Islamic Propagation Centre after a prolonged court battle on the grounds of his incapacitating illness. The majority of Muslims welcome the non-confrontationist approach that has been adopted by the Islamic Propagation Centre.
67 F. Cachalia, Legal Pluralism and Constitutional change in South Africa: the special case of Muslim Family Laws, unpublished paper delivered at the Seminar on the Approaches to the Study of Islam and Muslim Societies, Department of Religious Studies, University of Cape Town, 17-19 July, 1991, 1-2.
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There is no unanimity among Muslims on the teaching of religion in public schools. Some Muslim parents favour a multi-faith religious education curriculum. However, many are disinclined and prefer a single-tradition model where learners would be exposed only to their own specific faith. Islamic Studies is a compulsory subject in Muslim independent schools. However, some of these schools have included a study of world religions in their curriculum. Indian Muslims tend to be endogamous. Very few cross-racial and cross-cultural marriages are to be found among them. In fact, marriage partners until recently were chosen from the same village or district in India. Where “mixed” marriages occurred in the past, they were usually between Indian Muslim men and Malay or so-called Coloured women and between Indian Muslim women and Hindu men. Since 1994 scores of Indian Muslim men have married “White” South African women while Indian Muslim women have married foreigners, mainly Arabs and Pakistanis. Marriage with Africans, including African Muslims, is a rarity. With a few exceptions in the past, Indian Muslim women had accepted their traditional role as wives and mothers. Cissy Gool of the Cape, Dr Zaynab Asvat and Mrs. Amina Cachalia of the Transvaal and Fatima Meer (the biographer of Mandela) of Natal are among the best known political activists. They were in the vanguard of the campaign for justice and human rights in South Africa. Veiled women are a fairly common sight in South Africa today, reflecting the entrenchment of traditionalism. However, an increasing number of highly educated and professional women have begun to emerge. They are in the forefront challenging the stereotype of women as well as what they consider to be their marginalisation by Muslim men. Today, there are several Indian Muslim women in parliament, and a fair number in careers such as health care, teaching, law, commerce and journalism. Some are even entering fields such as engineering, which has been traditionally the preserve of men. Traditional healing practices still prevail among Indian Muslims of all classes. Reference to cupping is found in a publication dating to 1948.68 Today, local hakims who have learnt their trade in India, as well as Indian Muslim and Pakistani hakims are in fair demand. When conventional medication fails, takes too long to heal, or proves too 68 Towards Understanding Islam – Organ of the Young Men’s Muslim Association, April, 1948
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expensive, the usual option is to turn to a hakim. Some prefer the natural medication dispensed or prescribed by the hakim to conventional drugs for health reasons. Others simply have little faith in conventional medicine. The use of amulets in healing was the subject of debate in the 1940’s.69 The religious fraternity by and large condones it today, though it has its critics. Throughout their history, Indian Muslims have generally tended to be more passive than Cape Muslims in their expression of Islam. Even today, Islam has a more visible face in the Cape. Nonetheless, mawlid and ‘urs are regularly commemorated by Indian Muslims throughout the country. The most popular saints are Abdul Qadir Jilani, Khwaja Gharib Nawaz, Nizamuddin Chishti, Sufi Sahib and Badsha Peer.70 However, the khalifah or ratib, which involves “sword dancing” and piercing of the flesh with daggers, knives and skewers, as well as the ta‘zia or pagoda procession have declined in popularity. The recent proliferation of sufi groups among Indian Muslims has served to reinforce the austere brand of Islam. The ijtima’ (the gathering of followers of the tabligh jama‘at) is held annually in the major centres of South Africa. It attracts Muslims not only from South Africa, but also from the Muslim World. Ironically, while the majority of tabligh jama‘at supporters and members in South Africa are Indian Muslims, many of the visitors to the country are Arab. The men also meet daily after the evening prayer at the mosque where they read from prescribed texts. Wives, mothers, sisters of active members constitute the women’s wing of the movement, though they meet in private homes. Indian Muslims have traditionally given moral – and sometimes material – support to Muslim causes all over the world. This includes support for Palestinians (against Israel), Bosnians (against Serbia), Chechnians (against Russia), Afghans (against the Soviets), and Iraqis (against US-led sanctions). They have also rendered humanitarian assistance to African countries, including Somalia, Rwanda, Mozambique, Malawi and Kenya. The Hajee Ahmed Mohammad Lockhat Wakuff trust has since its inception in 1922 made substantial financial contributions toward education for African pupils through building schools and classrooms.71 69 70 71
ibid. S. Dangor, “The Expression of Islam in South Africa,” 148. The Muslim Digest, Durban: Makki Publications, vol. 38, nos. 10 & 11, p. 67.
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Conclusion The above narrative indicates that the identity of Indian Muslims has been in a constant state of flux since their arrival in South Africa. At the outset, they considered themselves to be a segment of the broader Indian community, primarily due to their common origin. By the 1970’s, they had begun to view themselves as part of the global Muslim world community (ummah). This could be attributed in part to the emergence of Muslim organisations with a political focus, in contrast to earlier organisations, which were concerned essentially with social welfare and relief, education and culture. Events such as the Iranian Revolution reinforced this Islamic identity. Under the new political dispensation, which guarantees religious and cultural rights to all citizens in what is commonly referred to as the “rainbow nation,” Muslim identity is presently undergoing transformation again. Unlike the earlier generation of Indian Muslims, most of the current generation has neither knowledge of nor interest in its place of origin. English has become the lingua franca of the overwhelming majority of Indian Muslims. This transformation in language preference has impacted on rites, festivals and ceremonies. Lectures in mosques on Fridays and other auspicious occasions and marriage vows are for the most part conducted in English. The traditional Urdu texts, which were used in the madrasah, have given way to English texts. While some young Indian Muslim men and women have adopted a Westernised lifestyle, others have cultivated a taste for Malaysian and Arab music, dressing, etc. Despite having “relinquished” their Indian identity (except in the matter of cuisine), Indian Muslims are still vacillating between an Islamic and secular, South African identity. Several factors are bound to impact on this crisis of identity. Muslim support for causes beyond the borders of South Africa is coming under the spotlight both from within and without the Indian Muslim sector. While Indian Muslims have established links with non-governmental organisations in the Muslim World, as well as in India, the United Kingdom and the United States, interaction with Muslims in Africa is by comparison at an embryonic stage. In contrast, Muslims from the indigenous African Muslim sector are concerned more with African issues in general and South African issues in particular. The recent launch of the African Union may facilitate greater interaction between them and Muslims in the rest of the continent.
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Some African Muslims have accused Indian Muslims of racism, economic exploitation and marginalisation. They have also criticised them for treating African Muslims like second class citizens and of seeking to impose so-called “Indian Islam” on them. Recently, the Group of Concerned Black Muslims presented a petition to the state president’s office in which they accuse Asian Muslims of racism and subjecting Africans to slave-like conditions. They even requested the South African Human Rights Commission to probe their allegations of ill treatment by Asian Muslims. One of their major complaints is that leadership and resources of Muslims in the hands of Asian Muslims and that the latter refuse to share these with African Muslims.72 In 1997 a group of African Muslims established the Organisation of African Muslim Unity. Among its declared objectives is the greater involvement of African Muslims in improving their own position in society.73 Whatever misgivings they may have about assimilation or integration, Indian Muslims are impelled by the above developments toward the construction of a new identity. They will have to learn to respect their government’s support for organisations, regimes and leaders – even those that are guilty of corruption, civilian massacres, and intolerance of dissent. They will have to view themselves as part of a wider political unity based on shared objectives such as freedom, justice and equality, apart from pledging their support for improving the general quality of life of all South Africans. While racial or ethnic exclusivism was possible to some degree in the past under the Nationalist Party’s ideology which facilitated or compelled segregation on the grounds of race, isolationalism is no longer an option. Residential areas, schools and recreational facilities are no longer racially exclusive. The professional class, business sector, students, politicians and the workforce are now integrated to a greater or lesser degree. There appears to be a gradually emerging consensus that Indian Muslims should develop a distinctive South African Muslim identity that is inclusive of all Muslims in South Africa while at the same time positioning themselves as an integral component of the broader South African citizenry with common objectives. It could be said that, unlike British Muslims, Indian Muslims in South Africa no longer feel 72 73
“Angry African Muslims want to go it alone,” SundayTribune, 9 March 1997. “New African Muslim body launched,” Sunday Tribune, 4 May 1997.
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a sense of dislocation, and are on course for a transition from formal citizenship to what Bottomore calls “substantive citizenship”.74
Bibliography Ajam, M. The Raison D’Etre of the Muslim Mission Primary School in Cape Town and Environs from 1860-1980 with special reference to the role of Dr A. Abdurahman in the modernisation of Islam-orientated schools. D. Phil thesis, University of Cape Town, 1986. Argyle, W.J. “Muslims in South Africa: Origins, Development and Present Economic Status.” In Journal: Institute of Muslim Minority Affairs. 3: 2, 1981 Asmall, A. The Muslim Youth Movement of South Africa with special reference to issues and Challenges of the Present Phase. B.A. Hons. paper, University of DurbanWestville, 1987 Bagwandeen, D. “Historical Perspectives.” In A.J. Arkin, K.P. Magyar, G.J. Pillay (eds.), The Indian South Africans. Pinetown: Owen Burgess, 1989. Bhana, S. and J. Brain, Setting Down Roots. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press, 1990. Bhana, S. “Indian Trade and Trader in Colonial Natal.” In B. Guest and J.M. Sellers (eds.), Enterprise and Exploitation in a Victorian Colony: Aspects of the Economic & social History of Colonial Natal. Pitermaritzburg: University of Natal Press, 1985. —. Gandhi’s Legacy: The Natal Indian Congress 1894-1994. Pietermaritzburg: University of Natal Press, 1997. Bhayat, H.I. Arabic Study Circle, B.A. Hons. paper. University of DurbanWestville, 1992. Boeseken, A. J. Slaves and Free Blacks at the Cape -1658-1700. Cape Town: Tafelberg, 1977. Bradlow, F.R. “The Origins of the Early Cape Muslims.” In The Early Cape Muslims, Bradlow, F.R. & M. Cairns, editors, Cape Town: Balkema, 1978. Cachalia, F. Legal Pluralism and Constitutional change in South Africa: the special case of Muslim Family Laws. Unpublished paper delivered at the Seminar on the Approaches to the Study of Islam and Muslim Societies, Department of Religious Studies, University of Cape Town, 17-19 July, 1991. Calpin, G. H. Indians in South Africa. Pietermaritzburg: Shuter & Shooter, 1949, 130. Dangor, S. E. “Muslim Slaves in the Cape Colony.” In al-‘Ilm, Journal of the Centre for Research in Islamic Studies, University of Durban-Westville, Durban, vol. 5, 1985. 74 T. Bottomore, “Citizenship and Social Class Forty Years On,” in T.H.Marshall & T. Bottomore (eds.), Citizenship and Social Class, London: Pluto, 1992.
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—. “The Muslims of South Africa: Problems and Concerns of a Minority Community.” In Journal, Institute of Muslim Minority Affairs, vol. 13, no. 2, 1992. —. “The Muslim Community in South Africa.” In al-‘Ilm, vol. 11, 1991 —. “The Expression of Islam in South Africa.” Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs, vol. 17, no. 1, 1997. —. Sufi Sahib. Durban: Iqra, 1995. Davids, A. The Words the Slaves made. Cape Town: University of Cape Town, 1989. Davids, A. The Mosques of Bo-Kaap. Athlone: The South African Institute of Arabic & Islamic Research, 1980. Davids, M. Directory of Muslim Institutions and Mosques in South Africa. Maraisburg: SPAL, 1996. Haron, M. and Y. Mohamed, “The Theory and Practice of Islamic Education with Reference to South Africa.” In Perspectives on Islamic Education, Lenasia: Muslim World League, 1989. Jamal, R.C. The Role and Contribution of the Islamic Propagation Centre International in the field of Da‘wah. Unpublished M.A. thesis, University of DurbanWestville, 1991 Jamal, R. A Study of the West Street Mosque. Unpublished B.A. Honours paper, University of Durban-Westville, 1987. Joshi, P.S. The Tyranny of Colour. Durban: E.P & Commercial Printing Co, Ltd, 1942. Kuper, H. Indian People in Natal. Pietermaritzburg: University of Natal Press, 1960. Mahida, E. M. History of Muslims in South Africa: A Chronology. Durban: Arabic Study Circle, 1993. Mahomed, Y. M. L. Sultan – His life and his Contributions. Unpublished B. A. Hons paper, University of Durban-Westville, 1992. Mahomedy, M. A Study of the Muslim Darul Yatama wal Masakeen. B. A. Hons paper, University of Durban-Westville, 1986. Moola, F. Women’s Cultural Group. B.A. Hons. Paper, University of DurbanWestville, 1992. Pachai, B. The International Aspects of the South African Indian Question 1860-1971. Cape Town: C. Struik, 1971. Seedat, H. “The South African Trailblazer.” Part IV, Leader, 1980, 14. Shell, C.H. The Establishment and Spread of Islam from the beginning of Company Rule to 1838. Unpublished Honour’s essay, University of Cape Town, 1974, 4, 15, 29; E. A. Smith, G. R. “A Muslim Saint in South Africa.” In The Saint, ed. A. B. Mahomed. Durban: The Soofie Saheb Badsha Peer Musjid, Madressa & Yateemkhana, 1970. Swan, M. Gandhi: The South African Experience. Johannesburg: Ravan, 1985. Tayob, A. Islamic Resurgence in South Africa. Cape Town: UCT Press, 1995.
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Vahed, G. “Indian Muslims in South Africa: Continuity, Change and Disjuncture, 1860-2000.” In Alternation, vol. 7, No. 2, 2000. Walker, A History of Southern Africa, London: Longmans Green & Co, 1962. Wilson, M. & L. Thompson (ed.). The Oxford History of South Africa. London: Oxford University Press, 1969.
STRUCTURAL AND CULTURAL RACISM IN THE EDUCATIONAL UNDERACHIEVEMENT OF BRITISH SOUTH ASIAN MUSLIMS TAHIR ABBAS
Abstract A facet of the economic and social marginalisation of British South Asian Muslims is their continued educational underachievement. Based on qualitative research carried out in two inner city East Birmingham, UK, comprehensive schools, twenty-four Bangladeshi and Pakistani pupils in their final two years of compulsory education (nine girls and fifteen boys) and ten white teachers and senior teachers were interviewed at length. Links made at the time with an area-based community and professionals organisation permitted the interviewing of a further eight educationalists, schoolteachers and further education college lecturers (Muslim professionals). It was found that Pakistani boys, who were greatest in number in the two schools, performed least best. Issues around language use appeared to be the mostly vociferously contended. Muslim professionals and school pupils were confident that white teachers were passing the blame onto parents and pupils, thereby removing any direct responsibility. It is argued that direct and indirect teacher racism in the context of structural subordination coupled with cultural racism and religious discrimination leads to the educational underachievements of the majority of South Asian Muslim school pupils in inner city East Birmingham, UK, and beyond.
Introduction The educational underachievement of South Asian Muslim (Bangladeshi and Pakistani) school pupils is a distinct feature of their experiences in British society. Various recent studies have looked at the reasons for differential rates of performance for ethnic minorities in schools across England and Wales (Gillborn and Gipps, 1996; Gillborn and Mirza, 2000). But the precise reasons for the educational
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underachievement of South Asian Muslim school pupils remain a problematic for social science research. During the last decade, it was widely held that, as a whole, South Asians performed well in education but it was only towards the end of this period when serious questions about South Asian Muslim educational underachievements were being raised. Scholarly thinking is divided between the anti-racists who argue that institutional racism coupled with negative stereotypes on the part of teachers are central factors in the educational underachievements of marginalised groups (Troyna, 1978, 1993a; Williams, 1985), and, the multiculturalists who argue that the desire for cultural and religious maintenance coupled with inadequate practice of the English language leads to distinct problems in education (Figueroa, 1995). Using the concepts of antiracist and multicultural education theory, this chapter is an assessment of the reasons for the persistent educational underachievement of South Asian Muslims in inner city East Birmingham. The nature of South Asian Muslim immigration to Britain is explored before elaborating upon the cultural and religious characteristics of Bangladeshi and Pakistanis – Britain’s majority Muslims by far. A brief methodological section is followed by the empirical analysis. There are two perspectives taken. The first looks at structural factors that are thought to affect pupils; namely, the attitudes and perceptions of white teachers – with a particular focus on language. Second, the cultural and religious characteristics of South Asian Muslims are examined; the function of Islam within South Asian families and the roles and experiences of South Asian Muslim parents. The discussion attempts to summarise the salient arguments that have been raised.
Immigration and the Economic and Social Development of South Asian Muslims Economic Migration Economic migrants from South Asia and the Caribbean Islands filled a gap at the bottom end of the labour market in the late 1950s (Dayha, 1974), with some directly attracted by the British government of the day, inviting incumbents by placing advertisements in the sending countries (Layton-Henry, 1992). In their efforts to gain suitable employment, these ethnic minorities often found obstacles blocking
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their paths; employers were inclined to exhibit gross racial discrimination. It resulted in acute underemployment on the part of immigrant groups (Robinson, 1990). Indeed, Anwar (1979) noted that the type of work available for these ethnic minorities not only determined incomes but also established the areas in which they settled, the schools their children attended, as well as how they interacted with the indigenous population. At the beginning of the 1960s, the number of immigrants entering Britain from South Asia was at its height (Rose et al., 1969). Towards the end of the 1960s, however, immigration from South Asia had all but ended. Both the peak in 1961-1962 and the decline in 1968 were the result of the Commonwealth Immigrants Act (1962) and the Commonwealth Immigration Act (1968). The 1962 Act changed the pattern of South Asian migration. Instead of male pioneers, it was their wives, children and fiancées that came, with many South Asians from India and Pakistan seemingly rushing in an attempt ‘to beat the ban’ created by the Act (Deakin, 1970: 47-9). Subsequent amendments to the original 1962 Act in 1968 led to wider restriction of immigration from New Commonwealth countries, and on each occasion the move was also affected by the politicisation of ethnic minorities in Britain (Solomos, 1989; Castles and Miller, 1993; Miles and Cleary, 1993). As a consequence of change to legislation, this South Asian settlement became more permanent and family orientated – even though original intensions were to return to the sending regions after accumulating a certain level of capital (Anwar, 1979; Modood, 1991). The South Asian Muslim Diaspora The South Asian Muslim Diaspora located itself predominantly in textile towns and other heavy engineering regions across the North, the Midlands, and the South East. It was relatively absent in the service sector economy and in newer industrial settlements. Indeed, they were a pariah workforce living in inferior areas of older industrial towns and cities. Housing was in obsolescent condition, better homes were overly expensive, and mortgages were not easily available (Rex and Moore, 1967). Little has fundamentally changed over the last forty years to alter their predicaments – rather matters have intensified. Throughout inner city East Birmingham vast numbers of Azad (free – annexed by Pakistan) Kashmiri, Bangladeshi, Pakistani and Pathan (Afghani descent) South Asian Muslims reside in terraced housing with poor amenities in degenerated areas.
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Historically, Pakistanis first arrived as merchant seaman after the Second World War (which also includes groups recognised today as Bangladeshis) and settled at the English seaports. Only the men were first prevalent, as migrants thought of their stay as temporary. Early Pakistani migration was dependent on this form of chain-migration and, in particular, the remittances of capital back to the sending regions. It was how early Pakistani migration differed to the PunjabiSikh and African-Caribbean migration (Dayha, 1973; Bhachu, 1991a). These early Pakistanis worked hard to ensure their existence, as did other ethnic minorities. Many had to adapt to the host society in order to survive and it resulted in forsaking distinct cultural and religious traditions and norms for more Westernised values (Dayha, 1988). Pakistanis in Birmingham almost exclusively originate from the Mirpur district of Azad (Free) Kashmir (which is annexed to Pakistan). A number of British Pakistanis also originate from the Punjab region of Pakistan but have settled largely in the industrialised inner cities to the North (Werbner, 1990), or in the South-East of England. Before migration, many of the Pakistanis in Birmingham lived and worked in rural areas (Ballard, 1994). Families were usually extended, with up to three generations living in one household. The men worked on small land holdings, or in specialist craft-type work, while the women maintained domestic order and looked after livestock (Dayha, 1974). Families lived in close proximity to each other and were knowledgeable of each other’s affairs. A socio-anthropological study of a Pakistani community in Oxford by Shaw (1988) shows how strong the village-kin network was amongst Mirpuris before migration and has remained relatively intact as part of their adaptation to Britain. The Bangladeshis in Birmingham are a group almost exclusively originating from the Sylhet region of North-West Bangladesh. Bangladeshis arrived when severe economic hardship and the desire for family reunification forced many to seek refuge in Britain in the late 1970s and early 1980s (Peach, 1990). The largest British concentration is found in the deprived neighbourhoods of the East End of London (Eade, 1989). Birmingham contains Britain’s second highest Bangladeshi population concentration. As with Pakistanis, Bangladeshis live in close-knit communities, with strong local community structures. They nevertheless remain essentially impoverished with large families as the norm, with men working in dilapidated industries or otherwise unemployed.
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Bangladeshis also share with Pakistanis a desire for the Islamisation of second and third generations (Eade, 1990). Present day young South Asian Muslims (Bangladeshi and Pakistanis) are increasingly questioning their ethnic from their religious identity (Jacobson, 1997). The nature of Islam among groups is questioned and re-examined in the light of generational development (Modood, 1990; Samad, 1998). Young Bangladeshis experience a similar reality to Pakistanis as the re-evaluation of their individual and group identities has necessarily involved return to a more literal Islam (Beckerlegge, 1989; Gardner and Shukur, 1994).
Settlement and the Formation of Muslim Communities In Birmingham, initially immigrants settled in the ‘zones of transition’, which were being increasingly vacated by more mobile Britons in ‘white flight’ (Rex and Moore, 1967). Subsequently, these areas became more impoverished with new employment created elsewhere and in other economic sectors (Owen and Johnson, 1996). At present, ethnic minorities are concentrated in various inner city areas in Birmingham, forming ‘the middle ring’ (Rex and Tomlinson, 1979). Although the 1971 Census showed second-generation ethnic minorities, especially South Asians, preferring to remain within the same communities (Saifullah-Khan, 1979), two decades later, the 1991 Census also showed second and third generation South Asians preferred to remain within similar geographical locations as their parents (Ratcliffe, 1996; Phillips, 1998). The trend, argued by Robinson (1996), is thought to be a function of the younger generations wishing to continue the religious and cultural traditions of the generation before them as well as a result of negative experiences found in the labour market. Muslim communities in Britain, typically those to be found in inner city East Birmingham, inform revealing anthropological juxtapositions. Over time, chain migration has allowed village and kin networks to be reproduced (Anwar 1979; Anwar et al. 2000). A biraderi (brother-hood) exists where similar sets of extended and joint families live in close proximity to each other. They share information, religiocultural traditions and celebrations and are systematically devoted to collective and collaborative causes. A system of ‘give and take’ is maintained where one family gives willingly to others in the knowl-
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edge that it will be returned one day. As a result of this ‘closeness’, a sense of community is born and advanced. For the Azad Kashmiris (the largest South Asian Muslim community in Britain), their lives are a continuum of reality as it was in Azad Kashmir. They are Muslims, where they live and form a large and active collective incorporating a shared identity as Muslims and as Azad Kashmiris within the wider indigenous host structure. Their existence as a community forms a deliberate and conscious statement of the role that they intend or do not intend to play in wider society. It manifests the community’s wish not merely to express but also to defend and perpetuate traditional social structures, values, beliefs and ethnic identities. They make it explicit to outsiders their refusal to surrender their ethnic identity or to adapt to white-British norms (Rex, 1987). Even though all Muslims are united by a common religion, a consensus may not necessarily exist between all Muslim communities. There are bona fide differences between various South Asian Muslims; in terms of, custom, culture, dress, history and heritage. In contemporary Islam, there are three sects; Shia, Sunni and Wahabi. In addition, the Barelvis, the Tablighis and the Ahmadiyas are all variants of Sunni Islam (Robinson, 1988). Nevertheless, a proliferation of Mosques in some areas is a definitive commitment to stay in Britain and teach younger Muslims the ways of Islam. To distinguish specialist goods and services outlets such as Halal butchers, restaurants, jewellers, bookshops and Urdu/Bangla audio/video retail outlets is a familiar sight. Such types of ethnic enclave entrepreneurial activity reinforce a sense of community as local businesses gear themselves to the needs of local people (Zimmer and Aldrich, 1987; Waldinger et al., 1990; Light et al., 1993). It helps further the creation of communities who treasure certain manifestations of religious and cultural value (Lewis, 1994; Joly, 1995; Scantlebury, 1995). The 1991 Census showed that in Britain as a whole, 55 per cent all ethnic minorities were British-born. In Birmingham, over half of Pakistanis were British-born in contrast to 60 per cent of Birmingham’s Bangladeshis who were born overseas. Forty-four per cent of the South Asian population was below the age of 17, including 49 per cent of Pakistanis and 55 per cent of Bangladeshis, compared to 21 per cent of the whites. Young South Asians accounted for a significant part of each South Asian group population, as well as of the total population of the city. It is indicative of the fact that in the future the number of Pakistanis (Azad Kashmiris in particular) entering schools
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will continue to remain relatively high. In fact, just over 40 per cent of the entire school intake in Birmingham in January 2000 was pupils from ethnic minority communities (Birmingham City Council, 2001).
Methodology Two inner city comprehensive schools were used to obtain the sample of pupils and teachers – and South Asian Muslim professionals were snowball sampled. Reflecting local population concentration ratios, both of the schools contained nearly one hundred per cent ethnic minority pupils, with South Asian Muslims making up over ninety per cent of each school. Altogether twenty-four pupils, selected by senior teachers on the basis of differing Muslim ethnicities and perceived academic ability were interviewed. Ten teachers volunteered to be interviewed. These included science, humanities and career teachers, many with senior management roles. Initially, parents were approached by directly asking the pupils for access; however, very few pupils were willing to permit this. Instead of parents per se, therefore, South Asian Muslim professionals were interviewed, some of them parents too. Altogether eight Muslim professionals were interviewed. Pupils and teachers were interviewed during school time, and South Asian Muslim professionals during working hours or at their homes during evenings. The interviews were fully transcribed by the author. The author, using a tape recorder and a semi-structured questionnaire schedule, interviewed all the respondents. Analysis was based on the principles of grounded theory as espoused by Glaser (1968). It needs to be stated, however, that these samples were small, area-specific and time-specific. Generality, therefore, merely refers to the particular features, experiences and characteristics of this sample of pupils, teachers and South Asian Muslim professionals. The research posed a particular dilemma for a South Asian researcher of a broadly similar ethnic background to the researched. The role of the researcher had to be transparent; therefore, aspects of ethnicity, gender, linguistic competence, cultural awareness and education class were ubiquitous considerations in the interaction between the researcher and the researched. As such, to effectively produce sound social science research, the personification of the ‘ideal researcher’ was generated; not merely during the data gathering process but also as part of the interactions and confrontations
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embroiled within. Each experience was achieved through the management of impressions (Goffman 1990), as well as through the use of appropriate social science methods (Oppenheim, 1992; May, 1993).
The Structural Nature of Educational Achievement: Do Discriminating Teachers Exist? Antiracist educationists put forward the idea of teacher racism in education. Those regarding teachers merely at the periphery of educational underachievement are termed ‘methodological purists’ by them. The idea of teacher racism and institutional racism in schools, on the other hand, is certainly not new. The Rampton Report (DES, 1981) associated ethnic minority underachievement with the failures of ‘bad teachers’, ‘a lack of responsiveness’ and ‘bad practise’. Indeed, early research on teacher attitudes towards ethnic minority pupils suggested some teachers had failed to recognise differences in pupil culture (Brittan, 1976). A crucial constituent of the problem as identified above is whether teachers actually do act in a discriminative manner. Throughout the 1990s, an intense debate enraged on the nature of teacher racism, its origins, and whether it could be adequately proven at all (Foster, 1990, 1993; Wright, 1990; Connolly, 1992; Gillborn and Drew, 1993; Troyna, 1993a, 1993b). Clearly not all teachers can be implicated, but teacher perceptions have been thought to affect pupil setting and consequently some ethnic minorities are prepared for examinations below their natural abilities would indicate (Tomlinson, 1992). In general, teacher racism is thought to affect AfricanCaribbeans the greatest. The tendencies have been for South Asians to be seen by teachers as possessing high technical ability and being socially conformist, in comparison to African-Caribbeans who are thought to have ‘low ability... [and]...potential discipline problems’ (Mac an Ghaill, 1988: 196). Other research conducted on teachers and their attitudes towards ethnic minorities has elaborated upon some of the implications of being placed in certain sets for eventual examination outcome. Working class and ethnic minority children have been found to be worse off and ethnic minority girls ‘compartmentalised’ by teachers (Tomlinson, 1987). The question, therefore, is whether teachers are deliberate in their actions, firmly placing the onus of responsibility of underachievement onto teachers and schools.
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Or, alternatively, is it the social and the cultural nature of ethnic minorities that inhibits their achievement, such that teachers and schools are only party to the process and subsequently react in a way that is then seen as discriminative. Rather than considering the structures and mechanisms of schooling per se, certain multicultural educationists regard underachievement as a function of the nature of ethnic minorities. Branded as ‘methodological purists’, they have been part of a ‘wider project’ to deny the existence of structural educational inequality, especially in the light of late-1980s and beyond ethnographic research (Mac an Ghaill, 1988; Gillborn, 1990; Basit, 1997; Haw, 1998; Bhatti, 1999), which has unequivocally emphasised the extent of prejudice and discrimination experienced by ethnic minority school pupils and college students alike. The debate about teacher racism is never ending (Pilkington, 1999). The presence of teacher racism is one that is deemed sensitive and will always remain open to further research. It is very much the case that teachers make a tremendous difference to the way in which ethnic minorities (and majorities) develop educationally. In recent times, outside of white teacher expectations in relation to ethnic minorities, there is a broader criticism of teachers and the profession itself, in particular from the Office for Standards in Education (1997), largely because of ‘a lack of professionalism’. It has led to the present Labour government attempting to encourage new entrants into the profession by providing them with an opportunity for fast-track career development linked to performance related pay (DfEE 1998). Wider Teacher Expectations There were many comments made by senior ethnic minority teachers and Muslim professionals on what they thought of white teachers. Many intimated the experience that white teachers had lower expectations of the ethnic minority pupils they taught. A question of loyalty was also raised, with the view that white teachers in non-white schools did not act fairly. A senior African-Caribbean teacher felt that there were real issues with how some of the white teachers simply did not make the extra effort required when teaching certain ethnic minority pupils. He said, [Racism] Yes. Yes. It does happen here. I know it happens. I know the negative views are held. I know that there are lower expectations of certain pupils. It would be difficult to quantify and say how much of it actually happens but it does happen. It’s really something that needs to
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be addressed. I think perhaps if the classes were all white children then certain teachers would do more to get things out of them. They would work harder with that particular group and that is because of their [teacher] ethnic make-up and what they’ve grown up with. I’ve been here five years and I think that there’s a shift, and there’s a correlation between the shift in the population in the school and the shift in the attitudes, which is becoming more negative as the population [of Muslims] increases...Teachers are significant aren’t they? The relationship is one between teachers and pupils and, I’ll say, to a lesser extent the parents, when it comes to the outcomes at the end. Their approaches [teachers] and their methods and the expectations they hold of pupils are crucial. Male Senior Teacher, African-Caribbean, 43
One Muslim professional and father of four primary school children made a simple but somewhat absolute statement. He said, Their loyalty isn’t there. Male Professional, Azad Kashmiri, 34
Many of the following comments clearly suggest the weight that teachers are believed to carry, and the precise roles that they play, particularly from the view of Muslim school pupils. The pupils believed that they were receiving partial treatment. The concern was quality and professionalism rather than a racist attitude per se. A bright young Bangladeshi boy felt that he was being let down by his teachers – they were not meeting his expectations. He said, We’re intelligent. We grasp the system. We can deliver what’s required of us but because of racism we’re prevented. Male School Pupil, Bangladeshi, 15
Another Muslim boy was more direct in his criticism of his white teachers. Making a comment on the nature of racism in society as a whole, he directed his remark towards the teachers in his school. He said, Some people are prejudiced in a way. They don’t like us. Let’s take teachers for instance. Because we’re a different colour to them some teachers are a bit racist in a way but others are all right. It depends on the teachers at the end of the day. Male School Pupil, Azad Kashmiri, 15
A particular problem within one of the schools (A) in this study was the ability to retain teachers. It led to a number of teachers being recruited directly after their teacher training courses. Often this resulted in prob-
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lems of maintaining discipline in the class, which teachers had not quite been prepared for. A Bangladeshi boy felt that the inability of teachers to maintain order was severely hampering his progress. He said, [On new teachers] We’ve had so many of those kinds of teachers and I’ve complained about every single one of them. I am not learning a thing! In year nine we had sciences with a teacher who was something like twenty-four years old, just came out of university, his first teaching job and he didn’t know what he was doing and the class just went wild. And there’s me trying to learn something. It was just impossible so I complained about him. Male School Pupil, Bangladeshi, 15
In relation to the point about discipline, one Muslim girl felt that when she needed the assistance of her teachers, they were often preoccupied with unruly children in the class who inadvertently demanded more attention. She said, When I want the teacher’s attention. He or she is too busy handing out detention. Female School Pupil, Azad Kashmiri, 15
A South Asian Muslim professional expressed his concerns in relation to teachers. The idea that certain teachers did not possess any positive expectations for their pupils was impressed upon. He related experiences raised by South Asian Muslim parents and provided the following generalised comment. He said, Teachers are very easily satisfied, and say, “Oh well. It’s the best”. They know full well that what is really best is not really best in the outside world. And this follows on through to secondary school and...so on. And, we know that parents are crying out at the moment. One of the big criticisms is that they say, “Well. We’ve been to the parents evenings, throughout the whole of the stages of primary and secondary school and the teachers say that he’s doing well, nothing to worry about, works hard and so on and they end up with Es, Fs, Gs...”. Male Professional, Azad Kashmiri, 32
From the views of Muslim pupils and professionals, teachers were felt lacking in both quality and approach. It is important to rationalise how teachers themselves viewed the situation of Muslim pupils in their schools and classrooms. The following comments originate from the white teachers. They are particularly germane, almost to be point of being quite disturbing. They highlight quite distinctively some of the beliefs that certain white teachers hold. The comments have not been cast in any
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way to represent a case against teachers – they are simply comments made during the course of interviewing. It needs to be added that the statements outlined below are only those that were the most alarming. The head of one school (A) stated the reason for specific underperformance on the part of Muslim school pupils is that they lacked inherent characteristics conducive to learning. It is not apparent how widespread the view provided was – but what is more important to appreciate is that they are the perceptions of the highest authority in the school. She said, The issues of achievements and attainments, again are the only strands that the government and the media want to be reported, and are not helpful to the majority of pupils who are not, having the attributes to be born with, of high academic intellect. Female Head, White-British
Similarly, another senior white teacher added that having an overwhelming majority of pupils from South Asian Muslim backgrounds was the problem itself. A kind of unfamiliar mono-culturalism had pervaded the composition of the school – to such an extent that only traces of the white indigenous pupils were left in the school. The idea that more white pupils in the school would help to raise the performance of everybody in the school is indicative of an outright hostility towards anything deemed foreign or alien to established white working class Britishness. He said, Ninety-six per cent Asians [sic, Muslims] are part of the problem. They don’t get exposed to other cultures or standards if you like. If it was a largely white intake I think that results would be higher...I don’t think it would mean we would necessarily get up to forty-three per cent, but I think it will be significantly higher than what it is at the moment. I think, in some respects, a more balanced make-up of pupils, with perhaps more white-children in the school would help the school to move forward a little bit better than it is at the moment. I think there are certain aspects about the Asian culture that hold us back. Male Senior Teacher, White-British, 46
The above two views, both from senior management teachers, express how South Asian Muslims have been held answerable for their educational underachievements. It is very much the case of passing on the responsibility to someone else. The above comments have been placed within the wider framework of an overall position of South Asian Muslims in education. A
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key focus, however, tends to be on language, which is addressed below. Language Issues It appears that a number of white teachers had taken-for-granted assumptions about some Muslim pupils. It was suggested most often by teachers that the greatest reason for difficulties with Muslim children lay principally in the their socialisation, the use of English within the home environment or in innate, biologically-determined characteristics. There was little reference to problems that may have resulted because of the school or, in fact, from wider social forces affecting pupils. They had also generally failed to distinguish differences between culture and religion. Many of the white teachers interviewed were adamant that not being able to properly use the English language was eminently important in the educational underachievement of Muslim pupils. The view originates from the belief that languages other than English do not equal in merit to it. Moreover, these other languages were dominating school and home life to the detriment of the English language. In effect, it highlights some of the xenophobic sentiments among senior teachers who appear to be besieged by the onslaught of non-Englishness. Three white male teachers said, When a comprehensive school becomes dominated by one particular faction, as it were, or group within society I think that it can sometimes lead to that faction becoming so dominant that it creates problems. It has meant that we have had to concentrate on bilingualism within the school. Their [Muslim pupils] home language is different to the language that I speak and that the white teachers speak in school, so there has been quite a big effort on that. Obviously there are problems of reading that all teachers come across but it is particularly pertinent with so many Asian children within the school, their home language being so different, if you like, to the language of the country. Male Senior Teacher, White-British, 46 In terms of a cultural effect, just a change of language doesn’t necessarily change the way that people think and believe and follow religion. But it would probably raise achievements because it is familiarity in language, the language which is used, the written language, the written word [that is important]. Understanding and so on would actually increase. If more people dealt in English at home then it would definitely support their learning process. Male Senior Teacher, White-British, 44
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Language is the biggest issue, there is no doubt about that. Male Senior Teacher, White-British, 38
In all the comments made by white teachers, there is an inherent assumption that outside of normal schooling hours Muslim school pupils do not practise English sufficiently. It was an unsophisticated rationalisation of the kinds of lives that South Asian Muslims lead. It was a topic that teachers emphasised much, one which pupils felt to be completely inaccurate, with Muslim professionals suggesting it to be yet another example of teachers ‘passing the buck’. Muslim pupils were convinced that their use of English was better or the same as that of their mother-tongues (21 out 24). White teachers, it is argued, may well have been too critical – where they had noticed deficiencies in the use of English, they had failed to realise that Muslim pupils were more likely to use English within the home. As one Muslim school pupil put it, My English is better than my Punjabi. I grew up around English people. I speak English in my school, to my Dad sometimes in English. My Dad’s side are Urdu speakers and my Mum’s side like are Punjabi speakers. I am in the middle. Don’t know where to go. My Dad’s English is really good. He quite amazes me sometimes. My Mum understands English, speaks it a bit, but not in front of us. Male School Pupil, Azad Kashmiri, 14
There were a number of Muslim professionals who saw this issue as one where the teachers were passing the ‘problems’ onto Muslim families. If the level of English by Muslim school pupils is not up to a required standard, it needs to be asked why this is the case. As the following Muslim professional put it, Things like language skills, now that is a complete red herring. I wouldn’t accept that off any teacher. Male Professional, Azad Kashmiri, 36
For many Muslim professionals there is a belief that if language does appear to be the biggest obstacle facing Muslim school pupils, surely it is the object of the schools and teachers to ameliorate the problem through various proactive measures. Not doing anything about the problem as such is tantamount to legitimising Muslim educational underachievements – and the continuation of bad professionalism and outmoded practices. As one Muslim professional so aptly put it, Let’s say it is language. What is the school doing to address that issue? Male Professional, Azad Kashmiri, 34
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For the vast majority of white teachers, infrequency in the use of English at home was seen to be essential in how well a child performed at school. Nevertheless, all the Muslim professionals were confident that the white teachers were merely shifting blame. Through responses from these groups and from interviews with Muslim pupils it was clear that the use of English needed some improvement. It is, however, far from the bleak reality painted by many white teachers. Of all the young Muslims questioned not one suggested their English was weaker than their mother tongues and fervently added that it was the language they used most often in the home, especially amongst siblings. Being competent in an array of languages and dialects was something that many Muslim pupils were acting out comfortably. Having rationalised that schools, through their teachers, do make a difference to the way in which a child performs educationally, with teachers in the study schools vehemently criticised by Muslim pupils and professionals alike, it is viable to suggest that teachers in such inner city schools have played an important part in the educational underachievements of South Asian Muslim school pupils. To what degree precisely is somewhat more difficult to measure. An examination of the religious and cultural milieu that young Muslims emanate from needs to be discussed and relationally positioned. Attention is devoted to this in the following section.
The Culture of Muslim Pupils and Their Schools The Role of Islam Muslim parents want a high standard of education for their young, coupled with sound Islamic and cultural teachings (Joly, 1995). The instruction of the Koran and the national languages of Bangladesh and Pakistan are felt important by many parents, and they often arrange for their children to attend local Madrassas (Islamic Schools) outside of school hours – particularly during the younger years. The majority of the Muslim pupils questioned started to attend their local Madrassa at the age of seven or eight and finished at the age of eleven or twelve, once they had mastered the art of recital or had developed the necessary national language skills to sustain a conversation or write a basic letter. On leaving, children are in a position to practise on their own what they have been taught. Islam and South Asian Muslim culture dictates that boys and girls
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are separated in education, especially during the adolescent years, and this places a considerable burden on some parents who are unable to send their daughters to single-sex schools. Education for the Muslim child, observed from a wider religious perspective, involves a range of learning activities coupled with a strong sense of Islamic identity and adherence to a way of life that it commands. One Muslim boy felt sure that Islamic observance was suffering as a result of life in the West, with co-education leading to potential problems, I don’t believe that Islam is as strong as it is in Pakistan. It is really really really weak here. Go outside, look at girls. They’re wearing no scarves. That’s just an example. Look at boys, they’re chasing girls. Look at girls, they’re chasing boys. It’s because they’ve seen more freedom. It’s these Western countries which allow us to have more opportunities, and this is the freedom and we just take it. But what we don’t realise is that we’re missing out on our own religion. Male School Pupil, Pathan from Peshawar, Pakistan, 15
Succumbing to the excesses of the West was regarded to be a fundamental flaw in how British Muslims lived their lives. Similarly, not remaining devout to the religion laid the foundations for many problems in the future. One Muslim boy was confident that stronger Islamic behaviour contributed to the maintenance of a safer and more civil society. For a Muslim reading namaz prayers five times a day is very good. If you can get every Muslim child to read namaz you will see a lot of changes in the Muslim culture. You won’t see any Muslims fighting each other or anything like that. Male School Pupil, Azad Kashmiri, 15
Islam informs every single aspect of a Muslim person’s life. But culture, politics and social life in Britain have dramatically hindered the development of a disciplined Islamic regime, and have allowed ‘fundamentals’ to slip away. Many of the Muslim pupils questioned felt that this was an inevitable outcome of living in a secular Western society but none felt the desire or need to abandon or weaken their devotion to Islam – at least in principle. Not every child was religiously devout yet none had developed outward hostility or aggression towards it – that is, there was no sign of being confused between cultures, being forced to choose between one way of life or another. They were happily managing to live their lives keeping close to their religion but not necessarily ‘fundamentalist’ about it – at the same absorbing and adapting to many of the norms and values of the host
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society inasmuch as any secular Western child would (Anwar, 1998). Nevertheless, it is important to gauge the perspectives of Muslim parents and attention is devoted to this in the following section. How South Asian Muslim parents affect and feel about the educational situations of their children is explored below.
Diminishing Parent Aspiration Levels The British indigenous working class, it is held, does not generally aspire to further and higher education as they have always had a history of limited educational success (Taylor, 1973). Economic South Asian Muslim migrants brought with them the ‘baggage’ of trying to achieve educational success for their young. Had they not immigrated, or had they migrated elsewhere into the world, this desire to achieve educational success would have remained. Muslim parents irrespective of their own age, gender or educational background place a considerably high value on their children’s educational achievements. These Muslim parents are favourably disposed to British education and greatly encourage their children in their studies (Joly, 1989). As a result of the rural Azad Kashmiri educational experiences of many Muslim parents before migration, many continue to lay considerable faith in the hands of teachers in their children’s schools. Parental sentiments towards their children’s education are reflective of a social structure that values education as a means of social mobility and self-improvement. Parents refuse to adhere to the idea of their children one day performing the same manual tasks as they have had to. They do not want their children completing school as labourers or semi-skilled workers. The British education system, particularly with its grandiose universities, has set precedents throughout the world, and, here too, Muslims have alluded to the promises that they entail. In Britain, Muslim parents have deferred material gratification so that their children can have that chance in life they themselves were not able to obtain. Muslim parents have high expectations for their children, families might make considerable sacrifices in permitting a child to undertake further and higher education in the hope that he or she might enter a high status occupation and bring honour to the family name (Taylor and Hegerty, 1985). The fact that educational achievement has always been positively related to social class is funda-
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mentally true (Halsey et al., 1980), however, the question to consider is whether being a Muslim makes it even more difficult for a pupil to achieve academically (irrespective of social class)? And, what factors are more prevalent than others, given that Muslim parents tend to be far more motivated for their children than their British, indigenous counterparts? Many Muslim parents and professionals have become disillusioned with the way in which educational outcomes for their children have taken an unprecedented all-time low. There are still very few positive role models for young Muslims – with educational achievements, particularly for young men, falling behind all the time. As one Azad Kashmiri professional put it, I think things will get bad to worse. I think there is a limit. I think that some Asian parents push their kids too much and they give them a nervous breakdown. But, like in inner cites, it will get worse because we have no role models. Male Professional, Azad Kashmiri, 34
Through massive employment loss in the region during the post war period, many Muslim parents are completely marginalised from mainstream society. More and more parents are out of formal work, whether retired, made redundant or simply unemployable due to a low skills base. Viable employment is difficult to obtain, and working as Taxi Drivers, for example, means that important levels of contact with children are simply not maintained. The following professional puts forward the feeling of hopelessness among Muslims in relation to the schooling of their young. He summarised the situation as one of complete and utter economic and social exclusion, coupled with institutional racism. He said, I feel sorry for anyone between the age of thirteen and nineteen at the moment, living in Saltley or Small Heath. It’s a desperate situation and anyone who survives that with any kind of personal achievement deserves great credit and support. Because if you look at what they’re facing, a lot of the thirteen year olds in school; first of all, they have uneducated parents, they have unemployed parents. Some of them [pupils] don’t know anybody who’s actually got a job. They [the young] come from streets where there is ninety per cent unemployment if not more. They have no life experience of somebody bringing in a wage, going out every morning and coming back every evening and earning some money. So, imagine what that does to their aspirations of what they’re going to achieve in life. Male Professional, Azad Kashmiri, 36
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A young Muslim boy also felt that there were wider factors affecting his educational opportunities, apart from those that existed as a direct consequence of the school and his teachers. It reinforces the idea of how difficult it is for any young South Asian Muslim to ‘make it’ in such a hostile climate, We’re limited just because of the fact that we’re living in an area like Small Heath and because we’re all Asians. Living in Small Heath, other people have a stereotype of inner city schools, and being a local authority school limits you really and not just that, it is the society as well. Small Heath is a hard-hit area, there’s lots of unemployment, and these are the kinds of things that are going to affect you no matter how hard you try. Male School Pupil, Bangladeshi, 15
As well as religious, cultural and social differences between the generations, it is also apparent that the economic experiences of the first generations were necessarily negative (Cheng and Heath, 1993), acting to limit the potential of their children today. Muslim youngsters are trapped in a cycle of deprivation and structural subordination. Muslim school children face considerable difficulties in achieving the kind of academic success their parents wish.
Discussion Much of the population of inner city area of East Birmingham is South Asian Muslim. This fact needs to be kept in mind especially in educational spheres where many primary schools and a number of secondary schools are nearly all Muslim. Throughout the post war period, Muslim parents have been committed to successful schooling for their children but schools or teachers have not necessarily appreciated this. However, for many Muslim pupils, not only do they have to contend with relative poverty but also there are linguistic, religio-cultural and social identity factors – with individuals affected by internal as well external forces – all operating interdependently to make the position of the individual Muslim child an enormously difficult one. The question that this research has sought to answer is the explanation for the contained educational underachievement of South Asian Muslim pupils. Is it the case, for example, that Muslim pupils are unable to learn and develop effectively as a result of their religious and cultural traits – given their social class positions? Or, indeed, does the
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root of the cause lie within the educational system through the inept methods of teachers, where attitudes are non-committal and where expectations are low – certainly in areas where Muslim population concentrations are high? This study has explored this question by looking at the experiences of relatively impoverished South Asian Muslim groups who attend local inner city schools that are also some of the weakest in the city. Therefore, it becomes difficult to determine the exact single cause – but what is apparent, that in such instances, it is the combination of economic and social exclusion as well as teachers with negative attitudes operating in weak schools that limit the educational achievements of South Asian Muslim school pupils. Moreover, this generalisation has acute validity – as the greater majority of all British South Asian Muslims live and work in poor, de-industrialised, obsolescent areas, with limited amenities. As such, it is the combination of structural and cultural racism that contributes profoundly to the educational underachievements of Muslims in Britain. Many hundreds of Muslim children have left inner city schools over the last few years in Birmingham and across Britain as a whole with minimal levels of successful secondary school-level achievements (increasingly young men). For many, it has lead to or will lead to catastrophic consequences, at best, or unemployment, delinquency, or, at worst, criminal behaviour. Is this because of the fact that they are living in generally deprived conditions already, that their social and cultural existence is not amenable to advantage, and, as such, their outcomes are an inevitable consequence? Or, perhaps, is it the case that schools and teachers have simply been unable to properly educate and empower Muslim pupils to breakout of a racialised and Islamophobic problematic that engulfs them? In fact, the processes of educational attainment, for them to be understood holistically begin as soon as the Muslim child is born. Muslim children taking school-leaver examinations at the time of the study were born in the early 1980s. There were huge redundancies in the manufacturing sectors of the British economy over the greater part of the early 1980s, coupled with crippling levels of welfare provision. Many Muslim families were caught up in a spiral of decline. In the mid1980s, multiculturalist ideals began to take a stronger hold on academics and policymakers, placing parents central to their children’s academic achievements. Prejudice and racism were seen mainly to be a function of the few, existing only in schools where policies to ‘educate all’ would alleviate the problem. The inner city Birmingham school
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leaver of today is part of that economic decline combined with a political rhetoric that eliminates structure and emphasises the individual. It appears from the strong evidence provided here that it is structural and cultural factors in the lives of South Asian Muslims that impacts them most severely – both of which most British South Asian Muslims are unable to empower themselves against. Although the idea of an end to anti-racism is fashionable in some liberal quarters, it is very apparent that negative teacher perceptions together with structural marginalisation have led to the incessant educational underachievements of many British South Asian Muslims. For the South Asian Muslim diaspora in Britain to flourish economically, politically and socially, educational success for the young is imperative.
Postscript In 2001, the entire senior management team of one of the schools (A) in the study was sacked because of incompetence and mismanagement.
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EMBRACING ALLAH AND SEXUALITY? SOUTH ASIAN NON-HETEROSEXUAL MUSLIMS IN BRITAIN ANDREW K. T. YIP
Abstract Non-heterosexual Muslims acknowledge that Islamic written sources and culture do censure homosexuality. Reconciling their sexuality to religion is therefore an uphill task. Nevertheless, their wish to lead honest and fulfilled lives rationalises this difficulty as a ‘test of life’. Most employ a context-specific strategy of compartmentalising their sexuality and religion. There is, however, an increasing effort to re-frame Islam within a sexuality-affirming paradigm, through the critique of culture/tradition, and the re-interpretation of written sources. The construction of their identity is a reflexive and contested process, drawing upon both the Western and the South Asian cultural base patterns. ‘There is no space for the immorality of homosexuality in Islam!’ exclaims an e-mail I received soon after the advertisement of my project1 appeared on the Internet. Since then, I have learned that this is a common response within the Muslim community. Such a response, however, silences the voices of non-heterosexual2 Muslims who 1 This project, funded by the English Economic and Social Research Council (Award No. R000223530) was conducted between May 2001 and October 2002. Dr. Andrew K. T. Yip was the Director, and Dr. Anita Pilgrim, the Research Fellow for the first 12 months of the project. Data was collected through 2 focus group interviews and individual interviews with 22 men and 20 women. Out of this sample of 42 respondents, 19 men (14 are self-identified ‘gay’ and 5 ‘bisexual’) and 18 women (16 self-identified ‘lesbian’, 1 ‘queer’ and 1 does not define herself based on sexuality) were of South Asian origin. This total of 37 includes 4 ‘second migrants’, whose families first migrated to East Africa, before settling down in Britain. The participants were aged between 18 and 45, with 62% in the 21-30 category. The important contribution of these participants is gratefully acknowledged. 2 ‘Non-heterosexual’ is a contentious term. Some consider it pejorative because it labels people against the perceived norm of heterosexuality. They prefer ‘lesbian, gay, and bisexual’. This phrase itself is unsatisfactory, as some insist on prolonging it, in the name of inclusivity, by adding ‘transgendered’, and sometimes ‘queer’. I decided to use ‘non-heterosexual’ throughout the text (unless where there is a need to distinguish homosexuality from bisexuality) primarily because of space. The term also embraces all the terms used by participants in contrast to ‘heterosexual’.
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endeavour to construct an identity that incorporates their religion and sexuality. In this chapter, I shall present narratives that illustrate the uneven possibilities in this process.
Brief Historical Account of South Asians in Great Britain For the year 2000-1, South Asians constitute approximately 3% (2 million) of Britain’s population of around 60 million. The biggest group is of Indian origin (estimated at 1 million, primarily from Punjab, Gujarat and Bengal), followed by Pakistani (estimated at 700,000, mainly from the Mirpur and Kashmir districts) and Bangladeshi (estimated at 300,000, primarily from the Sylhet district) (Matheson & Babb, 2002). The migration of South Asians to Great Britain dates back to at least 300 years through the British East India Company (Visram, 1995). However, the flow peaked in the 1960s, primarily to fill labour gaps in the economy after the Second World War, particularly unskilled labour in the textile and service industries. Thus, the first generation of migrants consisted of young men, who took advantage of their right of automatic entry to Britain as Commonwealth subjects (Lewis, 1994; Geaves, 1996; Mason, 2000; Vertovec, 2002). Late 1960s saw the beginning of the introduction of various legislations (e.g. Race Relations Act 1968, Commonwealth Immigrants Act 1968) that ended such unrestricted entry. 1980s replaced primary migration replaced by secondary or chain migration. Migrants during this period primarily consisted of wives and children of these men (Jones, 1993; Hinnells, 2000; Husain & O’Brien, 2001). Some South Asians also migrated to Britain through an indirect route. They constituted those who had a British passport, and left Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania in 1960s and 1970s as a result of political upheaval. On the whole, the growth of the South Asian community is quite phenomenal. In 1955, fewer than 8000 South Asians entered Britain. By 1997, the number of South Asians in Britain was estimated at 1.7 million (Anwar, 1998), concentrating in Greater London, West Midlands (e.g. Birmingham), Greater Manchester and West Yorkshire (e.g. Bradford). Approximately 52% of Pakistanis were born in Britain. The percentages of British-born Indians and Bangladeshis are respectively 47% and 44% (Modood et al., 1997). Punjabi is the most widely spoken language among South Asians, followed by Urdu, Gujarati and Hindi (Kathane, 2000).
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In the British census of population, the question of ‘religious affiliation’ was introduced for the first time in Census 2001 (at the point of writing, statistics are not yet available). Accurate statistics are currently unavailable. Nevertheless, it is certain that South Asians constitute the majority of British Muslims (estimate at 1.5 million, most of the Sunni tradition), Hindus and Sikhs (estimated at 400,000-550,000 respectively) (Office of National Statistics, 2002). It is important to acknowledge that there are socio-economic differences within the South Asian community. For instance, Indians generally have higher educational achievement than Pakistanis and Bangladeshis. They also have a higher level of employment and experienced less racial discrimination, compared to the latter groups (e.g. Jones, 1993; Madood et al., 1997). Not surprisingly, British research on South Asians focuses on ethnic/racial issues, particularly in relation to integration to the host society (Hinnells, 2000). Religious issues are comparatively overlooked, while issues on sexuality are hitherto unexplored. From the next section onwards, I shall focus on a sexual minority within an ethnic/religious minority, exploring the strategies non-heterosexual Muslims employ to manage the seeming incompatibility between their sexuality and religious faith.
Non-Heterosexuality and Islam: Contradiction in Terms? Research has shown that, compared to Hindus and Sikhs, Muslims are more religious-minded and more likely to consider religion a significant component of their identity and everyday life (e.g. Singh Ghuman, 1994; Modood et al. 1997). Modood et al. (1997) reported that 74% of Muslims considered their religion ‘very important’. The percentage for Sikhs was 46%, and Hindus, 43%. Significantly, higher percentages of Pakistanis and Bangladeshis (who are primarily Muslims) across all age groups considered religion as very important to how they lived their lives. Kathane (2000) also reported that 66% Muslims attend mosque once a week (bearing in mind that many women do not go to mosque, but organise religious activities in, say, community centres). Scholars generally argue that Islam is more than a religion to the believers. It is a meaning system that permeates all aspects of the believer’s life. For instance, Norcliffe (1999: 2) argues that, ‘For the
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Muslim all of a person’s life is for God and any division of life into secular and religious aspects has no warrant. Islam is a total system, an ideology, which guides the Muslim through every aspect of life, both as an individual and collectively.’ Thus, what Islam has to say about homosexuality is of great significance to non-heterosexual Muslims, though the ways they manage such ‘official understanding’ might differ. It is a pervasive view that Islam accords hegemonic status to heterosexuality (within marriage). Homosexuality is censured in the Koran (e.g. suras [chapters] 7 and 26) as well as the Shari’ah (Islamic law) and the Hadith (Sayings of the Prophet Muhammad) (Bouhdiba, 1998; Nahas, 1998; 2001). In this regard, Green & Numrich (2001: 24) argue that Muslims believe that homosexual acts are ‘sinful violation of the trust in which God gives humans their bodies and their sexuality.’ Such censure is frequently reinforced in religious environments, as a lesbian participant reports: I’ve heard more sermons [against homosexuality] recently. Definitely they’re standing out against it. There’s no sense of sympathy. [What sorts of things were they saying?] Well it is the worst sin committed. And then they talk about what would happen, the time when you die and the time when you actually face the day of judgement. I don’t really want to talk about that now because this can get quite upsetting. (Falida, living in Greater London)
Such written and verbal censure is strengthened by the cultural expectation of marriage as both a social and religious duty. Further, it is widely perceived within the famously close-knit South Asian community (particularly among the first generation) that homosexuality, among others, represents the moral decadence of the secular host society. Declaring oneself as homosexual (or bisexual for the matter) is often perceived as not only one’s immorality, but also evidence of ‘Westoxication’ (being ‘intoxicated’ by secular Western culture), thus the betrayal of one’s ethnic/cultural heritage. This frequently complicates familial and kin relationships (This is not the focus of this chapter. For more details, see Yip, 2002a). How then do non-heterosexual Muslims reconcile their sexuality with their religious faith as part of the construction of their personal identity? This is the crux of this chapter. As the following sections show, the strategies vary, which probably signifies the various stages of identity construction the participants were in at the point of interview.
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Muslim and Non-Heterosexual? You Can’t Be Both The participants in general consider Islam an important aspect of their lives, typified by the following narrative. Islam is a beautiful religion. It is a way of life, basically. It tells you how to live your life from when you wake up until when you go to sleep. It tells you from how to have a bath to how to clean yourself to how to pray and how to worship. It’s a very beautiful religion and I feel privileged that I’ve been born into such a religious Islamic family. I’m happy to be a Muslim. I’m proud to be a Muslim. (Muhammad, a gay man in his early 20s)
It is significant to note that the vast majority of participants acknowledge that Islam does censure homosexuality. Some participants find being Muslim and non-heterosexual incompatible. This understanding is predicated on the presumed censure of homosexuality in Islamic written sources and the pervasive negative perception of homosexuality within the Muslim community. Thus, on both religious and ethnic fronts, they find such dissonance difficult to manage. In an extreme case, the project came across a young gay man who had to leave behind his Muslim past due to his inability to reconcile being Muslim and gay. This was exacerbated by the persecution from his family and kin due to his sexuality. He went as far as adopting officially an English name as a symbolic gesture to renounce his cultural and religious heritage. Indeed, many acknowledge the incompatibility of Islam and homosexuality, as the following narratives illustrate: Islam doesn’t allow gay people. It’s something called kabirah guhna. It is a sin. The worst type of sin you can get. Basically, I’m committing a really big, big, big sin. Basically, homosexuals are not allowed in the religion. Full stop. At the end of the day, that’s what it is. You’re not allowed to be homosexual and at the same time a Muslim. (Gufter, a gay man living in the Midlands) From what my understanding is and from what I’m made to believe, I know there will never be a time when it [lesbian sexuality] will be accepted by Islam, Islamic standards, or what the Qur’an says. I’m too scared to face up to it, because I know, subconsciously, that homosexuality is very wrong. (Azlina, a lesbian in her late 20s)
While some reported that this dissonance leads to the relinquishing of the religious aspect of their identity, as a dissonance reduction strategy, most continue to hold on to ‘Muslim’ as a cultural/ethnic marker in a ‘white’ majority society, with political significance.
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Because I live in a non-Muslim country where I feel that particularly at this moment in time, Islamophobia is very, very rife, I identify as a Black, lesbian Muslim. I think it just says how I feel about Islamophobia and how it’s been attacked. It is from the point of view of being an oppressed group in this country. Yes, it is a political stance. (Zaleha, a care professional in her late 30s)
The above narrative illustrates the significance of religion in the formation of ethnic identity within a diasporic context. Nevertheless, having to compartmentalise their sexuality and religion is, needless to say, difficult, as one participant asserts: To be able to accept who I was in terms of being gay I had to give up my religion. I can’t comprehend the two and deal with them together. For me that’s a huge issue. I’ve tried. It just seems that I can go to one or I can go to the other, but I can’t do both. That’s difficult! (Imran, a bisexual man of Pakistani origin)
However, these participants are quick to point out that their sexuality is an intrinsic part of their being. It cannot, and should not, be suppressed, despite its contradiction to religious strictures and cultural norms. This argument is clearly demonstrated in the following narratives. I was born homosexual, and then I acquired Islam, you know. If I had been raised as a Christian, I would have been a Christian, but I would still have been a homosexual because I was born homosexual. So I think that religion came through society or social environment. But I would have remained homosexual because I was born that way, in any given religion. (Omar, a gay man in Greater London) I always knew that I didn’t choose to be like this. I always knew that this is how I was, this is how I was born. If I had a choice, I’d probably choose to be heterosexual. But it wasn’t a choice. (Faruq, a bisexual man of Bangladeshi origin)
The above view is widely adopted by religious (e.g. Christian) nonheterosexuals. Elsewhere, I have called this ‘ontogeneric argument’, which denotes that all sexualities are created and blessed by God, and therefore of equal value and deserve the same level of acceptance (e.g. Yip, 1997a; 1997b; 2002b). If sexuality is innate and God-created, not expressing it because of religious strictures and cultural prohibition therefore constitutes dishonesty. Another justification for the expression of sexuality is that God, being loving and compassionate, would not want them to be unhappy as a result of suppressing their sexuality. Personal happiness, thus,
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becomes a significant guide of one’s behaviour. The following narrative illustrates this principle. Islam says that homosexuality is totally, totally forbidden, which is why I led my life previously in ways that make everybody else happy. I thought about my religion, my family, people in general before myself. In the end, I was really, really unhappy and I thought, how can a religion ask you not to be happy? God knows when I’m happy, when I’m unhappy. God has made me as I am, surely he knows that he has made this woman a lesbian. He knows my every action, he knows what makes me tick, he knows what makes me happy, what makes me miserable. (Tehmina, a lesbian in her late 20s)
Having justified the normality and acceptability of their sexuality, the participants rationalise their struggle in religious terms, as ‘a test of life’. Narratives below illustrate this. I feel that it’s [being gay] something that’s a part of me, and I’m not going to lie to myself and be dishonest and try to stop it. And, God willing, God’s made me the way I am. I believe in fate and I believe in how things are already written out, and how they’re meant to be. I’m just carrying on with how it’s meant to be. So, yes, I am going through the hard times, but getting through. (Zafar, a student) I think God creates everyone in this way but then I see it more as a test. Maybe it is a test for me, to see how I’ll deal with this issue, and what things are important to me. (Shabid, in his 20s)
In spite of such argument, these participants have little resources to challenge the pervasive Islamic view. Their common strategy to assuage the internal tension and struggle is to de-emphasise one of these two aspects of their identity. Such a strategy of compartmentalisation is context-specific. In most cases, either their sexuality or religion takes prominence in a particular context without leading to the relinquishing of the other, which takes on prominence in a different context. Imran, a bisexual man of Pakistani origin, explains: If I’m going out to clubs and stuff I’m not being religious and religion is at the back of my head. And then if I’m being religious, I will not go out clubbing and stuff. So that’s the way I deal with it.
What prevents the participants from relinquishing one of the two aspects altogether? The answer is honesty. They are of the opinion that being Muslim and non-heterosexual are both essential aspects of their lives. To suppress one of them would be dishonest. Thus, they strive to be honest in different contexts, letting either their sexuality or reli-
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gion take prominence, as required by the specific context (e.g. in the mosque, or while dealing with family members, while being in a safe ‘gay’ space). However, the de-emphasis of one aspect is counter-balanced by its prominence in another context. Only in very rare contexts (e.g. in Muslim non-heterosexual support network) do both sexuality and religion merge. The narrative below illustrates this: I see myself as happy with the way that I am, my sexuality and who I am. My religion is really important to me so that’s the way I combine being gay and Muslim. I can’t see myself being gay and not having my religion with me, and I can’t see me having my religion and ignoring my sexuality. I could be seen as dishonest, a liar, hypocrite, which are against my religion as well. So I need to be true with myself and true to who I am. That’s the way I see it. I still think being gay is wrong. The way I see it is that carrying out the sexual acts probably is sinful. But my religion also tells me that you shouldn’t be dishonest, you need to be at one with yourself. And it’s a sin also to be a hypocrite. (Aziz, a gay man in the Midlands)
Aziz’s rationalisation is significant. Although he acknowledges that gay sex is probably wrong from a religious point of view, not expressing his sexuality (as an intrinsic part of him) would constitute dishonesty. The issue is how to balance the two in an effort to be honest in his life. This theme of honesty is further illustrated in the following narrative: If you hide your sexuality and you are forced into marriage which you think you’re doing an Islamic act, but you’re entering into an unhappy marriage, you’re lying to yourself and you are lying to your partner and to your fellow beings. That is so un-Islamic. (Sunil, a gay man in his late 20s)
Compartmentalisation seems to be a common strategy to manage the tension between sexuality and religion because within the Muslim community at the current juncture, there is scant theological and social resources that non-heterosexual (and heterosexual, for that matter) Muslims can use to examine the pervasive Islamic censure of homosexuality in a positive light. Little literature is currently available that could be used to counter the Islamic dominant discourse of sexuality that stigmatises homosexuality (distinct exceptions are Jamal, 2001; Nahas, 1998; 2001 [cf. Hekma, 2002]). This is compounded also by cultural limitations. Within the South Asian community in Britain, homosexuality is widely perceived as a ‘Western disease’, a logical outcome of ‘over-integration’ into the majority white culture characterised by secularity and excessive individualism.
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Against such structural constraints, compartmentalisation becomes a common strategy to rationalise and manage the tension between sexuality and religion. What is most interesting to observe is that the majority of participants do not relinquish either one of these aspects of their personal identity, despite the tension. This illustrates that they are not passive victims under such structural determinations. They endeavour to be authentic to both aspects of their identity. In a minority of cases, participants actually question, resist and challenge such religious and cultural determinations. It is to their narratives we now turn.
Re-framing Islam within a Sexuality-affirming Paradigm This category represents participants who have travelled some distance in their journey of sexuality. They have succeeded in constructing a negotiated identity that incorporates harmoniously their sexuality and religious faith. Besides being skilled in the use of the ontogeneric argument that I have already discussed above, these participants are in general actively involved in support groups.3 These participants use two strategies to re-frame Islam within a paradigm that affirms their sexuality. The first strategy is the critique of traditions, by distinguishing Islamic and cultural practices. The second strategy focuses specifically on the re-interpretation of Islamic sources that seemingly censure homosexuality. On the first strategy, they vehemently argue that Islam as a religion in its purest form upholds broad principles of equality, social justice, and respect for human diversity. Within this paradigm, sexualities of all kinds are affirmed, as with peoples of all kinds. However, when religion is tainted by traditional cultural practices that are andocentric, hierarchical, and heterosexist, its clear vision of humanity is clouded. This is particularly relevant to female participants who also
3 There are currently very few support groups for non-heterosexual Muslims in the UK. The biggest group is called Al-Fatiha UK (Al-Fatiha means ‘the Beginning’ or ‘Opening’) based in London. It was established in 1999. This group has an e-mail contact list (www.egroups.com/list/al-fatiha-london). It also holds monthly meetings, almost exclusively in London. NAZ Project is another group, focusing on HIV/AIDS issues among people of South Asian origin, who are not exclusively Muslim. KISS, on the other hand, is for non-heterosexual women of South Asian and Middle Eastern origin, regardless of religious background.
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have to grapple with issues pertaining to gender relations and personal freedom. There are more things I hate [about Islam], to tell you the truth. The way women are treated in the religion, yeah. But then there are a lot of things that culture comes in more. Culture and tradition, especially if you’re Pakistani or Indian or Muslim. Culture and tradition take over a lot of religion, and people just don’t focus on religion. (Zareena, a lesbian in Greater London) For me I think I, as a lesbian, have all the rights in Islam as anybody else, man or woman. [In the past] Islam gave women the rights to inheritance, to divorce. Women went into battle during the times of Islamic ruler with the Prophet, you know, they joined him in battle. It was a very emancipating time for women. Now, we need to look at Islam afresh in a way that try to get away from all the clutter that’s built up around Islam, the cultural and traditional clutter that’s been there and trying to get to the true spirit of Islam. (Jamila, a lesbian in her late 20s)
On the second strategy, the participants argue that Islam and its written sources (the Koran particularly, but also the Hadith and the Sha’riah) are progressive. However, religious authority is not. Their andocentric and heterosexist interpretation of such written sources is the issue here. Thus, they argue for a new paradigm that allows the same sources to be re-interpreted by progressive agents, informed by current socio-cultural realities. In other words, interpretations of religious texts are relative and power-laden. Not only should these interpretations be contextualised and de-constructed, the powerful agents in the construction of such discourse also need to be challenged. They relativise Islamic teachings, and separate religious principles from traditional cultural practices. The long narratives below are necessary to demonstrate this. I think the text [Qur’an] of course is not supportive towards homosexuality. When it comes to Shari’ah laws it is very clear that it is negative. [But] very few people have read the Qur’an text to be quite honest, when it comes to homosexuality. If you go to any Muslim community and ask them ‘What exactly does the text say?’ and they will just say ‘Oh it says that God has made a man and a woman, so if you are not heterosexual you will go to hell.’ When you ask them: ‘Where is it, and what are the exact words, and what interpretations have been taken in, who has taken the interpretation?’ They won’t have answer to that! During the prophet Muhammad’s life, no homosexual was brought in front of him and was asked ‘What shall we do to this man who practises homosexuality?’ So there is no sunnah as such that the Prophet said
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‘kill that man’ or ‘punish that man’. I also don’t think that homosexuality is mentioned at all in the Hadith. You can’t say Prophet Muhammad did this or that with homosexuals. The Prophet might have said that homosexuality is prohibited, but he never took the action himself as such. There is evidence, and certain references given during the Prophet’s time, that some of his companions, were effeminate and had long and beautiful hair. Prophet Muhammad used to really appreciate their beauty. So you need to re-interpret the same things [written sources] in modern times. (Yasser, a gay man in Greater London) I really think there is no reason for Islam to be homophobic. There is no logical stance for Islam to be homophobic. Why would it condemn people because they love [people of] the same gender? What harm could that bring on Islam or on anyone else? So for me, I just could not accept that Islam could be homophobic. So that is when I started my own research into whether Islam could be homophobic. So I used to read the Koran, the Hadith, and books around the Koran. It [the censure of homosexuality] is all based around the story of Lot. I don’t think it [the story] especially [refers to] gay people. It has a lot to do with idolatry and inhospitality. It’s not just about being gay, and it’s a gay act that was done in a very violent context. It was not a consensual loving relationship which is what I felt my feeling were towards other women. That story is about violence and abuse, and not about consensual love4. (Jamila, a lesbian in her late 20s)
Having outlined the need to re-interpret such written sources, these participants expressed doubt about the religious authority, as Omar, a gay man in Greater London, argues: I feel sometimes, all these people who issue these hard-line statements against homosexuality are repressed homosexuals themselves. To them homophobia is the biggest shield for their own sexuality. I mean, if you go to any little town in any Muslim country, the religious leaders are always involved with homosexuality. Imams have bad reputation in Pakistan in certain districts, certain rural communities, for having sex with men.
Having criticised the traditional interpretations of written sources and highlighted the fallibility of the religious authority, Omar also argues for a safe space for dialogue within the Muslim community. Remember that they were interpretations of the text by human beings. Let’s assume that I agree that in the Koran homosexuality is forbidden. But does it mean that there are no homosexuals in Islam? There are, they were always there, and they will always be. Why can’t we talk 4
See Jamal (2001) for a detailed theological discussion of the Story of Lot.
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about it? Why can’t we initiate a safe forum for dialogue? There are different interpretations on homosexuality. Why can’t we talk about it? It’s so un-Islamic to reject or even kill someone because they are homosexual. Let’s sit together in a safe environment and let’s talk about it, let’s bring out the history about homosexuality. Why can’t we upgrade our interpretations of the Qur’an? Remember, the Qur’an came in 1400 years ago.
Emotive and adamant though the above arguments, their content generally lacks theological sophistication. This is a reflection of the scarcity of gay- and lesbian-affirming Islamic theology at present. Unlike their Christian counterparts, non-heterosexual Muslims have a very small pool of resources to draw upon in this respect (for a good discussion of gay- and lesbian-affirming Christian theology, see, for instance, Seow, 1996; Stuart, 2003). These strategies of re-framing Islam has been reported by other research on second- or new-generation Muslims in diaspora5, particularly in terms of gender relations (e.g. women’s rights and freedom of movement). On gender issues, feminist Muslims have argued that Islam as a religion promotes gender equality. The gender inequality observed in many Muslim communities is a result of androcentric cultural practices as well as androcentric interpretations of Islamic written sources. Commenting on second-generation Muslim women in diaspora, Husain and O’Brien (2001: 24) argue that, ‘Often the rejection of parental tradition has taken them not towards western mores which would lead to communal alienation but to a religious doctrine cleaned of cultural imposition.’ In the same vein, Bose (2000) argues that second generation of South Asians in the Britain, not having lived in their countries of origin where religion and culture are synonymous and inseparable, draw a clear line of demarcation between practices that are Islamic, and those that are cultural. The inequality in gender relations witnessed in many Muslim societies is therefore an outcome of culture from the country of origin, which is at odds with the new culture of diaspora. Thus, Islam, as a religion, needs to be re-interpreted and re-evaluated in light of the new socio-cultural context. This new context, in many ways, incorporates some new values of the majority society such as personal freedom, individuality, and rights. 5 I use Modood et al.’s (1997) definition here. ‘Second generation’ are those whose ages are between 25 and 44, and ‘new generation’, between 16 and 24.
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In her various studies of women and Islam, particularly within the European context, Roald (1997) has argued that there are four common issues in contemporary re-interpretation of Islamic sources, particularly on gender relations: (i) re-evaluation of Islamic sources; (ii) criticism of the use of Islamic sources; (iii) criticism of interpretation of Islamic sources; and (iv) equality of men and women in the Koran. The narratives that I have presented seem to signpost the same trajectory that non-heterosexual Muslims would follow in negotiating space within the Muslim community for the expression of their sexual identity.
Concluding Remarks It is significant to note that while some participants’ religious faith has been negatively affected by their struggle to reconcile it with their sexuality, most do not reject Islam altogether. This indicates the significance of Islam in their lives as part of their personal identity. However, I would also argue that ‘Muslim’ is also a significant cultural marker for them in relation to the majority society that is religiously and ethnically different. Significant events (e.g. the Salman Rushdie affair, the Gulf War, and more recently the September 11th event) continue to influence how they are perceived and related to the host society, and vice versa. In such a scenario, ethnicity and religion are inextricably linked (Lewis, 1994). Religion, therefore, is part and parcel of their ‘hybrid identity’ as ‘British South Asians’. Samad (1998) has argued that enthusiastic religious identification, as dominant cultural marker is part of the articulation of their hybrid identity. In the same vein, Bruce (2002) has also argued that, among migrant communities, religion is often used as a form of ‘cultural defence’. This kind of cultural defence is particular important in times when there are perceived threats from the majority society. In general, diasporic experiences often heighten religious factor in ethnic formation (Yang & Ebaugh, 2001).
On the specific issue of sexuality, we have seen that in general participants concede that non-heterosexuality is, from a religious and cultural point of view, unacceptable. In order to remain honest to both aspects of their personal identity, they resort to the strategy of compartmentalisation. This strategy accords one of these aspects prominence over the other, depending on the context. This is counter-balanced by the
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reverse in other contexts. This is evidence that identity is indeed context-specific and multi-faceted. At the current juncture where there is little resources available for them to challenge the dominant discourse individually and or collectively, context-specific compartmentalisation appears to be the most reasonable strategy to employ. Nevertheless, a small minority of participants are beginning to rattle the cage of orthodoxy through the critique or re-construction of tradition (separating culture and religion and viewed culture/traditions in a new light within a new paradigm of thinking and understanding) and the re-interpretation of written sources. These strategies are consistent with those employed by feminists in addressing the issues of gender within religion (e.g. King, 1995; Beaman, 2001). Feminist approaches to theology, for instance, are critical of moral absolutes, and in turn emphasise individual conscience/experience, context, and power relations in interpretations of religious texts. Within Britain, the second and new generations of Muslims are taking the lead in the process of discerning what is a culturally relative expression of Islam, and what is centrally Islamic. This has an impact on the relocation of religious authority (Nielsen, 2000; Smith, 2002). Efforts in the area of sexuality, at this juncture, remains embryonic and preliminary (with the exception of Jamal, 2001; Nahas, 1998; 2001 [cf. Hekma, 2002]). However, I envisage that they will take on an increased degree of sophistication and efficacy in the future, as evidenced in the trajectory of non-heterosexual Christians in construction the ‘queer’ hermeneutics of religious texts (for a good discussion on this, see Bardella, 2001).
I think the structural position of the participants, as second and new generation of South Asians, is significant in their construction of their personal identity. In terms of religion, Samad (1998) has argued that there is generational variation in the understanding of Islam for Muslims in diaspora. First generation of Muslims who might be illiterate tend to follow oral traditions of Islam. Many of second generation Muslims, not being proficient in their native languages, rely on written sources, often in English. Their understanding of Islam is therefore textual, much more free from the entanglement of cultural practices. Commenting on Muslims in Europe, Roald (2001) asserts that Islam has a conserving effect in the consolidation of identity in an ethnically and religiously different cultural context. However, this cultural context also offers resources for more reflexive and critical interpretation of social issues in Islamic sources. This is particularly true for
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second and new generation Muslims who are, compared to their parents, competent cultural navigators capable of negotiating space and position in various socio-cultural milieus. This often facilitates the construction of ‘hybrid identity’. Omar, a gay man in his late 20s, for instance, acknowledges the advantages the non-Islamic Western cultural milieu offers in his own negotiation of identity: In Pakistan, you’re just Muslim. You are not gay at all. You can’t be both. You compartmentalise yourself. But when I came here [he migrated to Britain in his early 20s], I realised I could be gay and Muslim as well. This is because the society, the law, the social norms are supportive. You can talk about it openly. If I want to bring my spirituality and my sexuality together, there is no problem here. There [Pakistan] it would have been a problem because there is no support for my sexuality.
Compared to first-generation South Asians who are primarily ‘encapsulated’ for various reasons (e.g. fear of racism, see Anwar, 1985), the second and new generations are more integrated into the majority society. They are more exposed to the forces of late modernity at large (e.g. de-traditionalisation and individualisation, see, for instance Giddens, 1998; Bauman, 2000) which has a significant impact on personal identity construction. The construction of their identity is therefore a much more reflexive and conscious process, drawing upon both the Western and the South Asian ‘cultural base patterns’ (Roald, 2001). Their narratives of life increasingly become ‘choice biography’ or ‘do-it-yourself biography’, rather than ‘standard biography’, as in the case of young people in the mainstream society (Branner & Nilsen, 2002). Their personal identities, therefore, become more contested, negotiated and reflexive.
Bibliography Anwar, M. (1985). Pakistanis in Britain. London: New Century Publishers. —. (1998). Between Cultures: Continuity and Change in the Lives of Young Asians. London: Routledge. Bardella, C. (2001). ‘Queer spirituality.’ Social Compass 48(1): 117-138. Bauman, Z. (2000). The Individualised Society. Cambridge: Polity Press. Beaman, L. (2001). ‘Molly Mormons, Mormon feminists and moderates: Religious diversity and the Latter Day Saints Church.’ Sociology of Religion 62(1): 65-86.
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Bose, R. (2000). ‘Families in transition.’ In Annie Lau (ed.), South Asian Children and Adolescents in Britain: Ethno-Cultural Issues. London: Whurr. Bouhdiba, A. (1998). Sexuality in Islam. London: Saqi Books. Branner, J. and Nilsen, A. (2002). ‘Young people’s time perspectives: From youth to adulthood.’ Sociology 36(3): 513-537. Bruce, S. (2002). God is Dead: Secularization in the West. Oxford: Blackwell. El-Hadi, Ali (2000). ‘The Muslim community: Beliefs and practices.’ In Annie Lau (ed.), South Asian Children and Adolescents in Britain: Ethno-Cultural Issues. London: Whurr. Geaves, R. (1996). Sectarian Influences within Islam in Britain. University of Leeds: Department of Theology and Religious Studies. Giddens, A. and Pierson, C. (1998). Conversations with Anthony Giddens: Making sense of Modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Green, M.C. & Numrich, P. (2001). Religious Perspectives on Sexuality: A Resource Guide. Chicago: The Park Ridge Center. Hekma, G, (2002). ‘Imams and homosexuality: A post-gay debate in the Netherlands.’ Sexualities 5(2): 237-248. Hinnells, J. (2000). ‘South Asian religions in migration: A comparative study of the British, Canada and U.S. experiences.’ In Harold Coward, John Hinnells and Raymond Williams (eds.), The South Asian Religious Diaspora in Britain, Canada, and the United States. New York: State University of New York Press. Husain, F. and O’Brien, M. (2001). ‘South Asians Muslims in Britain: Faith, family and community.’ In: Carol Harvey (ed.), Maintaining Our Difference: Minority Families in Multicultural Societies. Aldershot: Ashgate. Jamal, A. (2001). ‘The story of Lot and the Qur’an‘s perception of the morality of same-sex sexuality.’ Journal of Homosexuality 41(1): 1-88. Jones, T. (1993). Britain’s Ethnic Minorities. London: Policy Studies Institute. Kathane, R. (2000). ‘Roots and origins: Ethnicity and the traditional family.’ In Annie Lau (ed.), South Asian Children and Adolescents in Britain: Ethno-Cultural Issues. London: Whurr. King, U. (1995). Religion and Gender. Oxford: Blackwell. Lewis, P. (1994). Islamic Britain: Religion, Politics and Identity among British Muslims. London: I. B. Tauris. Mason, D. (2000) Race, and Ethnicity in Modern Britain. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Matheson, J. and Babb, P. (2002). Social Trends (No. 32). London: The Stationery Office. Modood, T., Berthoud, R., Lakey, J., Nazroo, J., Smith, P., Virdee, S. and Beishon, S. (1997). Ethnic Minorities in Britain: Diversity and Disadvantage. London: Policy Studies Institute. Nahas, O. (1998). Islamic Studies on Homosexuality. YOESUF Foundation. http://www.yoesuf.nl/engels/islamic–studies.html —. (2001). Islam en Homoseksualiteit. Amsterdam: Bulaaq.
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Nielsen, J. (2000). ‘Muslims in Britain: Ethnic minorities, community, or ummah?’ In: Harold Coward, John Hinnells and Raymond Williams (eds.), The South Asian Religious Diaspora in Britain, Canada, and the United States. New York: State University of New York Press. Norcliffe, D. (1999). Islam: Faith and Practice. Brighton: Sussex Academic Press. Office of National Statistics (2002). UK 2002 Yearbook. London: The Stationery Office. Parekh, B. (2000). The Future of Multi-Ethnic Britain. London: Profile Books. Roald, A. (1997). ‘Feminist Reinterpretation of Islamic Sources: Muslim Feminist Theology in the Light of Christian Tradition of Feminist Thought.’ In Karin Ask & Marit Tjomsland (eds.), Women and Islamisation: Carving a New Space in Muslim Societies. Bergen: Chr. Michelsen Institute. —. (2001). Women in Islam: The Western Experience. London: Routledge. Samad, Y. (1998). ‘Media and Muslim identity: Intersections of generation and gender.’ Innovation 11(4): 425-438. Seow, C.L. (1996). Homosexuality and Christian Community. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. Singh Ghuman, P. (1994). Coping with Two Cultures: British Asian and Indo-Canadian Adolescents. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters Ltd. Smith, J. (2002). ‘Introduction.’ In Yvonne Haddad (ed.), Muslims in the West: From Sojourners to Citizens. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stuart, E. (2003). Gay and Lesbian Theologies. London: Ashgate. Vertovec, S. (2002). ‘Islamophobia and Muslim Recognition in Britain.’ In Yvonne Haddad (ed.), Muslims in the West: From Sojourners to Citizens. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Visram, R. (1995). The History of the Asian Community in Britain. Hove, East Sussex: Wayland. Yang, F. and Ebaugh, H. (2001). ‘Religion and ethnicity among New immigrants: The impact of majority/minority status in home and host countries.’ Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 40(3): 367-378. Yip, A.K.T. (1997a). ‘Attacking the Attacker: Gay Christians Talk Back.’ British Journal of Sociology 48(1): 113-127. —. (1997b). Gay Male Christian Couples: Life Stories. Westport, CT: Praeger. —. (2002a). ‘Negotiating space with family and kin in identity construction: The narratives of non-heterosexual Muslims in the UK.’ Paper presented at the Annual Conference of the British Sociological Association, University of Leicester, 25-27 March. —. (2002b). ‘Same-Sex Relationships.’ In Robin Goodwin and Duncan Cramer (eds.), Inappropriate Relationships. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
PART FIVE PARSIS AND SIKHS
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THE ZOROASTRIAN DIASPORAS JOHN R. HINNELLS
Abstract This paper is based on a 20-year research project completed in 2003. It involved archival and fieldwork in eleven countries (India, Pakistan, China, Zanzibar, Kenya, Britain, France, Germany, Canada, USA and Australia), as well as a study of Zoroastrian Internet sites. It is also based on a Survey in all the diasporic groups mentioned. It will argue that forces for globalisation have substantially impacted upon Zoroastrianism. Some of the obvious factors are: the contacts between Zoroastrians in many countries through international business, religious and academic networks, international travel and communications, seven world Congresses in the last 20 years and the establishment of a new ‘World Body’ – The World Zoroastrian Organization. It has also been affected by significant recent international developments including the generation of a new Religious Movement seeking converts in California and the claims of groups in the old Soviet Union (especially Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and in Russia, as well as many Kurds) to be Zoroastrians. As a result Zoroastrianism is practised in more countries now than at any time in its 3,500-year history. However, the paper will argue that it has also become indigenised not only in different countries, but even between different cities in the same countries – e.g. in America, Houston and Chicago will be compared, in Australia Sydney and Melbourne. Based on the Survey, it will argue that different trajectories of religious settlement can be discerned between different demographic groups, e.g. between single people, families and the widowed; between the highly educated and the less well educated; between high flying executives and those in manual or clerical work, and between men and women. The demographic compositions of local communities commonly result in localization. It will also compare the patterns of settlement of Zoroastrians who have migrated from India, Pakistan, Iran and East Africa and will therefore compare patterns between refugees and those who migrated for economic or educational reasons. It will argue that different locations, e.g. India and Pakistan, as well as the various race
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and immigration policies of the respective new countries, e.g. between Canada and Germany, commonly trigger the process of indiginisation – and the reverse.
Introduction Over the millennia of the history of what is arguably the world’s oldest prophetic religion there have been many Zoroastrian diasporas: traders, officials and soldiers travelled across the breadth of the Imperial rule of the Achaemenids, Parthians and Sasanians between the sixth century BCE to the seventh century CE. There were particularly important settlements in what is now Turkey in the last three centuries BCE. In the tenth century CE a band of the Zoroastrian faithful migrated from Iran, or the province of Pars, to India where they are known as the Parsis. For centuries they lived in the security of obscurity in Gujarat. But with the arrival of British traders in Bombay they increasingly settled in what became the main commercial capital of India. Their main role was as middlemen between the British and local traders; they were also suppliers to the British notably in the Abysinian and Afghan wars. In the eighteenth century Parsis became some of the leading merchants in India and in her overseas trade. As western education became available in India in the 1820s, and in particular with the opening of Bombay University in 1857, Parsis took full advantage of the opportunities and pioneered the industrial revolution in India. For higher and technological education many travelled to Britain and some settled there, formally constituting the first Asian religious community in London in 1861. But they travelled also throughout the British Empire as traders notably in Aden (which was largely built and run by Parsis), East Africa first in Zanzibar and then in what became known as Kenya, also they travelled east and were prominent in the China trade. This is the first of the modern diasporas that will be studied in this chapter. The second of the two modern Zoroastrian diasporas started in the 1960s. Parsis migrated, as many South Asians did, to the ‘New World’, to Britain, Canada, the USA and more recently to Australia and New Zealand. This later migration was different from that in the nineteenth century and those differences will be an important theme in this chapter. Parsis from East Africa joined Parsis in Britain in the 1960s-70s as the policy of Africanisation grew, especially from Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania.
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The revolution in Zanzibar forced them to leave the Emerald Isle in 1964. The Shah had favoured Zoroastrians and when he fell and the Islamic Republic in Iran was establishment in 1979 many Zoroastrian migrants and refugees fled the country, some went to Britain but most to Canada (particularly Toronto and Vancouver) and to the USA (some to New York, most to California). In the 1990s there has been some onward migration from Britain, especially to Canada, and some to Australia. In the last decades of the second millennium a number of young Parsis from Pakistan have studied in the West and settled fearing that growing Islamisation in the old country would make life difficult for religious minorities there. This second modern diaspora, therefore, is more global than the earlier one, and has involved Zoroastrians leaving various countries to settle in the New World. (Hinnells 2000 B: 335-65)
The First Modern Zoroastrian Diaspora The first Parsi known to have travelled to Britain was Nowroji R. Maneck who went to London in 1724 to protest at the injustice with which the East India Company had treated his family, refusing to pay monies due to his father and imprisoning the two brothers. He escaped and sailed to London where he stayed for a year. The Company found in his favour against their Indian representatives, refunded all monies due with interest and ordered the release of his brother. He had used the time in London to build trade relations and returned to Bombay a hero and a wealthy man. The other early traveller was Hirji J. Readymoney who, in 1756, was the first man to go to China for trade. In 1794 the Pallonjee family set up the first Parsi firm to be established in China. In the early 19th century many Parsis joined in the opium trade. The most prominent was Sir Jamsetji Jijibhoy [JJ] and Sons. JJ himself was the only non-European on the board of Directors of the biggest firm in the trade, Jardine Matheson and Company. It is estimated that he did £1,000,000 worth of trade, remitting to London £150,000 taxes annually. Apart from Europeans the Parsis were the biggest traders in the big centres of Canton and Shanghai, and later in Hong Kong. At first the traders stayed in the China Seas for only a few years before returning to Bombay. But by the mid 19th century families started settling so social and religious facilities were established. An Association was formally established in
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Canton and Hong Kong in 1845 and Shanghai in 1847. From the opium trade many Parsis diversified, for example into the hotel business; setting up the famous Star Ferry linking the island of Hong Kong with Kowloon on the mainland and forming the Hong Kong Landing Holding Company (the biggest such company in Hong Kong into the twentieth century). They played a leading role in establishing the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, the Chamber of Commerce and in the foundation of Hong Kong University. (Hinnells In Press) By the 1840s Parsis were also settling in Karachi, Zanzibar and London. The settlements were different: Hong Kong and Karachi were trading communities, the early settlers in Zanzibar were professionals (working for the Sultan in law courts, medicine and town planning). London was different again. The early Parsi visitors came to study British industry in London, Liverpool and Manchester, particularly the textile and ship building industries. (Hinnells 1996) Others came for postgraduate studies in Engineering (Manchester), Law (London) and Medicine (Edinburgh and London). A few of the early settlers were people who had made their fortune and chose to live at ‘the heart of empire.’ The first Indian firm in England was established in London and Liverpool in 1851. That was not a success, but within ten years others were established working in the import and export trades. There were three distinctive features of the Trust Funds based in London. First, they saw themselves as having international responsibilities, mostly arranging for the funerals of Parsis in Europe and America in their Brookwood cemetery purchased in 1861. They also used their position at the heart of Empire to press the Persian government to give their co-religionists in Iran greater justice. Second, in their founding document they emphasised their commitment to the study of Zoroastrianism both within and outside the community. Third, they generated a number of publications, some were intended to present their community and its religion in a good light to the rulers, others were written to give Parsis back in India an account of life in Britain. Much of it they admired, especially the pageantry associated with royalty, but above all the wonders of ‘modern’ technology. There were, however, aspects of Britain that they disliked, notably the dirty state of London, thanking God that Bombay was not as crowded and polluted. They could not understand why English gentlemen enjoyed doing their own gardening, and condemned the hypocrisy of parliamentarians, newspaper
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journalists and in the Church. The books about the religion emphasised the values shared with Christianity; namely that it was an ethical monotheism. The first three Asian Members of the British parliament were all Parsis: Dadabhoy Naoroji (Liberal, 1892-5); Sir Mancherjee Bhownaggree, (Tory, 1895-1906) and Shapurji Saklatwalla who stood first for the Labour Party then as a communist (the only one ever to be elected to the British Parliament) in the 1920s. Nauroji was highly influential as the leading person in the early years of the Indian National Congress. Bhownaggree’s political campaigns were for women’s rights, more technological education for people in India but his major concern was the rights of Indians in South Africa, in which cause he worked closely with Mahatma Gandhi. Saklatvalla was trenchant in his criticism of Imperial policies. The first two MPs were elected successive Presidents of the Parsi Association in London. Bhownaggree drew up the legal articles of Incorporation and sought to project an image of Parsis as an educated, cultured upper class group to the highest social grouping in London. He also led the moves to acquire the Association’s first premises in the West in 1920. (Hinnells 2000 B: 307-334) The Parsis in East Africa purchased a funeral ground in Zanzibar in 1882. Three years later this professional community persuaded the biggest Parsi merchants in the Indian Ocean, Cowasji Dinshaw and Brothers, to set up an office in Zanzibar, and the firm funded major developments and effectively ran the Association. The Cowasji Dinshaws were the pre-eminent firm in Aden, a flourishing port after the Suez Canal was opened in 1869 and the new steamers required a coaling station. The Cowasji Dinshaws ran a steamer service along the East Coast of Africa, to the islands and across the ocean to Bombay. The East African Railway was built in 1901 running from the port of Mombasa in land to what became the capital, Nairobi, and on into what became Uganda. Parsis were widely employed as engineers, doctors and managers responsible for building the port and major municipal buildings such as the town hall, and for setting up the judiciary and medical, financial and medical services in Zanzibar and Mombasa. An Association was formed in Mombasa in 1900 and in Nairobi in 1904. After World War II, Parsis, like other Asians in East Africa, took up many governmental and managerial roles previously the preserve of the British. Two Parsis, Keki Talati and Rustom Sidhwa, were successively the first two chairmen of the Zanzibar Township Council (1955-7) and another, Keki Madon, was made the
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Speaker of the original Legislative Council in Zanzibar in 1961. But when policies of Africanisation came to the fore in the 1960s Parsis, like other Asians, left some for India, a few to Canada but most to Britain. Similarly after the Revolution in Zanzibar in 1964, the Parsis left the Emerald Isle. (Hinnells In Press) The other major area of settlement in the first diaspora was Karachi. Although this city like Bombay was part of British India, it was sometimes seen as ‘overseas’ because much of the trade was undertaken by sea rather than through the difficult terrain on the overland route. In the sixty years from the early arrival in the late 1840s the Parsi settlement grew with dramatic speed – two temples, two schools, charitable housing, two charitable dispensaries and a Parsi Gymkhana for sports and social activities. Parsis were the major donors to the main hospital in Karachi, the Lady Dufferin Hospital built in 1894, fifteen years later they started a Parsi Maternity Hospital and started their own newspaper. This unique speedy and extensive community provision was remarkable for a population of less than 2,000. It happened for two reasons: firstly, Parsis made substantial fortunes as suppliers to the British in the Afghan Wars; as merchants especially in the Liquor trade, as hoteliers and later in shipping. Secondly, from the earliest days Parsis came to Sind to settle, whereas the early Parsis in the China Seas and East Africa came as transient business people and professionals. There they assumed they would return home to India once their fortune was made. In Sind they came to settle and so gave priority to community provisions. Parsis also contributed much to the state, and the nation when Pakistan was created. They funded an Engineering College, which became a University; Jinnah’s mentor, wife and doctor were all Parsis. Pakistan’s early leaders had good relations with the Parsis. The ‘Grand old man’ of Karachi was Jamshed Mehta, famed for his integrity and just administration as mayor of the city for many years as well as for his huge charitable benefactions. Parsis have always emphasised loyalty to the nation in which they live, so for example, in the Indo-Pakistan war there were Parsi generals on both sides. In Islamic Pakistan two of the country’s leading judges were Parsis: Mr Justice Dorab Patel was on the panel of three judges which sentenced Bhutto to death. Showing great independence Patel voted against Bhutto’s execution despite the known wishes of General Zhia. The other Parsi judge, Mr Justice Rustom Sidhwa, was elected by the United Nations to the bench in the Hague to judge Yugoslavian war criminals. Per-
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haps the most famous political Parsi is Jamshed Marker who served under successive Presidents as ambassador to Washington, to the United Nations, as spokesman for the non-aligned nations and was the Secretary General, Kofi Anan,’s special representative who ended the fighting in East Timor. (Writer 1994: 171-84; Hinnells In Press.) In short, in the first modern diaspora Parsis migrated around the British Empire, were successful in trade and contributed much to the countries they settled in. There appears to have been little international networking. The priest from Zanzibar occasionally travelled to the mainland to perform rituals; there was occasional contact between Parsis in Canton and Hong Kong and prior to partition there was contact between Karachi and Bombay. But the main international contact was back to Bombay. There was little or no networking between, say, Parsis in the China Seas and East Africa. Travel and communications made this difficult. When guidance was needed the judgements of the secular Punchayet in Bombay, or the priestly leaders, were consulted. The only centre that developed a significant religious infrastructure with its own authority was Karachi. In addition to the two temples, they also had a varasya, a consecrated bull whose hairs and urine were needed in certain rituals. It had been two hundred years before Bombay acquired such an important religious animal, but this was acquired in 1875 in Karachi giving them a degree of religious independence. This independence was asserted when Maneck N. Dhalla was made their Dastur, or high priest, after he returned from undertaking doctoral research on Zoroastrianism in New York in 1908. He was controversial in Bombay and labelled the Protestant Dastur because of the evident influence of western academic and religious thought on his teachings. The point, which few studies make, is that the diaspora Parsis contributed much of the wealth, which enabled the building of temples, hospitals and schools in India. The best known benefactor was Jamsetji Jijibhoy who was knighted by the British Government, and then made a baronet, in recognition of his munificent benefactions – the first Indian to be so honoured. He made his money from the opium trade in China. Many, in that China trade, were also the big benefactor back in India, for example the Banajis and the Dadiseths who each built one of the Atash Bahrams, or ‘Cathedral Fire Temples.’ Other notable Parsi benefactors involved in the China trade were the Wadias, the Petits and the Cama families who made several big benefactions. The traditional image of the centre and ‘power house’ of a
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religion being the traditional authorities back in the old country, drip feeding religious directives and blessings in a top-down model requires revision. Dhalla with his studies in the west and working as a Dastur, or High Priest, in the diaspora and Jijibhoy and Banaji from China funding major religious structures and activities in the old country had a fundamental impact on religious activity back in India.
The Second Modern Zoroastrian Diaspora In the 25 years following the end of the Second World War, Parsis migrated along with many others South Asians, to many different countries. Some went to the old diaspora centres, notably East Africa, but many more travelled to the West. Until the mid 1960s many went to Britain, notably people taking up posts in the new National Health Service. But in the mid 1960s the British Government, under strong public pressure, closed the door to new immigrants because of a fear that this small island could not cope with massive inflows of migrants. There was also racist concern that this ‘island race’ would be ‘swamped’ by people from a different culture and of different colour. However, as Britain’s doors closed legislation was introduced in Canada (1963), USA (1965) and Australia (1973) which opened their doors to immigrants. However, the immigration policies were different from those in Britain. There had been two key features of British policy. First, in the days of empire in theory any citizen of the empire had the right to settle in Britain (though few did). Second, Britain sought immigrants in the post war years to undertake manual labour in the rebuilding of British industry, and to do the jobs that the native British did not want. The majority of immigrants were therefore single, male, young manual workers. Canada, since the late 1960s, has seen immigrants as necessary, because of the substantial loss of able people to the States each year, and because of a shrinking ‘native’ population. But rather than manual workers they sought the highly skilled and devised a points system which could change as Canada’s needs changed. Typically well educated professionals were allowed entry. Older people, people with poor health who would cost rather than benefit the state were not admitted. (Hinnells 2000 B: 367-409) The USA and Australia followed similar strategies. The further difference in Canada was that a positive multi-cultural policy evolved which accepted ‘difference’ unlike the image that the USA has of
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wanting everyone to conform the notorious ‘melting pot.’ The result as far as Zoroastrians are concerned is that their communities in the ‘New World’ are younger than the general Parsi population of Bombay; they are very highly educated, in the States most are scientists, but in Canada the majority were professionals (academics, accountants, medical personnel). The growth of Zoroastrian Associations across the North American continent was dramatic. The history can be divided into two main eras: 1965-87, the period of settlement when an umbrella continental wide body was formed – the Federation of Zoroastrian Associations of North America (FEZANA), and 1987-2002 was the period of establishment. In the first period 20 Associations were started (the earliest were in Chicago, Toronto and Vancouver); six Zoroastrian buildings were opened, (four in the three year period 1983-6) the first in New York then Toronto and Chicago. Five Zoroastrian congresses were organised so that co-religionists spread across a vast continent could get together. In the later period another ten Associations were started and five more buildings opened. An umbrella organisation had been discussed for some time but many feared that such a body would seek to interfere in local Associations, especially on religious issues. It has not worked like that in fact. Its elected officers have no powers; these lie with the committees and the Associations. But it does facilitate networking and supportive collaboration. This is most visible in its excellent Journal with guest editors producing issues on key themes. It has proved so successful that the local newsletters have returned to their original role of informing readers about upcoming local events, arrivals and deaths etc. Few now seek to include much religious material, that is seen to be well done by the FEZANA Journal which takes care to balance materials of both an orthodox and a liberal nature. The organising of congresses mushroomed, with 25 held in 12 years. As well as general North American Zoroastrian congresses dealing with continental wide strategic planning, others have focussed on specifically religious themes for example on the Gathas (hymns of the prophet Zoroaster); on the holy book, the Avesta. Other meetings were held to develop a Zoroastrian business network. The congresses, which are generally seen as the most significant, are those organised by and for the youth. The first youth Congress was in 1987, by 1999 eight such congresses had been held. The first Zoroastrian World Youth Congress was held in California in 1993. Other youth activities included skiing parties, cruises in the Caribbean and between 1988 and 2000 there were sev-
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en ‘Zoroastrian Olympic Games.’ There is an acute awareness of the danger of young people drifting from the religion and from the community. Being so few across such a vast area, and not even grouped together in specific locations in cities where they have settled, it means that young people may meet a fellow Zoroastrians only once a month or less, but are in daily contact with non-Zoroastrian American/Canadian youth. The fear is not only of intermarriage, but a depletion of numbers because traditionally the children of a mother who marries out cannot be initiated (see further below). There is also concern that the young know too little about their religion and heritage to resist the temptations of the well-established, often evangelical, Christianity that they encounter daily. Religious Education in India is rare and generally consists of learning the key prayers before initiation. The crucial factor in India is identity, on being a Parsi or Zoroastrian, especially for people who live in the many housing colonies where religion is a way of life not so much a set of beliefs. Associations in the ‘New World’ seek to equip the youth with the knowledge of their heritage. This has resulted in a bigger Religious Education programme in North America than almost anywhere else in the Zoroastrian diaspora has (save perhaps in Pakistan in reaction to Islamisation). (Hinnells 2000 B: 411-30) The arrival of Iranian Zoroastrians in Canada and the USA inevitably impacted on the Parsi Zoroastrians. Viewing each other across the Hindu Kush the two communities saw each other with some affection as co-religionists. When they met in local Associations differences became transparent: language (few Iranians came with a good knowledge of English); food (Parsis think Iranian kebabs are insipid, Iranians think Parsi food too rich and spicy); festivals (urban Parsis had rarely followed the seasonal festivals, still strong in Iran). There were also basic religious differences. The majority of Iranian Zoroastrians were middle class urbanised people who had partly been influenced by some earlier Parsi reformist thinking and also had lived in a Muslim culture. They feared that the widespread Parsi devotion to various heavenly beings (Amesha Spentas and Yazatas) looked like polytheism. Many Parsis, especially in the old country, have a mantric understanding of prayer (the importance of prayer is not understanding but the power of the holy words recited in purity and devotion to make spiritual forces powerfully present) and attitudes to priests – traditionally respected by Parsis but viewed by some Iranians as belonging to a superstitious past. Tensions grew to the extent that
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separate Associations were formed (for example in New York and California). In some cases Iranians simply withdrew from the Associations, which they saw as Parsi ‘clubs.’ Indeed in some places, for example, in Los Angeles, they prefer to celebrate the great festivals, especially No Ruz, the New Year, with fellow Iranians, Muslim or Baha’i. Similar divisions and attitudes have grown in Australia, for example in Sydney and Melbourne. Many Iranians came as refugees whereas most Parsis (apart from the East Africans) came of their own free will to benefit from higher education or for better employment. Refugees typically have a sense of bereavement at the separation from the homeland, and in their enforced exile cling determinedly to the language and culture of the old country more than those who migrate for their own self-perceived benefit. (Writer 1994: 199-223) A controversial figure in the Zoroastrian world is Dr Ali Jafarey. As his name indicates, he was born a Muslim and studied in Karachi before working in Iran. He then moved to California where he worked mostly with Iranian Zoroastrians. In 1990 he started a new movement, the Zarathushtrian Assembly, which accepts converts of any background. He is a productive writer and his material appears in the Bombay produced journal Parsiana, as well as in his own journal and books. His group is very active on the Internet, as are some orthodox writers. The two sides rarely dialogue because they each write on their own site. Traditional Parsis vehemently oppose his teaching and his work. They state that he remains a Muslim and has not had his naujote performed. His writings against what he considers some of the superstitions in orthodox Parsi practice are strong but he himself rarely writes personal attacks, though his supporters do. It is said that they do not seek to proselytise, but rather just accept those who approach them (though I have myself been approached by one of his followers). He and his followers attack the purity laws and what they describe as the racist attitude of Parsis who will not accept converts. Their message is often informed by the writings of Dastur Dhalla, whose prayer book is reproduced in full on their website (though he himself always refused to initiate the children of intermarriages or to bless intermarriages). (Hinnells In Press) Internationally there is a problem of numbers for Zoroastrians. Their numbers are diminishing especially in India, as fewer people get married, because the high educational achievements of women mean that they wish to pursue a career, when they do marry they delay having children and so the population is not reproducing itself.
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(Karkal 1983; Writer 1994: 154-170) Because of the small size of the communities it is therefore, difficult to mount a programme of religious events covering a number of traditions. Where there is a building, that one location has to meet the needs of the elders and the youth; the first generation and the third generation; Parsis and Iranians; liberal and orthodox, so that tensions often occur within the small communities. This has surfaced in Australia. The earliest Association there was formed in Sydney in 1970, followed by one in Melbourne in 1978. At the dawn of the new millennium a number of newer and smaller associations are emerging, for example in New Zealand. Australia is seen by many Parsis as a desirable place to migrate to: it has the facilities of the West, safety, cleanliness, schools, universities and hospitals, but does not have the harsh winters of Canada and it is easier to gain entry than it is in the USA. The only Zoroastrian building in Australia is in Sydney. The story of its acquisition is a troubled one; the raising of the money, planning problems and troubles with neighbours which went to court for the Zoroastrians to be allowed to use the building they paid for almost prompted communal despair. Once a new building was opened in 1986 there followed fierce debates about its decoration with paintings, and whether it was unZoroastrian to have a Christmas tree in the hall during the Christian festive season. The community in Melbourne has considered raising funds for ‘A Place of our Own’ [APOO], but seeing the problems in Sydney and aware of the problems of a smaller group raising the money they have not proceeded. The Melbourne group embodies many of the difficulties faced by small groups, for example how to provide a programme that reflects disparate views? This is illustrated in their newsletter, where alongside pleas to the Iranian Zoroastrians to participate in the Association, appear cartoons either in Gujarati or obviously showing Parsis. As one of the newest Associations, with many people in the early years of settlement, ethnic practices are important. In Melbourne they have also addressed the question ‘what is a Zoroastrian?’ They debated whether the President of the Zoroastrian Association had to be a believing and practising Zoroastrian, and decided (s)he did not have to be religious to be a prominent Zoroastrian. (Hinnells In the Press) The second diaspora, like the earlier one, resulted in significant benefits to the old countries. Substantial funding has been sent to India. For example, the Jokhi Trusts in Hong Kong have funded large colonies for Parsis in the old priestly town of Navsari, and to the
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Parsi General Hospital in Mumbai. The Zarthoshty brothers (one living in Iran, the other in Canada) have given substantial funds for educational and medical projects in Mumbai, and for the running of the Atash Bahram in Yazd. Appeals from poor Parsis in India for funds for expensive specialist treatment in America have always met with generous response from diaspora Zoroastrians. Several of the famous Zoroastrians, of whom Indian Parsis are justly proud, have achieved their success in the diaspora, for example the (contrasting) musicians Zubin Mehta and Freddie Mercury. The outstanding diaspora initiative to bring major benefits in India is the work of the World Zoroastrian Organization (WZO). There had been repeated requests to the leaders in Bombay from the early 1960s to establish a world body which could make international appeals on behalf of any Zoroastrian groups facing serious threat, for example in East Africa, Iran or Pakistan. When it became clear that nothing was being done, a world body was established in London in 1980. It was started by Parsis in London (notably Dr (Mrs) Shirin Kutar and Shahpur F. Captain) strongly encouraged by the former Zoroastrian Deputy Prime Minister in Iran and Chancellor of the University of Shiraz, Professor Farhang Mehr. The project for which the WZO is best known is what is ‘The Poor Gujarati Parsi Farmers Project’. Two studies in the 1950s and 1960s had documented the extensive poverty among Parsis in rural Gujarat, but these lay gathering dust. Erachshah Gandhi in Surat took up the cause of the rural poor, with appeals to the Bombay Parsi Punchayet and at Zoroastrian World Congresses, but he had been ignored. He wrote to the newly established WZO, which commissioned its own report. The Bhaya Report based on fieldwork in 209 villages, was published in 1988. The first WZO cheque was sent in 1990. By 2000 it had raised sufficient funds to work in 149 villages, assisting 164 families with equipment (mostly wells, pumps and pipelines) to make the land sufficiently fertile to enable the farmers to make a reasonable living. It also helped with the purchase of such things as taxis to enable the poor to earn a living. The attention paid to this aspect of their work has, in the opinion of many WZO leaders, resulted in their opponents (mostly the established leaders in Bombay) overlooking their other good work. For example they have raised considerable funds for medical causes; supported young trainee and retired priests; opened an Old People’s Home in Navsari; renovated two Parsi chawls (homes for poor widows) in Mumbai, they have run several religious conferences and published the proceedings. A Mum-
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bai Parsi, Dinshaw Tamboly, oversees much of the work in India, but the initiative came from the diaspora. Another important diasporic initiative is the work of various people in Britain, Canada, the USA, Pakistan and WZO to help Iranian Zoroastrian refugees to obtain residency in the West. (Hinnells In Press) Many Zoroastrians consider the future of the religion lies not in the old country, but in the diaspora. The political situation in Iran is volatile and the long term prospects for Zoroastrians there are not clear. As noted above, the community in India is diminishing in size. In addition many of the Parsi buildings date from the nineteenth century and are in urgent need of repair. In the decade 1971-81 the Bombay Parsi population decreased by 20% (though it stabilised in the following decade), nevertheless, the death rate far exceeds the birth rate. In view of the remarkable educational and employment levels in North America (in New York and Chicago 92% of Zoroastrians have a degree, nearly 75% have a higher degree) many of them believe that the future of the religion lies there. In the year 2000 a Millennium Congress was held in Houston, the first time that a world congress had been held outside India and Iran. Some of the organisers suggested that just as with the migration to India at the turn of the previous millennium (in the tenth century) and the focus of the religion turned to India, so in the new millennium the focus will turn to North America. So far this chapter has given a brief overview of the various communities in the two diasporas. Clearly there are significant differences. The first diaspora was predominantly of businessmen, merchants trading in various parts of the British Empire. The second is pre-eminently of professionals, highly educated people, many of who originally travelled to the West for Higher Education, found employment and stayed on. Some came with their families because of employment possibilities. The first diaspora was exclusively Parsi, the second is more disparate with people from Iran as well as India, as well as from Pakistan and East Africa. Different groups have tended to migrate to different countries. For example, Iranians mostly went to North America, and specific places, the majority to Vancouver and California (Los Angeles and San Francisco), but others also went to Toronto and to New York. A few East Africans went to Canada, another member of the Commonwealth as Kenya was, but most settled in Britain. Some groups tend to migrate to a particular city, for example the Association in Houston has a high proportion of Parsis
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from Pakistan as a result of the considerable help given by one specific lady already living there. Parsis from India are in the majority of every Association, except that in Vancouver BC. (Writer 1994: 199223; Hinnells 2000 A)
Patterns of Settlement As a result of a Survey Questionnaire I undertook in Hong Kong, Kenya, Britain, America, Canada and Australia it is possible to trace patterns of which group of Zoroastrians tend to follow different trajectories of settlement. The Survey was undertaken in the 1980s, which was a key decade in the second Zoroastrian diaspora. It was the period when most Iranian Zoroastrians settled in the West; when East African Parsis came to power in Britain; it was the era of settlement in Canada and America and the time of growth in Australia. The Survey consisted of 170 variables and yielded 1,820 responses, it therefore generated a substantial data bank. (Hinnells 2000 B: 367409) Briefly, the Survey identified specific groups who tend to be less religiously active than others. The groups in which proportionately fewer practice the religion are the young who tend to pray less than the elders; the highly educated and people in executive level employment; scientists rather than Arts graduates; those without children, or single people; those who had their education in the West rather than those who were educated in the old country, especially those who did not have a religious education in childhood. There were also distinct patterns in the different nationalities: people from Pakistan (where there is a more active Religious Education programme than in India) tend to be more traditional; the Parsis from East Africa tend to be more conservative. Fewer Iranians than Parsis from Bombay practice the religion regularly, but more of them are concerned to ensure inmarriage and want to preserve their secular ethnicity (language, food, music and art). An important factor is where people migrate from in a country. People from rural Gujarat tend to be more orthodox and practice the religion more when compared to those from urban Bombay – it appears that life in such a cosmopolitan city prepared migrants for life in the West and so they tend to assimilate more quickly. The perception of the new countries also has an effect on patterns of assimilation, so in countries where the majority population
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is seen to be totally different or threatening, Chinese Hong Kong, the secularism of Britain, and the image of the melting pot in the USA, tend to make people keep to their own traditions more. In Canada, by contrast, with its government policies on multiculturalism and generous grants to religious minorities the ‘outside world’ is not seen to be such a threat, so that more Zoroastrians in Canada affirm their Canadian identity whereas in America more people assert their Zoroastrian identity. Gender is also a factor, because women tend to practice the religion more than the men do. More people who read and think in Gujarati or Persian practice the religion and affirm traditional beliefs than do people who only read and think in English. (Hinnells 1997 A) The various Associations tend to have different characteristics, even within the same country, for example the Survey discussed below showed that Zoroastrians from Chicago were less traditional than those in Houston, partly because of the proportion of Zoroastrians from Pakistan, and partly because of the influence of the early leaders. In such small communities, leaders have a significant impact. In all the countries studied, it is the people who live in what might be called scattered groups, in contrast to those who migrate to Zoroastrian centres with an Association and a building, who tend to be more liberal in their beliefs, practice the religion less and who are most likely to marry out. Networking with co-religionists is a major factor in the preservation of tradition. Because discrimination is a problem faced by many in all the countries studied I compared the responses of those who felt they faced discrimination with those who did not. Contrary to popular stereotypes, those who are most likely to think that they face discrimination are those born in the West, those who have married out of the community, those who undertook postgraduate education rather than those who completed their education at school level; it is scientists rather than Arts graduates and it is felt especially by those in the highest or executive class of employment. The common stereotype is that it is the people who will not assimilate, who keep closely in their own communities and the less educated, who face discrimination. My Survey showed the precise opposite, a conclusion with great importance for policy makers. (Hinnells In Press)
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Some Issues Being Addressed There are many issues facing the Zoroastrian diaspora. The problem of declining numbers has already been noted, but the problem is being aggravated, in the view of many, by the increasing numbers of intermarriages. Following a test case in the Bombay High Court in 1906, the formal policy has generally been that Parsis follow a patrilineal line of descent. The offspring of a Parsi male who has married a non-Zoroastrian can be initiated, but the children of a Parsi woman who has married out cannot be initiated. (Writer 1994: 106-49) Many have questioned this on the grounds of gender discrimination. In India, few priests will initiate the offspring of anyone, male or female, who has married out. The policies vary between diaspora communities. In Hong Kong, Kenya and Pakistan the Bombay policy is generally followed. In Australia, Canada and the USA most Association accept the offspring of either men or women who have married out. The policy in Britain is fluid. Until the 1990s the offspring of intermarried men or women could be initiated, though relatively few were. In the 1990s, largely under the influence of traditional Parsis from East Africa, the Bombay policy has generally been implemented, though in the smaller scattered groups around Britain intermarrieds are usually accepted. Within some American cities the position varies. In California, for example, the Traditional Mazdayasni Zoroastrian Anjuman opposes the initiation of any intermarried person, but the California Zoroastrian Centre does not. There are various orthodox arguments against initiating non-Zoroastrians, e.g. that one is born into a religion chosen for the soul by God, and to change religion is to go against the divine will. Others argue that religion is part of a person’s basic identity and that to change religion necessarily harms the individual psychologically. Further it is argued that since the soul of any good person will go to heaven, and Zoroastrianism has no unique access to God, changing religion is unnecessary. Some who believe in reincarnation argue that only the most evolved souls are born as Zoroastrians, and to reach that stage people should follow the ideals of the religions into which they were born so that they may become Zoroastrian in a future life. Many argue that intermarriage necessarily weakens the identity of the community. They assert that it is not racist to want to preserve the community identity providing one is not putting others down. They argue that Zoroaster did not convert, but reformed the religion into which he was born. The counter
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argument is that if Zoroastrianism is ‘the Good Religion’ then it should be open to anyone to join – though no one has yet called for active programmes of seeking converts. A distinction is drawn between the acceptance of those who want to join, and active proselytising. Most Zoroastrians take the view that the active search for converts has throughout history led to violence and oppression. The ‘liberal’ position is that Zoroaster must have converted for the religion to spread from his homeland in Northeast Iran to cover the whole of Iran. Further, many diaspora Zoroastrians argue excluding intermarrieds or their offspring will inevitably reduce numbers to vanishing point; it will divide families and drive the young people away from the community. Thus far, there has only been one known example of the acceptance of someone not descended from any Zoroastrian parentage, Joseph Peterson in New York in 1983. This caused a storm of protest both in India and in America, and at least publicly there has been no later example. (Hinnells 1987) The only diaspora Association whose constitution explicitly allows the initiation of people with no Zoroastrian parentage is the Zoroastrian Society of British Columbia based in Vancouver. The Iranian Zoroastrian beliefs and practices are somewhat different. In my Survey more Iranian Zoroastrians than Parsis objected to intermarriage. But when it happens, then it is accepted. They generally admit non-Zoroastrians into the prayer rooms, and often into the community. Their strong wish for in-marrieds is probably explained by their experience as refugees, exiled from the homeland and determined to preserve their culture and identity, but many of them see the orthodox Parsi attitude as racist. (Writer 1994) Leadership is often a major issue. In Hong Kong and the Zoroastrian Trust Funds of Europe, based in London, the authority of the high priests in India is widely accepted. But in North America, and in the World Zoroastrian Organization the authority of the secular powers in India, specifically the Bombay Parsi Punchayet, is challenged. They are widely seen as insular, as ignoring diasporic concerns and as not understanding life and pressures in the New World. In North America there are two priestly councils, the Parsi North American Mobed Council started in Toronto and the Council of Iranian Mobeds started in California. There is a general acceptance that the religion must and will change in the New World, though moves for change have been slow and cautious. To some extent change is inevitable because nowhere in the New World is there a fully conse-
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crated temple where the higher liturgies can be performed. But other changes are also mooted. Some of the traditional rituals are seen as too long to be followed in full by Zoroastrians experiencing the speed and pressures of life in the West. Many call for translations of the prayers to be made available so that the young people especially can understand their religion. The role of the priest is also changing. In India most (but not all) priests are full time and devote their life to a level of purity necessary for service in the fire temple. Their education is usually devoted to the learning of prayers and rituals by heart. In Zoroastrian thought the words of the holy book, the Avesta, are dead when written on a page, but living and powerful when recited in devotion and purity by a priest. The result is that relatively few priests have a high level of secular education (though there are various moves in Mumbai to change this). So although the service of a priest is important, many feel that the priests themselves are not well respected in such a highly educated community. In the diaspora, however, there are very few full time priests. Individuals of priestly descent who migrated for business, education or for professional reasons, agree to work part time as a priest for the religious welfare of their community. But few migrated expecting to be priests, and few have served in a temple in India. In social terms therefore the priests are respected, because they include doctors, scientists and lawyers, and they are seen to give generously of their time though there is an acceptance that their religious knowledge is not necessarily extensive. There have been numerous calls for priests in the diaspora to study Comparative Religion and Counselling so that they take a role more like that of Christian priests. An issue which growing is a sense of distance between the religious beliefs and practices in Mumbai and the diaspora. In India, Parsis are slowly becoming ‘Hinduised’ with an increasing belief in miracles, holy men (Parsi and non-Parsi), mantric interpretations of prayer, a growing interest in the occult and the following of some Hindu practices. (Hinnells 1997 B; Kreyenbroek 2001) In the New World, by contrast, there is an ever increasing emphasis on the rationality of Zoroastrian teachings, on the importance of understanding the meaning of prayers and being able to explain to the young and to outsiders the history and theology of Zoroastrianism. If Indian Parsis are becoming ‘Hinduised’ then western Zoroastrians are becoming ‘Protestantised.’ It would be easy to exaggerate the differences, since there are Parsis in India who emphasise rationality (sometimes the
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perception of what is rational differs) and some in America continue to hold occult beliefs and the associated practices, but the trend is both clear and strong. To an outsider it seems that the nature and perceptions of spirituality are different between the old and the new countries. Along this occult-rationality axis, Iranian Zoroastrians commonly stand nearer to the rationality than to the occult. The issues of leadership and a difference in religious trends naturally lead to the question of perceptions of the old country. Theoretical studies of diaspora commonly emphasise emotional ties, if not the wish for a return, to the ‘mother land.’ This is a complicated issue with Zoroastrians. Many Parsis think of India as the motherland, though this is less strong among Parsis from Pakistan and East Africa. It is most strong among those from rural Gujarat. But in many communities there has been a strong resistance to joining umbrella ‘Indian associations,’ for example in London, Hong Kong and until the end of the 1990s in Melbourne, on the grounds that many in the community are not from India. A substantial number of Parsis do, however, visit India at least once in three years, often more frequently. In part this is to visit families and friends, some have their children’s initiations or weddings performed there, and many like to visit the temples, above all the oldest of the great fires in Udwada which was consecrated over a thousand years ago when the Parsis arrived in India. This is a centre of pilgrimage for many both in India and from around the world. But even Parsis who feel a great affection for India commonly want to assert that they are not Indians, they are truly Persians. Although they felt compelled to leave Iran a thousand years ago, and until the twentieth century could not easily visit the country, nevertheless the perception of that as the real mother country is strong. When the Pahlavi dynasty came to power in the twentieth century they were encouraged by the Shah’s to return to their homeland. Some did settle, many more went for visits to see the birthplace of their religion, the country in which the religion flourished for nearly two millennia. Iranian Zoroastrians assert that they are the ‘real’ or original Persians in distinction from those who came as part of the Arab conquest of Iran. Two World Zoroastrian congresses have been held in Iran, the second in 1996, was particularly emotional in the visible support given by the Islamic authorities. The Hon’ble Vice President, Ayatollah Mohajerani declared at the Opening of the Congress to the assembled Zoroastrians from around the world: ‘This land is your own land.’ That is how almost all Zoroastrians view Iran, even if
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they have little hope of settling back there. In the 1990s there has been an increasing number of religious pilgrimages to Iran organised by Parsis in India, Britain and America. As well as visiting the temples, shrines and saying prayers on Mount Demavand, a mountain which plays a large part in ancient Persian mythology, there are always visits to some of the famous ancient sites, above all to the Achaemenid palace of Persepolis. Motifs from this site decorate the walls of most Zoroastrian homes, symbols from there appear on jewellery, headed paper, the logos of diaspora newsletters and in other personal apparel or spaces, especially in the prayer rooms. (Hinnells 1985:9,13f, 19, 122f., 124, 129 131 and 54f for Mount Demavand) In 2000 a group of young (under the age of 35) American Zoroastrians were filmed as they toured Iran, which resulted in the production of a highly professional video, ‘In the Footsteps of our Forefathers,’ by Tenaz Dubash. These highly articulate Zoroastrians spoke movingly of the depth of their emotion at visiting their real homeland. In 240 structured in depth interviews as part of my research on British Zoroastrians people were asked for their reaction to visits to the old country – either India or Iran. 82% of the youth said that they had visited the ‘old country’ – over half had been three times or more. 55% said that the visit gave them great pleasure, a higher proportion than the generation that migrated to the West in the 1960s. Another 41% said that they felt a stranger there, as did a similar number of their elders. Almost all commented on the dirt and corruption in India, but also affirmed that they felt at home with friends and relatives, in a family network they did not feel in the diaspora. In the 1980s western scholars spoke of young western Asians feeling caught between two cultures, that of their parents and that of the outside world. In the late 1990s there is an emphasis by other scholars who refer to young Asians as skilled cultural navigators who move easily between the two cultures on their own terms. My research suggests that different young people feel differently, some do feel caught, some feel at home in both cultures. But almost all of them feel an emotional tie to the old country, which most visit whenever they can. The involvement of New World Zoroastrians in interfaith activities varies with time and from one centre to another. The first centres to become actively involved were those in Vancouver and Chicago in the 1980s. British Zoroastrians only became involved in the activities in the 1990s, but are now as active as any centre throughout the diaspora. Zoroastrians face a particular problem: few outsiders know any-
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thing about the religion, indeed the name has been confused in several countries with Rastafarians! Because people have heard little about the world’s oldest prophetic religion, it has been assumed by some outsiders to be a new cult, raising protests from neighbours both in Canada and Australia about the Zoroastrians purchasing a building in their vicinity. The British Sunday newspaper, the Observer once produced a colour supplement with an ‘A-Z’ on cults, and listed Zoroastrianism. When Zoroastrians and interested academics protested, the newspaper’s editor simply remarked they needed something under ‘Z’ and was totally unconcerned about the offence this gave to Zoroastrians and their fears for how they and their children would be seen by outsiders. Taking part in interfaith activities, therefore, gives a degree of prominence and respectability, which they hope, will protect them from continued mocking in the media. In Chicago, for example, Zoroastrians took a prominent role in the 1993 World Parliament of Religions; in Britain they have become one of the nine ‘recognised’ religions whose leaders are invited to state religious occasions, for example at Buckingham Palace, Westminster Cathedral and at functions hosted by the Prime Minister. There may, however, be some unforeseen consequences. Little study has been made of the impact of interfaith activities on participants from the smaller religions. In Vancouver, for example, one interfaith event involved the performance of a prayer ceremony at which Muslims would be present. The committee therefore decided to change the wording of the translation of the Avesta prayers so that they would not appear to be polytheists. The people who are asked to represent the community are those who are good at communicating with the outside world, they are not always the people who most clearly represent traditional views. There is a danger that their accounts of Zoroastrians may be anodyne and intended to impress rather than talk about some common practices which it is thought outsiders would not respect, for example emphasising the importance of good thoughts, good words and good deeds, but saying nothing about the impact of the purity laws on women’s’ attendance at religious ceremonies. That anodyne account can become the official account of the religion within as well as without the community. (Hinnells In Press)
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Conclusion The many studies of Zoroastrians, which neglect the diaspora communities, are omitting a major feature of the religion’s history. The modern migrations have funded many of the projects and supported institutions and people in the old countries. Diaspora Zoroastrians have also contributed significantly to their new countries, whether it is politics in Britain and East Africa, education and commerce in Hong Kong and Pakistan, or the remarkable education and employment skills in the New World (including Australia). The first of the modern migrations, that in the nineteenth century, was mainly of merchants, many of whom took only temporary residence in the new country. In contrast the twentieth century migrations have been of educated professionals and scientists, and have been composed almost wholly of people moving to settle permanently bringing their families with them. Zoroastrianism is now practised in more countries than at any time in its long history. But because each community is small and scattered (Hong Kong and Karachi apart), and because the very qualities which make them so successful are also the qualities which tend to be associated with people who practice the religion less, there is a real danger that the global migrations further threaten the long term future of the religion, which is already under such threat of diminishing numbers in India. But there are counter indicators that are hopeful for the future of Zoroastrian diaspora communities. The great majority of my informants asserted that they were more religious after migration than they had been in the old country. Further, the younger people born in the West are asserting their religious identity as a marker of their distinctiveness. It was noted earlier that fewer young people than their elders prayed daily, nevertheless two-thirds of my respondents under the age of twenty-five said that they prayed daily, a far higher proportion than is likely to find in the general populations in the West. The commitment of some parents to ensure that their young preserve their religion can be remarkable. One couple in Greater New York drove nearly 150 miles each way to take their children to the monthly Sunday school classes. The preservation of both secular culture and religion is at the forefront of planning in most diaspora communities so that the world’s oldest prophetic religion may continue for generations to come.
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Bibliography Ballard, R. (1994). Desh Pardesh: The South Asian Presence in Britain. London: Hurst. Boyce, M. (2000). Zoroastrians: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices, reprinted London: Routledge. —. (1977). A Persian Stronghold of Zoroastrianism, reprinted 1989. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hinnells, J. R. (1985). Persian Mythology. London: Newnes. —. (1987). ‘Parsi Attitudes to Religious Pluralism.’ In H. Coward (ed.), Modern Indian Responses to Religious Pluralism. Albany: SUNY Press, 1955-233. —. (1996). Zoroastrians in Britain. Oxford: Clarendon Press,. —. (1997 A). ‘Comparative Reflections on South Asian Religion in International Migration.’ In Hinnells (ed.), The New Penguin Handbook of Living Religions. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 819-47. —. (1997 B). ‘Contemporary Zoroastrian Philosophy.’ In B. Carr and I. Mahalingam, Companion Encyclopaedia of Asian Philosophy. London: Routledge, 64-92. —. (2000 A). ‘The Zoroastrian Diaspora in Britain, Canada and the United States.’ In H. Coward, J. Hinnells and R. B. Williams (eds.), The South Asian Religious Diaspora in Britain, Canada, and the United States. Albany: SUNY Press, 35-54. —. (2000 B). Zoroastrian and Parsi Studies, Selected Works of John R. Hinnells. Aldershot: Ashgate. (pp. 303-430 are relevant to this topic). —. (in press) The Zoroastrian Diaspora: Religion and Migration. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Karkal, M. (1983). Survey of Parsi Population of Greater Bombay – 1982. Bombay: Parsi Punchayet. Kreyenbroek, P. (2001). Living Zoroastrianism: Urban Parsis Speak about Their Religion. Richmond: Curzon, Press. Kulke, E. (1974). The Parsees in India: A Minority As Agent of Social Change. Munich: Weltforum Verlag. Writer, R. (1994). Contemporary Zoroastrians: An Unstructured Nation. Lanham: University Press of America.
MOBILIZING SEVA (“SERVICE”): MODES OF SIKH DIASPORIC ACTION1 ANNE MURPHY
He who serves selflessly, meets the Lord.2
Abstract This paper considers the role of Seva, or social and religious service, within the formation of Sikh religious and social subjects in diaspora. Seva relates to a broader Sikh religious orientation, and diasporic processes of remembrance of and interaction with both the ‘homeland’ of Punjab (in India and Pakistan), and the various nation-states that Sikhs now are citizens of a multiple orientation that is typical of diasporas. In particular, I draw attention to the role of Seva as a form of diasporic action that has offered a potential alternative to militant political modes of action related to the Khalistan movement, which has sought an independent Sikh state in India-modes that in recent 1 Research for this article was undertaken while in India and the U.K. on a Fulbright-Hays Dissertation Research Grant in 2002 and in New York City in 2001. Sincere thanks to the many people who gave generously of their time and information, as reflected in the article. Thanks also to Rishi Singh, formerly of the National Institute for Punjab Studies, and Mankanwal Singh Sehmi of USSA (United Sikhs in Service of America) for pointers they gave. Special thanks to Manjit Singh Bedi of Dera Baba Nanak and Phagwara for his generous help, and to members of the Sikh sangat (community) in Leeds, Southall, Leicester (particularly Gurdeep Sian), and Birmingham for their remarkable hospitality, and especially to Harpreet Singh Toor in New York. An early version of the September 11 material was first published on “asiasource.org,” as a part of the Asia Society’s extensive Web coverage of September 11; a more developed version was presented in Chennai in May 2002 – thanks to the American Consulate of Chennai and the Sikh Social Society of Chennai for sponsoring that event. Thank you to Partha Chatterjee, Gregg Currie, John Stratton Hawley, Susan Murphy, Gurdeep Sian and Rupa Viswanath for critical readings of all or part; all remaining omissions and errors are my responsibility alone. Please note that all website addresses were valid as of August 31, 2002 and may be transitory. The material presented in this article is part of a larger ongoing project. 2 This selection from the canonical sacred scripture of the Sikhs, the Adi Granth or Guru Granth Sahib, is featured on a fund-raising leaflet produced by the Nishkam Sikh Welfare Council in New Delhi (see below). The Adi Granth contains the writings of six of the ten Sikh Gurus (the first through fifth, and the ninth); before his death, the tenth living Guru (Guru Gobind Singh) conferred Guruship upon the text and ended the tradition of living Guruship.
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years have lost power within the mainstream Sikh diaspora community (Thandi 1996). Thus, while the Khalistan issue has been of central importance in the determination of Sikh positions – religious, political, and diasporic–as other authors have argued, Seva represents a mode of transnational diasporic intervention that has accompanied, and in some cases supplanted, the Khalistani-mode. Finally, I argue that this realm of social and religious action must be considered broadly, outside the Sikh case as well, as both a potential alternative to militant political action or as deeply implicated in it. Current debate over international philanthropy alludes to both such two possibilities.
Introduction “It is part of our religion,” said Kulwinder Singh, a taxi-driver in New York City. “This is the main thing in Sikhism.” Mr. Singh speaks of seva or “service” – in this case, the provision of free transportation by Sikh taxi drivers to volunteers aiding in the rescue effort, and family and friends of victims after the destruction of the World Trade Center towers on September 11, 2001 in New York City. Sikhs were not alone in their efforts to help out: New York City’s diverse residents rallied together to aid in the rescue and cleanup efforts, and assist those searching (and then grieving) for those lost. Yet, Sikhs and others of South Asian descent and/or Muslim background chose to contribute time and resources at the same time that many were targeted in bias and back-lash attacks in the weeks following September 11 (Goodstein and Lewin 2001; Goodstein and Niebuhr, 2001; Lewin and Niebuhr. 2001; SAALT 2002; et al.).3 The Sikh response to the World Trade Center tragedy – described by Kulwinder Singh and others as Seva or “service” – represents a mode of response shaped within a larger framework of Sikh social
3 See below. Indices of backlash-related articles have been compiled by several organizations, such as the Alliance of South Asians Taking Action (http://www.asata.org/resources/articles/hatebacklash/index.htm) and South Asian Journalists Association (http://www.saja.org/roundupsept11.html#backlash); the life span of these sites, however, may be limited. SAALT (South Asian American Leaders of Tomorrow 2002) published a study of bias crimes reported in the media in the first week after September 11, available at http://www.saalt.org/biasreport.pdf. See also “America’s Sikhs: Taking the Brunt – and Action” in Nishaan, Volume IV, 2001, p. 7 ff.
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and religious action. This article will focus on forms of Seva in the contemporary Sikh diaspora, and consider the role of Seva in the formation of Sikh diasporic subjectivities. Seva relates to a broader Sikh religious orientation, and complex processes of remembrance of and interaction with both the “homeland” of Punjab (in both India and Pakistan), and the various nation-states that Sikhs now are citizens of – a dual and multiple orientation that is typical of diasporas, as noted by many (Werbner 2000, 5, et al.; Vertovec 1999a; see also citations in Vertovec 1999b: 449). This is not to argue for a static and neatly binary relationship between a fixed home and “away,” as will be discussed, but to account for a range of interactions that persist transnationally among communities and individuals. Various forms of Seva take their place alongside the financial remittances that have maintained economic connections between India and its diaspora communities for decades, for both Sikhs and non-Sikhs (La Brack 1989; Shandi 1996; Tatla 1999: 64-66; Werbner 1990, et al.). Shinder Thandi’s work on such diasporic economic linkages between Punjab and the Sikh diaspora has identified philanthropic engagements (referred to here generally under the rubric of Seva) as one of several important modes of diasporic financial engagement with Punjab, and one that continues to thrive while “official” schemes to involve NRIs (“Non-Resident Indians”) in the Punjab economy languish (Thandi, 2000: 336; Thandi 1996). Much has been written about the construction of the Sikh diaspora in relation to the Khalistan movement of the 1980s and 1990s, which sought the establishment of an independent and sovereign state – “Khalistan” – roughly in what is now the Indian State of Punjab (Axel 2001; Ballard and Tatla in Barot 1993; Madan 1998; Tatla 1999, and many others). Certainly the Khalistan movement has played a key role in the formation of Sikh diasporic religious and transnational political identities in the last 15-20 years – and thus Axel (2001: 7) is somewhat justified in arguing that “studies of the Sikh diaspora, today, cannot help but become intertwined in political discourses about the Sikh quam.” However, other modes of transnational diasporic intervention have accompanied (and in some cases may be associated with) the Khalistani-mode, and continue. One such mode is Seva. Seva must be considered as a mode of action and discursive engagement alongside Khalistani forms of political action that have occupied a central and over-determined place in Sikh discourse – and even more so in academic and mainstream discourses
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about Sikhs – since the early 80s (and, arguably, before). Thus there is some validity to Axel’s observation that the fight for Khalistan has “effectively transformed what it means to be Sikh” (Axel 2001: 157), but it is not solely or uniquely constitutive of Sikh modes of being. 4 My aim here is to bring some detail to aspects of Sikh philanthropy and activism, framed within the cultural and religious rationale of “Seva,” in order to begin to provide specificity to the kinds of exchanges that characterize diasporic worlds (Brah 1996: 183), and draw attention to the role of Seva as a form of diasporic action that has offered a potential alternative to more militant political modes of action – modes that in recent years have lost power within the mainstream Sikh diaspora community (Thandi 1996). The relationship between political and apolitical modes of action is, in light of the “problem” of Khalistan, complex. Many interviewed for this article asserted the apolitical nature of Seva, as other than the political identified with the Khalistan movement and as defined as insurgency by the Indian state. Seva is not, in these discursive contexts, meant to subvert the Khalistani mode of action, but to operate within a separate sphere altogether. After presenting different forms of Seva engaged in diaspora, I will return to the question of political action and its relationship with Seva within diasporic contexts. In doing so, I focus on forms of Seva with particular transnational and/or national trajectories – there are many more types of Seva that can be named, besides these. It must also be noted at the outset that Seva is not an exclusively Sikh phenomenon, and is an important part of many South Asian religious traditions.5 It is strongly emphasized in contemporary Sikh
4 I am not alone in this assertion. Gerald Barrier’s review of Axel (2001) notes the limitation of an exclusive focus on Khalistan: “His main argument, that Khalistan efforts and violence in the Punjab are threads which have constituted the diaspora as a community, is overdrawn and inaccurate. More careful, fact-based studies, such as Darshan Singh Tatla’s monumental The Sikh Diaspora (University of Washington Press, 1999), suggest a more complex situation, with competing groups and a gradual evolution of centrist politicians who now control most Sikh diaspora institutions.” (Journal of Asian Studies, May 2002, Volume 61, Number 2, pages 741-743). 5 There are countless examples of (and meanings for) “Seva” in non-Sikh as well as Sikh contexts. The rhetoric of Seva can encompass a range of philanthropic activities of widely different political and social orientations, including social uplift and economic development projects such as the famous Sewa movement (Rose 1992); Asha for Education; the “National Gandhi Day of Service” instituted by SAALT (South Asian American Leaders of Tomorrow) and inaugurated at the University of Michigan, see www.gandhiday.org; the Seva Foundation, a California-based philan-
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practice and discourses, however, and commonly presented by Sikhs as one of the most fundamental features of Sikh religious life (see below). I examine its role in this context without denying its importance in others.
Seva in Sikh Tradition Contemporary examples of Seva – such as those outlined below – are commonly framed discursively in relation to historical and hagiographical narratives, as well as theological injunctions. The Sikhs are disciples of ten gurus (‘teachers’), who all are said to carry the light (jyoti) of the first, from Guru Nanak (1469-1539) to Guru Gobind Singh (1666-1708, Guru 1675-1708). The word “Sikh” is derived from the Punjabi verb “sikhna,” “to learn.” Guru Nanak, the founder and first of the ten, spent many years as a wandering religious teacher, but ultimately chose to found a village and promote a settled, householder-oriented communal life among his followers. Key elements of the community included congregational worship and the communal sharing of food (langar) (McLeod 1980; Grewal 1990: 3941, 48). The importance of the latter must not be overlooked: open and equal access to food is revolutionary in a society where hierarchical ritual status is articulated and enforced partially in commensuality restrictions (McLeod 1976: 86-88). Within Sikh tradition, Langar is famously associated with the third Guru, Amardas (1479-1574, Guru 1552-1574), at his centre in Goindwal. Partaking of Langar at Goindwal is considered essential, and the size of its operation today – like thropy co-founded by Ram Dass; and Sewa International – a UK-based international philanthropic agency associated with the HSS (Hindu Swayamsevak Sangh) and the RSS (Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh) (Bhatt 2000; Mathew and Prashad 2000); see below on the RSS. Different terminology but similar commitments and action are also prominent in Muslim contexts (Werbner 1990). In general, “Seva” also connotes a wide range of selfless and altruistic action, including ritual actions within a Hindu temple, the provision of service for an elder, respected person, or Guru, et al. See Mayer 1981 on Seva (and particularly disinterested Seva – see below) in an Indian village. In addition to more religious motivations behind Seva, Mathew and Prashad (2000) attribute much philanthropy among middle-class migrants to a feeling of guilt at having left behind a relatively impoverished land. Philanthropy is an important larger cross-cultural topic (see for example Scheewind 1996), and also must be understood in contemporary forms in the South Asian context in relation to historical precedents (as reflected in Sharma 2001 and many others, including historical traditions related to patronage et al.). This article does not address these larger contexts.
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that at Amritsar, in the darbar sahib6 – is striking. At Darbar Sahib, according to its Information Office, 40,000 people are served on an average day in the Langar hall, while one lakh, or 100,000 people, are served on holy days (gurpurab) or weekends.7 Langar is a quintessential form of Seva, and is ubiquitous at religious sites, both in India and elsewhere. One famous and oft-referred to historical example of Seva is the service of Kanhaiya (1648-1718), a follower of the last of the ten Sikh Gurus and founder of the Khalsa in 1699, Guru Gobind Singh. After the fifth Guru’s death at the hands of the Mughal authorities, the Sikh Gurus had adopted an increasingly militant stance in defence of their growing and increasingly prominent and self-conscious community. By the time of Guru Gobind Singh, open conflict arose with the chiefs of nearby states in the Punjab Hills, and local Mughal authorities based at Sirhind and Lahore. After a major conflict, Kanhaiya was brought to task before Guru Gobind Singh by other Sikhs for providing water and solace to all the injured on the battlefield, regardless of whether they were Sikh or not. Instead of chastising him, Guru Gobind Singh is said to have praised Kanhaiya, and told him to continue his ministrations.8 Stories about Seva as a binding force between the Gurus and their disciples, and later among Sikh adherents in general, form an important part of Sikh historiography and the articulation of relationships with the Gurus, Sikh heroes and martyrs.9 Yet, although the foundation of Langar and other forms of Seva are thus situated in a historical past, it is a past that is reconstituted in the present through the production Also known as the hari mandir, or Golden Temple. Based on information provided by Gurbachan Singh, Information Officer at the Golden Temple, interviewed in the Central Information Office on April 26, 2002. The raw material for Langar is bought (usually dal or lentils are bought in Delhi) or donated (as is often the case with wheat and rice). Vegetable curries and dal are made by paid employees to avoid mistakes, but volunteers do nearly everything else, from making chapati to cleaning plates and serving visitors. See also Kaur 1983: 88. it should be noted that Langar was not an exclusively Sikh phenomenon, and was a part of sufi centers (khanquah) as well. 8 The “Seva Panthis” or “People on the path of Service” consider themselves in the lineage of Kanhaiya, and continue his service into the present. Bhai Sewa Ram (1658-1728) succeeded Kanhaiya, and Sant Tirath Singh is the current and 12th leader of the Sewa Panthi Addan Shahi Sabha. For more on Kanhaiya and the Sewa Panthi organization, see Hira, 1988 and 1990. 9 The roles Seva plays in the historiography of the Gurus, and particularly families associated with Guru Gobind Singh, will be covered in my forthcoming doctoral dissertation. 6 7
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and reproduction of Sikh historical narratives in relation to contemporary practices.10 These stories are utilized to emphasize the importance of Seva in Sikh tradition, binding the community together in a shared past and theology. An oft-repeated maxim, attributed to the first Sikh Guru, Guru Nanak – which I have heard many times while researching this article – is “kirat karo; naam japo, vand chakko.”11 This is presented as a guiding principle of Sikhism: “work hard, recite the name [of God], and divide and share [one’s wealth].” Seva is explicated further in the bani or sacred writings of the Gurus, where service to the community and to God is promoted as an essential part of religious action.12 The importance of Seva is outlined in later literature as well, such as Chaupa Singh’s Rahit Nama of the mid-eighteenth century.13 Manjit Singh (Jathedar, Takhat Keshgarh Sahib, Anandpur) makes parallels between martyrdom and Seva – both involve “absolute sacrifice,” the abolition of attachment to the self (manmukh) and attention to God
10 Articles in the recently founded magazine Nishaan, make analogies between Bhagat Puran Singh, the founder of Pingalwara, a charitable hospital and hospice for the handicapped and abandoned in Amritsar, and “Bhai Kanahayya the founder of Sewa Panthi, our precursor of the Red Cross.” Comparisons are also made with Mother Theresa – Puran Singh representing an indigenous and less-recognized Indian equivalent. (See Prashad 1997 for a compelling critique of Mother Teresa’s approach to her work.) 11 This maxim was repeatedly given in interviews as the paramount articulation of the importance of Seva in Sikh tradition. Although the creed is not found in a particular Sikh text in this exact form, a version of it is found in Ardas (see Barrow 2000: 56-58; McLeod 1989: 2). 12 For extensive explorations of Seva in Sikh writings, particularly the writings of the Gurus, see Kaur 1998 and Singh. B. 1998 (there is some overlap between the two). 13 There are multiple injunctions towards generosity and the feeding of others in Chaupa Singh’s text, as well as specific references to service (of different kinds, often associated with the dharamsala); see verses 22-27, 32, 40, 48, 63, 66, 69, 73, 76-7, 88, 101, 111, 120, 136, 146, 153, 157, 270-3, 389, 392, 398, 404, 418, 486 (McLeod 1987). See Jeevan Deol 2001, fn. 31 on the use of “sevak” to refer to Nanak Panthis, in Chaupa Singh’s Rahit Nama and the inappropriate association of the term with Seva in general in verse 60. This discussion of Seva in Sikh historical and theological writings and theology is cursory, given the focus of this article on diasporic action. (For a general introduction to Seva and its role among Gurdwara congregations in Southall, see Barrow 2000.) 14 Interview, March 8, 2002. A Takhat is a seat of authority. There are five Takhats in Sikh tradition: the Akal Takhat, located across from the Darbar Sahib in Amritsar; Sri Takhat Keshgarh Sahib in Anandpur; Sri Damdama Sahib in Talwandi Sabo in Malwa; Sri Hazoor Sahib in Nander, Maharastra and, lastly that in Patna, Bihar. The first three are all located in Punjab, India. The Jathedars (appointed leaders) of the Takhats have a special authoritative status in the Sikh community, and take decisions that are generally considered binding on all members of the community. There are many other popular articles written about Seva; I cannot include them all here.
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(gurmukh).14 According to Bhai Mohinder Singh of the Guru Nanak Nishkam Sevak Jatha in Birmingham (U.K.) (see below), Seva occupies a paramount position in Sikh practice and theology, alongside nam simran – the remembrance and recitation of the sacred name of God. He emphasized that to attempt to understand the action of Seva without understanding its religious meaning makes the work described below contentless and pointless. The religious nature of Seva, and its importance in building personal character and corporate ethics, is essential to its being.15 Seva thus represents a type of discourse as well as form of action, and as such provides a means for articulating social and religious values within a wide range of diasporic actions and relations. A key aspect of Seva emphasized by Bhai Mohinder Singh and others is that it must be nishkam – done without benefit to the one performing the act, and without attachment to the fruits of action.16 This is not a uniquely Sikh concept – it is a key part of South Asian religious traditions in general, and is known most famously in Hindu contexts as expounded by Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita. Nishkam Seva is the ideal – a means by which to humble the self, and serve God through ministrations to others. It has much also to do with the general practice of Guru-Seva – reverence for the Guru as the Lord (Gold 1987) – and the devotional sentiment of dasya, the mode of approaching the Lord in the guise of a devoted servant. Seva – and particularly Nishkam Seva – is generalized in Sikh and other discourses as service to all. Through such service, one serves God and humbles the self (haumai, hunkar). Seva is thus described historically and theologically. It forms a continuing aspect of the Sikh congregational present, particularly in the form of Langar and other forms of direct service to the community at the gurdwara (the “gateway to the Guru,” or Sikh congregational centre). After fire destroyed the Sikh Cultural Society building in Rich15 Multiple interviews, July 2002. Representation of the nature of character building through Seva varies contextually. Among Fateh volunteers, who are relatively young – under 35 – service is described in personal terms: by serving others, one develops the self. All those interviewed in the Chandigarh office emphasized that they were involved for their own sake, not for the sake of others. This was not the orientation expressed in the Nishkam Welfare Society, for example, where service of people was seen to be a mode of service of God and personal benefit was downplayed. 16 To be completely Nishkam (selfless) is difficult to prove, and often debated (Mayer 1981: 164; described in numerous interviews).
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mond Hill, Queens (the oldest Gurdwara in New York City, founded in the mid-1960s) in the Spring of 2002, the Gurdwara became unusable to its congregation for services and Langar. Rather than discontinue the communal meal, the congregation chose to serve the meal outside and in private homes until an alternative site was found. As Richmond Hill Gurdwara Trustee Harpreet Singh Toor put it, “the real dedication of the people is shown here, doing all this.”17
The Sikh “Diaspora”: A Snapshot In diaspora – a term used here loosely to denote any community situated outside of its purported “homeland” or with a sense of dispersal – Sikhs engage in Seva in new national and religious environments.18 Large numbers of Sikhs – some one or more million of a total of around 20 million – live outside India, with large communities in Canada, the U.S., the U.K., East Africa, Fiji, Singapore, and elsewhere.19 In this article, I provide a number of examples of Seva with reference to two diaspora Sikh communities – in Birmingham, England and New York City (particularly Queens). I’ll first note some details about these two contexts, which represent different historical processes of formation. According to the 2000 U.S. Census approximately 215,000, or 2.7 percent, of New York City’s 8 million residents identified themselves in one of the categories from South Asia, making New York City home to one of North America’s largest South Asian populations. Approximately twice that number live in the greater New York Metropolitan area, which spans parts of three states.20 Since data on reli17 Information provided over email by Harpreet Singh Toor, March-April 2002. See Fries 2002a; Fries 2002b, Saulny 2002. Faulty wiring caused the fire. 18 Brah 1996: 181 ff. On different modes of use of the term and idea of “diaspora,” see Vertovec 1999. This article cannot address the problematic nature of the categories of “diaspora” and “home”; such a binary and oppositional relation obscures more than it reveals. The relative importance of these locations in the formation of diasporic subjects also varies, with possibly dramatic political results (see Axel 2001; Mathew and Prashad 2001). 19 Estimates of the community’s size vary widely. Tatla 1999 estimated the community to be 16 million strong, with 1 million outside of India. Other estimates for both are higher. The Sikhs are also dispersed in India itself, though the majority remains in Punjab. 20 U.S. Census information is as published on the World Wide Web by the U.S. Census Bureau; South Asian categories include Asian Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi,
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gious affiliation is not collected in the U.S. census, estimates of the numbers of Sikhs vary widely, from 250,000 to 400,000. 21 According to Harpreet Singh Toor, Trustee of the Sikh Cultural Society in Richmond Hill, Queens, there are roughly 100,000 Sikhs in the greater New York area; as many as 7500 would normally attend services at the Gurdwara on a given gurpurab or holy day.22 The first Gurdwara in the United States was founded in 1912 in Stockton, California by a small group of Sikh immigrants, who were part of a larger Punjabi migration to California and western Canada in the beginning of the twentieth century (Leonard 1992). Immigration from Punjab ceased in 1924, with the passage of the Immigration Act of 1924, which put in place the first restrictions on immigration in the United States, and set up quotas based on National Origins. The year before, South Asians were deemed by the U.S. Supreme Court to be “Asian” rather than “Caucasian” (as they were originally deemed, legally); this brought them under the jurisdiction of anti-Asian immigration laws that had previously been directed primarily at Chinese and Japanese immigrants. The situation dramatically changed in 1965, with the Immigration and Naturalization Act of 1965. This legislation (1) abolished the national origins quota system, and (2) established a detailed preference system based on professional or occupation skills needed in the United States, and family unification (Coward, et al., eds., 2000: 213-217; Prashad 2000: 43-4). It was in this period and Sri Lankan. According to the same census, there are approximately 1.7 million South Asian Americans in the United States, or .6% of the U.S. population of 280,000,000; this represents a growth of over 105% from 1990 numbers (the time of the last national census), making the Asian Indian population the fastest growing of Asian groups in the U.S. (Chaya CDC 2002, 5-6). South Asian Americans are a diverse group, hailing mostly from India, but with significant numbers also from Pakistan and Bangladesh, as well as Guyana and Trinidad. For an overview with a focus on the New York City community, see Chaya CDC, 2002. 21 Lower number from the Pluralism Project at Harvard University, higher number from The Sikh Mediawatch and Resource Task Force. For the sake of comparison: the Council on American Islamic Relations currently estimates the Muslim population of the United States to be seven million (www.cair-net.org). The organization estimates 2000 mosques, Islamic centers and schools in the U.S.A. According to the Pluralism Project (Harvard University, www.pluralism.org) in 2000 there were six million Muslims in the United States and 1729 Muslim centers/schools/mosques. See also Bagby et al. 2001. 22 Normal attendance at the Gurdwara was estimated by Toor, very roughly, as: 700 per day Monday through Thursday, 1500 per day Friday and Saturday, 3000 on Sundays, and as many as 7500 on gurpurabs. (Email correspondence, July 2002.) These figures are valid before the destruction of the Gurdwara by fire in the spring of 2002; see below.
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that the U.S. South Asian community (and with it, the Sikh community) began to take the form it has today (Angelo 1997; Barrier, N.G. and Verne Dusenbery (eds.) 1989; Pashaura Singh and N.G. Barrier, eds. 1996; et al.). New York City in particular has, since 1965, received a large number of new immigrants, leading it to become one of the largest communities of Sikhs outside of Punjab in the world, rivalling the large communities in the United Kingdom (see below). A large influx of Sikhs arrived in New York during the 1980s and early 90s; some fled the violence that engulfed Punjab at that time, but few were officially granted asylum status in the U.S. (Tatla 1999, 58-61). The Punjabi and Sikh character of many of England’s South Asian communities is strikingly declared at the British Rail stop for Southall, in London, for example, where the location name is written in English and in the Gurmukhi script.23 The Sikh community of the U.K. is sizable in relation to both the overall population of Britain, and the overall South Asian population. According to the 1991 census, 835,000 of Britain’s 51 million people identified themselves as “Indian” on the census – this constitutes 1.6% of the population.24 An accurate estimate of the Sikh population is difficult to get, since religious information is not included in the census in the U.K., as in the U.S.25 The Birmingham City Council in 1996 estimated the Sikh population of Britain to be 45% of those who self-identified as Indian, putting the population at 378,400, or .7% of the population of Britain (Race Relations Unit: 9).26 The largest concentration of Sikhs is in the 23 Punjabi can also be written in the Persio-Arabic script, and commonly was in all of Punjab until the partition of the subcontinent (and with it, Punjab) into the nationstates of India and Pakistan in 1947. Although it is now uncommon to see Punjabi in Persio-Arabic script on the Indian side of Punjab, it is still written in that script in Pakistan, where Urdu is dominant. 24 Other categories include: white, Black Caribbean, Black African, Black Other, Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Chinese, Other Asian, Other. Considering all South Asian categories together, South Asians constitute almost 3% of the population of Britain, overall, with major concentrations in the Midlands and southeast England (Dorling, 1995). 1998 estimates put the number at 944,000 Indians out of 56,756,000 total in Great Britain, and 929,000 Indians out of 48,779,000 total for England alone, or 1.66% (http://www.statistics.gov.uk/themes/population/Articles/downloads/ Region1998.pdf). I focus on “Indian” since most Sikhs would place themselves in this category and it used as the basis for the estimation of the numbers of Sikhs (see below). 25 A lobbying effort is underway among Sikhs in Britain is to have “Sikh” provided as an ethnic category on the census (Interview, July 16, The Council of Sikh Gurdwaras in Birmingham). 26 The same study estimates that 40% of the British community is Gujarati, and the remainder unspecified; in Birmingham, 30% are estimated to be Gujarati, with 10% unspecified. Note the mixture of religious and ethnic/linguistic designations.
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Midlands section of England (where Birmingham lies), and the London area. In Birmingham, the City Council estimated in 1996 that Sikhs constitute 60% of South Asians in the city, putting the Birmingham Sikh population at over thirty thousand, or 3.2% of the city’s population (Ibid., 11-12). The Council of Sikh Gurdwaras in Birmingham currently estimates the city’s population at 50,000 (Interview and email exchange, July 2002). Most Sikhs in the United Kingdom arrived with a large number of Commonwealth migrants in the 1950s and 1960s, largely from the Doaba region of Punjab, and were welcomed to the country to fill severe labour shortages there after the second World War. (Coward et al. eds. 2000: 127-144; Brah 1996: 17-48; Tatla 1999: 41-62; et al.) This welcome did not last past the 1970s, when numbers of new immigrants were severely curtailed. A large number of Sikhs in the U.K. emigrated not from India, but East Africa and other formerly British colonies, to which they had migrated during the time of British rule in India and afterwards. Africanisation policies in East Africa in the 1960s precipitated the migration of Sikhs, and many came to the U.K. (Bhachu 1985). This latter migration pattern complicates any simple equation of “Punjab” and “home,” as is notable below in the discussion of the Guru Nanak Nishkam Sevak Jatha and its multinational connections; myths (or realities) of return and senses of belonging are therefore multiple, both among different communities and within them. Seva fits into a larger spectrum of transnational engagement (financial and cultural, as well as political) among multiple “homes” among Sikhs in different diasporic landscapes – only a glimpse of these landscapes is provided above. In religious and cultural terms Seva provides a means for Sikhs to articulate themselves “as Sikh,” in relation to the inscription of Sikh historical narratives and Sikh theological imperatives: kirat karo, naam japo, vand ke chakko.27 Personal and cultural connections between Punjab and its diaspora communities are maintained in a variety of ways – through travel in our increasingly mobile world, the production of “Sikh Studies” as a discipline (Axel 2001, Tatla 1999, 80-84, et al) and the activism of University religious/cul27 It is not the intention of this article to explore the relative amounts of money dedicated to philanthropic efforts and more political ones – this is beyond the scope of work conducted, and difficult to quantify given the lack of accurate records of amounts raised in all-cash environments (LaBrack 1989, 261; Thandi 1996) Instead, it is the specific forms of philanthropic Seva that will be examined.
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tural groups, political and social organizations, and, in explicitly religious contexts, a vibrant exchange of sants (loosely translated as “saint,” religious leaders or holy men of various types), textual specialists (granthi), specialist interpreters of the sacred text (katha vachak) and musicians (ragi or ragi jatha) (LaBrack 1987; Tatla 1992; Kalsi 1992: 166-184, et al.). In many of these contexts, the rhetoric and action of Seva are embedded within different religious modes that focus on practice, theology, and service, and are oriented both towards Punjab and other international sites (in the case of some forms of Seva such as philanthropy and the support of sacred sites) and towards local community, in the form of strengthening community institutions and practice.
Forms of Sikh Diasporic Seva As has been noted, Seva is a fundamental and enduring part of the everyday of Sikh religious life, through the provision of a wide range of voluntary service to community members and institutions. This is true in diaspora and in India.28 Here I present specific forms of Seva that figure prominently in particular for their importance in the formation of relational diasporic subject-positions – that is, subjects with both transnational orientations and local concerns, who formulate their identities in changing relations to these poles. The poles themselves are not fixed or binary – concepts of “homeland” shift or can be contested (as has been the case in the formulation of the boundaries of “Khalistan”; Axel 2001), or be multiple (such as for East African Sikhs, who travel among secondary and tertiary diaspora locations). Indeed, it is the homeland as imagined that has salience here – the place that is imagined to constitute relational diaspora positions, regardless of the actual origins of a given community prior to migration.29 (1) Kar Seva The term kar seva usually denotes Seva done towards the construction or refurbishment of religious sites. It has a range of contentious con28 There are differences in kind and scale of Seva in these locations, but cannot address this in the limited space of this article. 29 The imagined nature of diaspora is discussed in Axel, 2001: 214 ff.
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notations in India today, in the context of continuing debates over the proposed Kar Seva at the site of the Babri Masjid in Ayodhya, which was destroyed by radical right-wing Hindu activists in 1992. In 2002, controversy again erupted in relation to the site, as leaders of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) threatened to begin the Kar Seva or construction of a Ram temple on the site, against the order of the Supreme Court of India. Some of the worst communal violence since Partition (1947) rocked the state of Gujarat at this time, after a train car carrying karsevaks (or “volunteers”) was burned in a predominantly Muslim locality, in response to the taunting and harassment of Muslim merchants and locals by those on the train. 30 The rhetoric of “Seva” is important in such radical nationalist Hindu circles, such as in the name and rhetoric of one right-wing organization, the R.S.S. or Rashtriya SwayamSevak Sangh (the Organization of National Volunteers), for which “service” to the nation is militant and exclusionary. “Kar Seva,” therefore, can be a political and divisive act in South Asia. We will return to the question of the political at the close of this section. Kar Sevas of Sikh religious sites are India-based, but are global in the interests they represent and their execution. Such Kar Sevas are managed and undertaken not by the Sikh Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee or SGPC, which manages the Gurdwaras, but by outside individuals and organizations. 31 The well-known “Kar Seva” organization of Harbans Singh and others, for example, is run primarily out of Bangla Sahib, one of the large historical Gurdwaras in Delhi, but also through offices in Punjab and Haryana under a complex lineage of leaders.32 The organization is responsible for the construction and refurbishment of a large number of Gurdwaras in India and 30 The Babri Masjid was allegedly built upon the former site of a temple dedicated to Ram, the incarnation of Vishnu. Elements of the temple to be built at the site have been under construction in Rajasthan for the last ten years. The spring 2002 conflict ended when the VHP agreed to delay the commencement of construction and a abbreviated ritual was performed instead, near the disputed site. See contemporary media coverage for details, for example Frontline (volume 19, issues 4-7, February 16April 12). On Hindu fundamentalism in general, see Jaffrelot 1996; on diasporic forms, see dedicated issue of Ethnic & Racial Studies (May 2000, Vol. 23, Issue 3). 31 The construction of local Gurdwaras in India and diaspora is also Kar Seva, but is usually funded and managed by local groups and individuals. Only historical Gurdwaras in Punjab are under the direct control of the SGPC. 32 In conversation, people refer to “Kar Seva” as the general activity of building or refurbishing sites, and also can use it as a proper name for the organization mentioned.
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was involved in many of the Kar Sevas associated with the Gurdwara Reform Movement (for example, work on the pool surrounding the Darbar Sahib/Golden Temple in 1923).33 The organization garners the support of individuals from India and abroad, in the form of both time and money. In 2002, the organization concentrates on several projects in Delhi, in cooperation with the Delhi Sikh Gurdwara Management Committee (or DSGMC, which is separate from the Punjab Sikh Gurdwara committee, the SGPC). This includes the construction of the Guru Harkrishan Institute of Medical Sciences and Research on the premises of Gurdwara Bala Sahib, in Delhi; promotional literature distributed by the DGSMC features a letter from Harbans Singh, in which he invites donations to be sent to him at Bangla Sahib, or to the DSGMC.34 According to informants, the organization receives extensive financial support from abroad. The Guru Nanak Nishkam Sevak Jatha (GNNSJ) of Birmingham U.K. is actively engaged in Kar Seva in India, and has worked on some of the major shrines of India in the last ten years. The organisation is a registered religious charity located in Birmingham, UK, with additional centres in India (Gura, Nander, Anandpur), Africa (Kericho) and elsewhere in England (Hounslow, Leeds). It was founded in the late 1950’s by Sant Baba Puran Singh Ji (18981983), of Kericho, Kenya, who went to the UK from Kenya in 1973. Baba Ji (as he is called) built a community focusing on the sacred recitation of the name of God (simran) and the importance of Seva, and in 1976 the group bought a plot in Birmingham, on which the now grand Gurdwara stands, its dome dominating the skyline on Soho Road. Sant Baba Puran Singh was followed by Bhai Norang Singh (1926-1995), and then by the current head Bhai Mohinder Singh. Although the organization is involved in many 33 Singh M. 2002, 84; Interview, Harbans Singh et al., April 11 and June 3, 2002. The exact relationships and structure among the leaders of Kar Seva are unclear; some followers of Harbans Singh noted to me that he was the rightful heir to Baba Gurmukh Singh, the founder of the Kar Seva mission and follower of an earlier Baba Biramdas, but that this position was “taken from him.” Regardless, Harbans Singh is prominent today, alongside others Baba Gurmukh Singh gathered around him: Baba Fauja Singh, Baba Karnail Singh, and Jagir Singh, et al. There are now several wings of the organization at work, under these different leaders. See Kaur and Singh, 1998. Thank you to Rishi Singh for leading me to the organization. 34 Promotional literature, “Guru Harkrishan Institute of Medical Research,” obtained May 2002, DSGMC.
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diverse projects – including those that are explicitly religious and focused on the Sikh community, and those directed at the broader U.K., African, and world communities, such as interfaith dialogue and international aid and development work – I focus here on the prominent Kar Seva work they have engaged in since 1995 in India. The current head left a career as a structural engineer and manager in Africa to serve the Jatha in Birmingham as its leader; he has in the last seven years acted as the hands-on manager of the Kar Seva projects in India. There are three major Kar Seva projects of historical Gurdwaras that the Jatha has engaged in: the refurbishment of the gold exterior of the Darbar Sahib, Amritsar (1995-1999); the renovation and expansion of Takhat Keshgarh Sahib, Anandpur (1997-1999); and the Internal Restoration of Takhat Sri Hazoor Sahib, Nander (20002002). The work undertaken by the GNNSJ occurs at the request of the bodies charged with managing the sacred sites being refurbished (in the case of the first two sites, the SGPC; in the case of the latter, the local Managing Committee at Takhat Sri Hazoor Sahib). The organization manages all activities from its Birmingham central office, with local managers on-site to ensure the quality and continuation of work, and bears all expenses. For all the projects, devotees from the Birmingham Gurdwara travel to the site to participate in the work. For a number of younger visitors, these visits represent their first experiences in South Asia. Not all of these projects are primarily decorative: the project to refurbish the gold exterior to the Darbar Sahib in Amritsar, one of the holiest of Sikh shrines, required extensive refurbishment and structural work. Extensive consultations with experts (for example, with the company that undertook the restoration of the Dome of the Rock from 1992-1994) were sought out and technical studies commissioned, and the original scope of the project quickly expanded. 35 An assessment of the gold plates by outside consultants determined that replacement of the underlying copper sheets was required, and that the initial plan to re-guild these sheets was unworkable. In addition, the site proved to suffer from significant structural weaknesses that 35 Many thanks to Bhai Mohinder Singh Ji of GNNSJ and the many sevadars (volunteers) who work with him (particularly the audio-visual team, which provided access to the extensive documentation the Jatha possesses of all of their projects). Reports from the various experts consulted and technical studies commissioned are available at the GNNSJ headquarters in Birmingham.
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required reconstruction. Water leakage and ineffective prior refurbishment had caused significant and threatening damage. Thus, in 1995, major renovation of the main dome on the Gurdwara commenced to prevent collapse; significant work was also required on smaller domes on top of the building.36 For GNNSJ and the Kar Seva organization as well, a particular vision and physical location of Sikh history are made concrete with Kar Seva – with diaspora support. This type of interaction is thus not unrelated to the construction of Punjab as “home,” with possible political implications. This is not surprising: Kar Seva of Gurdwaras (particularly the Golden Temple) has historically been deeply political – tied to the struggle for political control over Punjab in the eighteenth century and in the beginning of the 19th century tied to the Gurdwara Reform Movement (Fox 1985; Singh 1997 [1978]).37 In 36 There has been criticism of the GNNSJ project at the Golden Temple in relation to the conservation of paintings at the site, but a complete assessment of this is beyond the scope of this article. I hope to address it in future work. More rigorous study of the paintings under the gold plating is required, both on-site and utilizing GNNSJ’s extensive documentation of the project. It must be noted, however, that some criticisms of the Golden Temple project that arose in the latter part of the project were without merit. For example, GNNSJ was criticized for destroying extensive paintings at the Baba Atal Gurdwara, but that work was unrelated to the Golden Temple project and GNNSJ was not involved. Criticism of the Jatha for not preserving the original plates is also misplaced: all the original panels from the site are stored and ready for transfer to the SGPC. A more formal umbrella monitoring system was recommended to the SGPC by GNNSJ in a 2001 report; there are indications that this is being implemented (See Nishaan, Volume IV 2001: 63-64). 37 I address this in forthcoming work. The Gurdwara Reform Movement sought to wrest control of Sikh shrines from hereditary managers. The passage of the Gurdwara Reform Act of 1925 brought all historical Gurdwaras under the control of the SGPC. Gurdwaras outside Punjab in India, and in diaspora, are managed by local governing bodies or by each Gurdwara’s managing committee itself. Much has been written on Kar Sevas of the Golden Temple (see Kaur 1983, 85; Singh, M. 2002, 83 ff.; Singh P. 1988, 90 ff., et al.) The Golden Temple was destroyed and/or desecrated several times in the eighteenth century, and then rebuilt; the care and protection of the site are politically charge d activities in historical narratives. The sacred pool was de-silted several times as well (1742, 1843, 1923, 1973, and 1984) (Singh P. 1988, 90; Kaur 1983, 29ff, see also Singh M. 2002, 84 ff., with different dates from P. Singh’s) and was embellished with gold (inspiring the name “Golden Temple”) by Maharaja Ranjit Singh in the first half of the nineteenth century. The rebuilding of the Akal Takhat after its destruction in 1984 provides another striking example of the politics of Kar Seva – the central government was involved in rebuilding at first. This was later rejected (and what had been rebuilt destroyed). The building was then rebuilt independently (mentioned in interviews with Baba Harbans Singh and Bhai Mohinder Singh (GNNSJ); Madan 1998: 93; see also a more sectarian description in The Invasion of the Golden Temple, Sukhbir Singh Kapoor (1984; 21-23)).
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contemporary discursive contexts, political and sovereignty issues are self-consciously submerged, and “Sikh space” so marked is not coterminous with Punjab: GNNSJ has worked on the Takhat in Nanded (Maharashtra) and may get involved at the Takhat in Patna (Bihar). The location of “home” is also ambiguous and multiple for an organization like GNNSJ: projects in Kericho, Kenya relate to the history of the Jatha itself and its first leader, who lived there, while the work of the Jatha in India provides a living link to that “home” in a way that counters assumptions that East-African Sikhs are only peripherally oriented as a diaspora community towards it (Bhachu, LaBrack, et al.). Such multiple orientations towards “home” are in fact not unusual in diaspora communities (Werbner 2000: 16). Participants describe this sphere of activity – the refurbishment of sacred sites – as an alternative to forms of interaction with Sikh space in India that focus on political sovereignty (see concluding section). Kar Seva in this context has its controversies related to the SGPC and local management, but there are for the most part of a different order than others that have haunted the Sikh community for the last twenty years. (2) Philanthropy Philanthropy on a more general level is another important transnational form of Seva. As Thandi (1996) has noted, the activities of Sikh charities have come into question in Britain, in relation to the funding of terrorist organizations. No direct connections were proven. For many Sikhs I have spoken to, philanthropy has, like Kar Seva, acted as an alternative to politically militant forms of diasporic activism.38 For example, the Sikh Social Society of Chennai, like the Nishkam Sikh Welfare Council of Delhi (which we will look at in detail), was formed after the 1984 Delhi riots to provide a non-political, non-violent, and altruistic form of Sikh religious action as a direct response to the troubles in Punjab in the 1980s and 1990s. As will be shown, a complex interaction of specifically Sikh and non-Sikh orientations is visible in all. The Nishkam Sikh Welfare Council is a registered charity in India, and defines itself as “a social welfare, non-political organisation working with the sole objective of serving the Humanity especially the helpless widows, orphans & destitutes etc. irrespective of caste, creed 38 I found in interviews that the term “activism” seems problematic in Punjab, denoting terrorist involvement.
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& religion.”39 The organization was founded in 1984, by 11 Delhibased Sikhs, as a response to the violence that had engulfed Punjab and particularly the Delhi riots. As the current President of the organization put it, the organization was meant to show that Sikhs are a “god-fearing, simple people” – and not as the media portrayed them. The goal of the organization is Nishkam Seva – Seva that is selfless. Members cannot belong to a political party, and must contribute both time and money to the organization. The first major task of the organization was the rehabilitation of the widows that resulted from the Punjab conflict – a specifically Sikh- and Punjab-oriented project. Soon, the organization began to look after all who reside in the neighbourhood they were based in. Although many of the original widows have now moved away and their children have grown up, the sewing facility built for them continues today, as does the school provided for children of the women working there (not all of whom are Sikh). The organization’s work has also expanded geographically, with centres in Amritsar and Kharar in Punjab, and Yamuna Nagar, Haryana. The volunteers run a home for the elderly, an orphanage, education facilities, and a medical centre at these sites, in addition to the medical centre, school, and sewing facilities that are operated in Delhi. They have also undertaken projects in Bangalore and Gujarat, after the Bhuj earthquake. Recently, the organization announced the commencement of the Punjab Elementary Education Project (PEEP), due to Punjab’s fall in national educational ratings. For example, it coordinates scholarships for talented students, noting in one brochure: “Relief Committee of Greater New York has granted 133 scholarships during 1999 under this programme.” Sikhs for Technology is another initiative associated with Nishkam Welfare Council – it is a not-for-profit incorporated in the United States, designed to “empower the children and youth of Northern India with excellent skills in the fields of Science & Technology, Pharmacy, Nursing, Teaching and Accounting.” A computer lab is located at Nishkam’s main medical facility in Delhi. 39 Based on materials from the organization (provided by Jetinder Singh Nanra, president for the last three years, and other staff) and interviews (mainly with Nanra) on May 8 and 26, 2002. Materials in-hand include the “Memorandum and Articles of Association” (1985); Overviews of activities 1984-2000 in Hindi, Punjabi and English; photocopies of several appeals for donations, which feature information about particular cases that come before the organization and require funding. Materials from Sikhs for Technology (see below) also acquired May 8, 2002.
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Thus, some of Nishkam Welfare Council’s projects have a specific Sikh focus, and others are more general in their scope. They are based in India (and distinguish themselves from Fateh, below, in this way) but fund-raise extensively abroad. In particular, Mohan Singh, a founding member, spends extensive periods of time (from six months to one year at a time) fundraising in the U.S.A., where his two sons are now settled.40 He is able to describe casually a typical (and rigorous) fundraising schedule and pattern that he follows, noting that his first fund-raising trip in 1990 garnered US$8,000 in three months, but his 2001 trip brought in $60,000 to support Nishkam’s (the shortform of the organization title members use) activities. In general, he is given ten to fifteen minutes to speak at Gurdwaras. He starts with recitations from the Guru Granth Sahib, then refers to instances of Seva in Sikh history, and finishes with the work of Nishkam in India. He usually describes one project in particular, choosing the project based on the audience at hand – Gurdwaras tend to be dominated by a particular group, such as those from a village background, or from Delhi. Whereas at first he funded his own trips, the organization now funds his organization-related travels within the U.S. Mohan Singh noted that when he started fund-raising, he was told at the Gurdwaras that people would not want to donate money – as Thandi (1996) observed regarding Sikhs in Britain, many Sikhs in the U.S. had become wary of donating money by the 1990s, given a sense of frustration with the situation in Punjab and doubts about whom to support. Mohan Singh attributed his success to the organization’s accountability: people from the U.S. and elsewhere have started to visit Nishkam’s offices in India, and thus believe that their money is being utilized rightly. He also noted that the organization issued receipts (now common) and letters of acknowledgment for donations long before other organizations did. These practices helped to generate faith in their work. Like Nishkam, Fateh (a non-affiliated, independent organization with offices in India, England, and the U.S.) provides some services that are specifically oriented towards the Sikh community, and others for the community at large. It was registered as a society in July 1999 and is distinctively global in its outlook and formation. According to Harinder Singh of the Chandigarh office, some Sikhs want them to 40 Interview, May 8, 2002. Travel on Mr. Singh’s 2002 fundraising tour was curtailed due to illness; he utilized the Internet to continue his work (November 2002).
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be “more Sikh”; others think they are “too Sikh” – he notes that “we are not missionaries... Most of the people involved are Sikh, but the organization is not about compulsions.” According to Singh, the organization has been identified at different times as a form of the East India Company, the Khalistani movement, or the CIA. Their attitude has been “to do what the Guru wants us to do.” Mr. Singh described participants as “Rebels with a Cause.”41 Singh himself grew up in Delhi (he was there for the 1984 riots) and the U.S. (Kansas City), and his own commitments result from diverse influences: Public Enemy, Harry Connick Junior, and jazz. Fateh is inspired by informal organizations and individuals – H. Singh mentioned Baba Kanhaiya as an example. The founders looked at a variety of philanthropic and development models, as provided by the Peace Corps, the Kibbutz model, the Mormons, et al., as well as the Sikh Gurus’ philosophy. The program began in November 1997 as the effort of a small group of Sikh individuals (six women and five men) who came to India and wanted to “do something.” They saw their goal as initiating a “Sikh Character Development” program, as they also undertook teacher training, health and hygiene projects for 7-8 months. The group found that this kind of intervention did not have enough consistency or depth, and they had to create a structure to facilitate the delivery of long-term service projects. The program they started is now the Change Across Borders (CABS) program: a fairly formal Sikh study and practical volunteer program, with the goal of promoting both self-development and awareness, and the practical development of Punjab. The other programs the organization administers have different but related goals. Camp Fateh (run both in India and abroad) is a youth camp where young people are welcome to express themselves, learn, and share, in order (according to the organization’s Website) “to ignite the flame of Sikh spirit and inspire excellence through awareness and promote active community-oriented participation.” Service projects like Karta Care (which provides psychological, educational, and medical support for children in institutions who are victims of trauma) are completely non-sectarian, and this is where non-Sikhs (and non-Indians as well) get involved. 41 Interviewed February 26, 2002 in Chandigarh. Also interviewed Nimrat Kaur (heads Karta Care program, Chandigarh) and Surinderpal Singh (heads Camp Fateh, Chandigarh).
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Each of the offices of Fateh is independent, but they assist each other and coordinate activities. The North American office recruits volunteers, and provides funding: for example, the project for Chithi Singhwala – designed to provide support to the families of 40 Sikh civilians killed in this tiny town in Kashmir in 2000 – is funded heavily from both Fateh Asia and the Europe and U.S. offices (though much work has been suspended due to limited access to the area). CABS is maintained through the personal funding of each volunteer. The goal is for every office to be locally run and overseen. The office in India started out as 100% foreign, and now is 95% locally run. People continue to come from abroad to fill specific roles. Both Nishkam Welfare Council and Fateh demonstrate a delicate balance between specifically Sikh-community-oriented philanthropy and a general societal focus. Leaders of both organizations emphasize both aspects of their respective organizations’ work as exemplifying Sikh theological imperatives, and as providing a means for action as a Sikh towards the service of all. Fateh, in particular, features elements designed to promote Sikh religious values and provide opportunities for personal growth. Each participates in an interchange between diasporas and homes in complex ways, some financial, some religious, and some cultural – as Harinder Singh’s references to American popular culture make clear. (3) Seva and civil rights One of the keys means by which Sikh positions in diaspora are negotiated is through civil rights activism. After September 11, in New York City, the rhetoric and action of Seva were mobilized in a new political environment in two allied modes: advocacy and education (directed towards the non-Sikh community, in defence of the inalienable civil rights of Sikh Americans), and volunteer service to those impacted by the tragedy. Sikhs were targeted in bias attacks after September 11 both as South Asians and because many wear turbans, which Americans unfamiliar with South Asian religious and cultural traditions associated with Al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden and his followers.42 As a result, at the same time that Sikhs rallied to serve 42 It was Sikh mobilization in this period that originally inspired the article. Although Sikhs have been negatively impacted by September 11 and the first person killed in the U.S. in post-September 11 violence was a Sikh (see below), Muslims in the U.S. have been the group most significantly impacted by September 11-related bias and anti-terrorist law enforcement investigation. As the Council on American-
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those in need after the World Trade Center attacks, they were compelled to mobilize to protect community members and to educate the American public (Becker and Ly, 2001). This need continued in the months after September 11, as Sikhs and Muslims (in particular) faced continued harassment and suspicion by police and law enforcement, reminiscent for some Sikhs of the persecution of Sikhs in India during the 80s and early 90s.43 Earlier battles regarding the right to wear the kirpan (dagger) and turban also were revisited, in a highly politicised environment.44 The impact of September 11 on the Sikh community was immediate: Sikhs fleeing the World Trade Center were harassed and threatened, and within hours a Sikh American, Sher Singh, was arrested in Providence RI on an Amtrak train for carrying a knife, or Kirpan, as is prescribed by Khalsa rahit or code (Goodstein and Niebuhr, 2001). While this received extensive media coverage – including a photograph of Singh on national television – the quick dismissal of charges by the Providence Police did not receive similarly wide coverage. There were over 200 documented bias incidents against Sikhs in the first two months following September 11, according to Manjit Singh, Executive Director of SMART, the Sikh Mediawatch and Resource Task Force.45 The organization compiles information and creates
Islamic Relations noted in their 2002 report on the Civil Rights of Muslims in the U.S.: “Muslims in the United States are more apprehensive than ever about discrimination and intolerance” since September 11 (Council on American-Islamic Relations, 2002: 4). 43 Thousands of Sikhs were killed and injured in organized riots in Delhi that followed the assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, and these incidents precipitated the migration of a number of Sikhs from India (see Das 1998, for example, for a recent discussion of these events). Mrs. Gandhi was killed by her two Sikh bodyguards as retaliation for “Operation Blue Star,” the storming of the darbar sahib/Golden Temple complex and Akal Takhat in Amritsar earlier that year, during which many Sikhs lost their lives and buildings in the complex were damaged or destroyed. The darbar sahib (Golden Temple or hari mandir) is the holiest of Sikh shrines, while the Akal Takhat represents the seat of temporal authority in Sikh tradition. 44 This included several incidents at airports (Goodstein 2001; et al.). On turban related battles in Britain see Poulter 1998: 277-332. For discussion of controversy surrounding the wearing of the kirpan (a marker of belonging in the Khalsa) in California schools (albeit with a flawed general historical account), see Lal 1999). 45 Based on the organization’s Website (www.sikhmediawatch.org) and a telephone interview with the Executive Director, October 2001. SAALT (2002) found a total of 645 bias incidences reported between September 11 and 17, and incidents involving Sikhs made up more than half of the South Asian total (which was 13% of the overall total, or 81 incidents) (SAALT 2002, 9).
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materials to educate the public about Sikh Americans. It also issues community advisories to inform the community about the risks they face and advise them on appropriate courses of action. The media agency organized meetings with Congressional and government agency leaders, and organized a wide-ranging public relations effort, aimed at educating Americans about the Sikh tradition and Sikh Americans. Local Gurdwaras also organized responses. The Sikh Cultural Society of Richmond Hill, Queens hired Rubenstein Associates, Inc., a public relations firm based in Manhattan, in the week after September 11 to help make the public aware of who the Sikhs are and, in doing so, prevent the targeting of Sikhs. Rubenstein Associates was hired for one month to handle interaction with the media, and to encourage timely and full coverage of bias attacks. According to Manjit Singh of SMART, the mainstream media did not focus attention on the backlash impacting millions of Americans until the killing of Balbir Singh Sodhi in Arizona on Saturday September 15 (Goodstein 2001; Janofsky, 2001; Klawonn, 2001; Lewin 2001, et al.), quickly followed by another killing of a Pakistani Muslim in Dallas Texas. After these first bias killings and mounting reports of bias-related crime, coverage began, as did high-profile support for South Asian and Muslim communities from President Bush and U.S. government agencies.46 The economic impact of bias was particularly severe – in interviews in the weeks following the attacks, Sikh (like other South Asian and Muslim) taxi drivers said repeatedly that some New Yorkers would no longer ride in their cabs; this in an alreadydepressed transportation market. Some Sikhs chose to cut their hair as a result (Winerip 2001). As bias attacks began to wane (but not altogether disappear), concerns grew about the civil rights implications of law enforcement strategies, particularly as civil liberties have been curtailed by the passage of the Patriot Act.47 SMART, for example, met 46 The House of Representatives passed a Resolution Condemning Bigotry and Violence Against Arab-Americans, American Muslims, and Americans from South Asia on September 14 (H. Con. Res 227); discussion of the resolution openly addressed the bias some South Asian and Arab Americans were experiencing. See: http://www.yale.edu/lawweb/avalon/sept–11/cr–012.htm and http://usinfo.state.gov/usa/race/hate/t091801.htm. For a transcript of Bush’s meeting with Sikh leaders, see http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/ 09/20010926-1.html. 47 The USA Patriot (Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism) Act of 2001 has been widely criticized by advocates for civil liberties of all political affiliations. The Act was
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repeatedly with federal and state law enforcement agencies towards the development of guidelines on how to deal with Sikh Americans, as well as other impacted Americans (primarily Muslims).48 “It is not just a question of who we are not,” noted Harpreet Singh Toor, of the Richmond Hill Gurdwara or Sikh Cultural Society, who worked tirelessly in the weeks after September 11 to educate the police, encourage fellow Sikhs to report bias crimes, and coordinate community efforts. “What matters is not saying that Sikhs are not Muslim, but who we are, where we are from, what we are.” Volunteers from the Richmond Hill Gurdwara and other organizations – mainly young people – could be seen at the various street corners in Manhattan for months, distributing pamphlets that explain who the Sikhs are. The other mode of Seva undertaken by Sikhs (and others) consisted of the provision of aid to those impacted by the tragedy. As has been mentioned, one form of this service undertaken by Sikh taxi drivers, alongside other taxi drivers of diverse backgrounds, was the provision of free transportation for rescue workers and families. Sikh involvement in what was called the “Operation Free Transportation Service” of New York’s Taxi and Limousine Commission, earned them special mention at a the Taxi and Limousine Commission meeting on October 30, 2001, where participants in the service were honoured. Chairman of the Taxi and Limousine Commission, Matthew Daus, praised the thirty to forty Sikh drivers in attendance, noting that Sikh involvement was particularly commendable, since Sikhs faced personal risk in assuming a public service role after the attacks. It must be noted that just as Daus highlighted the contribution of Sikhs (who attended the event in large numbers), the individuals called forward for recognition before the assembly were all white. The contribution of individual Sikhs, in the face of harassment and threat, did not seem to merit individual mention. According to Avtar Singh Pannu, Chairperson for the Sikh Culturpassed into law quickly and with little public debate regarding the extensive changes it puts in place to expand the powers of U.S. law enforcement. See analysis focusing on civil liberties concerns, on the Center for Constitutional Rights Website: at http://www.ccr-ny.org/whatsnew/usa–patriot–act.asp. See index compiled by The Pluralism Project: http://www.pluralism.org/resources/links/civil–liberties.php. 48 According to a source in Leeds, England, U.S. law enforcement agencies conducted workshops there to understand more about the Sikh community, including distinctions among them and different styles of wearing turbans. (Interview, June 23, 2002)
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al Society in Queens, members of the congregation mobilized to take action in a number of ways. He estimated that five hundred members of the congregation donated blood at Jamaica and Elmhurst hospitals. Groups of people from the congregation went to the Volunteer Center at the Jacob Javitz Center, a truck-load of food and drink were sent, and supplies sent on September 14 and 15 to Shea Stadium, a central depository for donations. The Society donated money to the Red Cross, and planned a major fund-raising event to organize the donation of more (the major event never happened, but smaller donations did). Material support, therefore, was an important part of the community’s response. Other Gurdwaras around the country did the same.
Seva and the Making of Diaspora Seva is a constitutive aspect of Sikh subjectivity in diaspora – in relation to culturally and religiously constructed definitions of community, historical narratives, and in defining a mode of interaction with (and construction of) “home(s).” Remembrance of “home,” in this context, takes place within the present, not an idealized and distant past. The different types of Seva outlined here are intertwined – the GNNSJ for example undertakes philanthropic Seva, transnational and local Kar Seva, and has organized activities for the protection of civil and religious rights in the U.K. – most famously the Mandla turban case, in which a parent’s attempt to enrol his son in a private school was rejected because his son wore a turban (Introduction in Barot 1991: 6; Poulter 1998: 305-307; Race Relations Unit,... 1996: 55). The founder of the Jatha organized a demonstration in London in protest of a court ruling that the right to wear a turban was not protected under the Race Relations Act in Britain, because the Sikhs were not a “race.” The appeal was brought to the House of Lords, Sikhs were granted this status, and the right to wear the turban upheld. Seva as both concept and action therefore takes complex and inter-related forms. Its relationship with political action is similarly complex. As was noted at the outset, and referred to throughout, many of those interviewed for this article emphasized the apolitical nature of their work, as an alternative to militant political action aimed at the establishment of a sovereign and independent state –
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characterized as illegitimate, anti-state terrorism by the Indian state, and as legitimate self-determination by Khalistani militants. Seva does not act necessarily against or for a Khalistani agenda. Instead it is positioned outside the sphere of action wherein support for Khalistan is either valorised or demonised. This stated differentiation between the “political” and “apolitical,” in my view, represents an attempt to open up a space for action that is not over-determined by discourses regarding the nature of “the political” (read as “Khalistani”) in a contentious environment in which the nature of Sikh loyalty is continually immediately questioned and must somehow always be affirmed. In this, a political nature of Seva is revealed – with a difference.49 In certain senses, philanthropy is always deeply political – it asserts particular orders of values, and often entails the “conversion” of peripheral or non-mainstream life-styles and value systems to fit a dominant one. When religious affiliations and identities are politicised, the line between religiously motivated charity and overt political action is even more porous. For instance, “education” programs initiated in tribal areas by the Hindu right wing in India exemplify a more political side of “serving others.”50 As Bhatt (2000) has argued, conservative forms of Seva with Hindu orientations, in India and diaspora draw on its “strong religious connotations,” but their provision of welfare service is “strategic, based on what are seen as ‘Hindu values’ and ‘Hindu precepts’ that do not have the same foundations as services based on universal conceptions of rights, entitlements and citizenship.” Of course, if philanthropy directed towards a religious body or institution, or with reference to religious values, is exclusionary in general, then all religious philanthropy is equally suspect (Christian, Muslim, Sikh, and Hindu alike). As such, it is imperative that religious orientations are explicit – and this is often not the case with the tribal “education” programs mentioned above. For example, the role of the India Development and Relief Fund (www.idrf.org), which fundraises extensively in the United States for the type of education program mentioned above, is currently a matter of heated
49 The space for action carved out for Seva may represent the workings of multiple and sometimes conflicting “public spheres” (Chatterjee 2000, Calhoun 1992), but such connections must remain unexplored here. 50 Sengupta 2002; on the Kalyan Ashram Trust of Sewa International, see Mathew and Prashad 2000.
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debate in the United States.51 The IDRF website does not define the work of the organization in religious terms, and describes its interest as the “interaction and convergence of development and relief work, particularly in relation to the needs and welfare of the poor.” The organization, the website says, “has a broad focus and does not restrict its activities to any set of projects,” but also explicitly says that it serves “economically and socially disadvantaged people irrespective of caste, sect, region or religion.” Yet, respondents from Sewa International (affiliated with the IDRF) openly admit that their goal is both to offer charity and “provide ideological education” (Mathew and Prashad 2000, see also Prashad 2000: 146 ff.). The object of the Vidarbha Vanavasi Kalyan Ashram in Nagpur – which is funded by the IDRF – is (according to its website, in July 2002) to “bring the vanavasis (Tribals) in the national main stream by generating awareness about their ancestral (Hindu) fold, glorious cultural and religious heritage and to guard them against anti social and anti national elements which are working very hard to alienate vanavasis from the rest of society.” In this case a “common good” – the education of “tribals” – is achieved through a “realization” of a specifically Hindu identity in a particular mode, with funds channelled through a development organization that downplays its religious connections. This has deadly political ramifications for the spread of anti-Muslim and Christian, conservative Hindu ideology, as the communal violence in Gujarat in the spring and summer of 2002 proved. Philanthropy – of various types, Kar Seva and not – thus can represent a mode of diasporic intervention that is conservative and exclusionary. It might be argued that some forms of Sikh philanthropic action described above are in fact thinly veiled efforts at describing a national and separatist space for Sikhs, in the Khalistani vein. The Kar Seva described above, in this view, would have everything in common with 51 See a response to criticism of the IDRF on their Website, www.idrf.org, and a recent coordinated effort to stop the funding of Hindutva-related work in the United States and elsewhere, at www.stopfundinghate.org/shtml. A report outlines ties between the IDRF and Sangh Pariwar (Hindutva-related) organizations (www.mnet.fr/aiindex/2002/FEH/downloads/sabrang-sacw.pdf). The Stop Funding Hate Website notes that its goal is to foster critical examination of such funding: “But in the wake of the growing levels of sectarian violence across the world, we all need to heighten the level of scrutiny regarding the funds being transferred to organizations overseas – funds ostensibly collected for ‘development and relief’ work but being used to foment hatred and spread violence.” This is the awareness that has become necessary among Sikh donors in the last fifteen years.
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the Kar Seva of the Ram Temple in Ayodhya – one might argue both are engaged (to different degrees) in the physical domination of space within a conservative and exclusionary vision that collapses nation and religion. Indeed, it is a characteristic of many diaspora communities that they are deeply interested in nationalist and separatist interventions (Anderson, 1994; Werbner 2000, 6; et al.). As Axel (2001) has convincingly shown, the diaspora and the nation are mutually constituting, and cannot be seen in isolation or to be in opposition. Such an interpretation, however, would disregard the complexity of Seva in the Sikh context. As Werbner (2000:6-7) has argued, just as diasporas are “both ethnic-parochial and cosmopolitan,” philanthropy can also present two sides. Alongside the politically manipulative forms of Seva identified above, aimed at “realizing” Hindu values among tribals within educational intervention, philanthropy can represent the nature of diasporas as “transnational communities of coresponsibility“ (emphasis hers), a form of transcendent and liberating social intervention – reflecting what Webner calls the “organic hybridity” of transnationals, rather than the “intentional hybridity” that characterizes cosmopolitan elite hybridity.52 Political interests may represent a facet of the actions described here as Seva, but do not encompass them – and this is a crucial distinction. It is within differentiating forms of engagement with “home” that space is made for interventions of different types, for all diasporas. Great care has been taken by Sikh participants described here to create this space for action, with careful attention to militant politics. The Kar Seva done by GNNSJ does contribute to the marking of Sikh space, but such a home is not drawn simply – the position of a “twice-migrant,” African Sikh community in relation to a “homeland” complicates interventions with multiple “homes,” and the Sikh space defined is not limited to Punjab. The articulation of Sikh positions as a minority community in the United States, as briefly described here (and it is much more complex than this), also does not in any way make necessary the articulation of a separatist agenda in relation to the Indian nation-state. Neither does it abrogate the Khalistan question. The tenor of conversations with participants in forms of Seva, in the last few years, in fact most clearly
52 Werbner 1997: 12ff. See Coombes and Brah, 2000 for a more in-depth look at historical and contemporary discourses around “hybridity.” See the introduction and below for only a few examples of the many Indian philanthropic organizations that are secular in orientation
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indicates a move away from a simple equation of Sikh diasporic action with separatism in the Indian context. Support for Khalistan is neither necessary, nor excluded – Sikhs of different political orientations on that question can participate (depending on the body organizing the Seva, and its goals). Indeed, even the nature of Khalistani activism has radically changed in recent years. Most supporters of the cause in diaspora are involved in non-violent advocacy, argued in terms of human rights and the right to self-determination. Thus Werbner’s valorisation of philanthropy as an aspect of diasporic action can be merited in the space it opens up for a range of types of action. This dual side to philanthropy provides a caution against embracing it without critical appraisal, but so too requires that it not be rejected without consideration. This observation requires reiteration outside of the Sikh case, as well. As I have noted, it is not the argument of this paper that only Sikhs engage in philanthropic engagements with home (be that home in the “homeland” or “adopted land”); this paper only explores Sikh forms of philanthropy and their relation to contemporary Sikh tradition and diaspora-formation. Philanthropic efforts were questioned in the Sikh case, in relation to the funding of terrorist activities in the 1990s. Allegations were not substantiated (Thandi, 1996). Several Muslim charities have been shut down in anti-terrorist programs instituted by the Western governments (and some possibly rightly so) since September 11 (Firestone 2001; Goodstein 2001; Miller 2001a; Miller 2002; Miller and Sanger 2001; Milloy 2001; Shenon 2001a; Shenon 2001b; Wechsler 2001; et al.).53 It is necessary, however, to consider carefully what modalities of action are shut down by such actions, and what options are left to those who feel – as many of us do, of all political and ethnic affiliations – compelled to intervene in some way in multiple “homes.” I note this self-consciously, as an Irish American – a member of a community that has historically been very invested in the politics of the “homeland” (with a minority of such interest consisting of financial support of the I.R.A. and related organizations), but for whom international interests have never challenged assumptions of loyalty to and identity with “Americanness” at (this, other) “home.” Such space for action is
53 According to the Council on American Islamic Relations, the U.S. Treasury Department on November 7, 2002 issued guidelines on “best practices” in charitable giving, at the request of American Muslim and Arab American communities. See http://www.treasury.gov/press/releases/docs/tocc.pdf
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not afforded to many others – particularly South Asians and Muslims of different backgrounds. If states (and racism) do not allow for different modes of diasporic action, what types of action are enabled? Shutting down options does not foster self-conscious and critical appraisal of philanthropic interventions, and probably limits choices to those that are all the more problematic. Seva in the final case, organized around September 11, acts as an important means for the construction of Sikh religious and social subjectivities and remembrance. Note here the level of professionalism engaged in responding to this crisis, to influence the American public.54 These efforts are part of a larger South Asian American and Sikh American effort to build understanding and tolerance, in the United States exemplified by SAALT: South Asian American Leaders of Tomorrow (www.saalt.org), DRUM (Desis Rising Up and Moving), and many others (see also Mathew and Prashad 2000). Progressive South Asian and specifically Sikh efforts are sometimes allied – but not always, reflecting the troubled nature of Sikh political subjectivity in relation to the Indian nation-state. The latter was clearly articulated in interviews with Sikhs, particularly those from India, after September 11. Comparisons were made repeatedly between the post 9-11 situation and the Delhi riots of 1984 – similar persecution, different nation-state. Sikh “activism” in diaspora, therefore, is not to be subsumed in South Asian efforts. But they are tied at many levels. While efforts to take on post-September 11 bias bring to light a negative and pernicious aspect of U.S. culture, they do so again within a very American appeal for equality, justice, and full participatory citizenship. The response of Sikh and South Asian Americans is in some ways the greatest affirmation of the promise of the U.S. – and the diasporic mode, for any community – even in the face of the ethnic profiling and stereotyping that can represent the most negative of American cultural and political traits: a form of Seva both Sikh55 and American.
54 See Hathaway 2001 on the influence of South Asian Americans in U.S. politics, and the increased interest of U.S. lawmakers in South Asia (prior to September 11, 2001, when such interest increased greatly). 55 and South Asian – not to overdraw the distinction.
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References and bibliography Books and Articles Anderson, B. (1994). ‘Exodus.’ In Critical Inquiry. 20 (Winter), 314-327. Angeo, M. (1997). The Sikh Diaspora: Tradition and Change in an Immigrant Community. New York and London: Garland Publishing, Inc. Axel, B.K. (2001). The Nation’s Tortured Body: Violence, Representation, and the Formation of a Sikh “Diaspora.” Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Bagby, I., Perl, P. and Froehle, B. (2001). The Mosque in America: A National Portrait. A Report from the Mosque Study Project. Washington D.C.: Council on American-Islamic Relations. Barot, R. (ed.) (1993). Religion and Ethnicity: Minorities and Social Change in the Metropolis. Kampen, The Netherlands: Kok Pharos Publishing House. Barrier, N.G. and Dusenbery, V. (eds.) (1989). Sikh Diaspora: Migration and Experience Beyond Punjab. New Delhi: Chanakya. Barrow, J. (2000). The Development of Guru Nanak’s Teachings of Nam, Dan and Seva Within the Southall Sikh Communities. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation for the Doctor of Philosophy, Department of Theology and Religious Studies, University of Leeds. Bhachu, P. (1985). Twice Migrants: East African Sikh Settlers in Britain. London: Tavistock. Bhatt, C. (2000). ‘Dharmo Rakshati Rakshitah: Hindutva Movements in the UK.’ Ethnic & Racial Studies, May Vol. 23, Issue 3. Brah, A. (1996). Cartographies of Diaspora: Contesting Identities. London and New York: Routledge. Calhoun, C. (1992) ‘Introduction: Habermas and the Public Sphere.’ In Habermas and the Public Sphere. Craig Calhoun (ed.), Cambridge, MA and London: The Massachusetts Institute of Technology Press. Chatterjee, P. (2000). “Two Poets and Death: On Civil and Political Society in the Non-Christian World.” In Questions of Modernity, Timothy Mitchell (ed.), Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press, 35-48. Chaya Community Development Corporation (CDC) (2002). Finding a Path to South Asian American Community Development: A Report on the Housing an Community Development Needs Assessment of South Asian Americans in New York City. New York: Chaya CDC. Coombes, A.E. and Brah, A. (2000). ‘Introduction: the conundrum of “mixing”.’ In Hybridity and its Discontents: Politics, Science, culture. London and New York: Routledge, Avtar Brah and Annie E. Coombes (eds.), 1-16. Council on American-Islamic Relations (2002). The Status of Muslim Civil Rights in the United States 2002: Stereotypes and Civil Liberties. Washington D.C.: Council on American-Islamic Relations Coward, H., J.R. Hinnells, and Williams, R.B. (ed.) (2000). The South Asian
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Religious Diaspora in Britain, Canada, and the United States. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Das, V. (1998).‘Specificities: Official Narratives, Rumour, and the Social Production of Hate.’ In Social Identities, Vol. 4, Issue 1 (February). Deol, J. (2001). ‘Eighteenth Century Khalsa Identity: Discourse, Praxis and Narrative.’ In Sikh Religion, Culture and Ethnicity. Surrey, UK: Curzon Press. Dorling, D. (1995). A New Social Atlas of Britain. West Sussex: John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Fox, R. (1985). Lions of the Punjab: Culture in the Making. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Gold, D. (1987). The Lord as Guru: Hindi Sants in North Indian Tradition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Grewal, J.S. (1990). The Sikhs of the Punjab. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hathaway, R.M. (2001). ‘Unfinished Passage: India, Indian Americans, and the U.S. Congress.’ In Washington Quarterly, Spring, Vol. 24, Issue 2 Helweg, A.W. (1979). Sikhs in England: The Development of a Migrant Community. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Hira, B.S. (1988). Beacon-Light of Humanitarian Service & Apostle of Peace: Bhai Kanhaiya. Bathinda, Punjab: Sewa Jyoti Publications. —. (1990). Seva Te Simran de caanan munaare te aman duut Bhai Kanhaiiya. Bathinda, Punjab: Sewa Jyoti Publications. Jaffrelot, C. (1996). The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics. London: Hurst & Company. Kalsi, S.S. (1992). The Evolution of a Sikh Community in Britain: Religious and Social Change among the Sikhs of Leeds and Bradford. Leeds: Community Religions Project, Monograph Series, Department of Theology and Religious Studies, University of Leeds. Kaur, M. (1983). The Golden Temple: Past & Present. Amritsar: Guru Nanak Dev University Press. Kaur, G., (ed.) (1998). sikkh chintan anusaar seva da sankalp. Patiala, Punjab: Publications Bureau, Punjabi University. Kaur, P. and Singh, V. (1998). Kar Sewa of Historical Gurdwaras. Delhi: Sapra Publications. La Brack, B. (1987). The Sants: Studies in a Devotional Tradition of India. Berkeley and Delhi: Religious Studies Series and Motilal Banarsidass. —. (1989). ‘The New Patrons: Sikhs Overseas.’ In The Sikh Diaspora: Migration and the Experience Beyond Punjab. N. Gerald Barrier and Verne A. Dusenbery (eds.), Delhi: Chanakya Publications, p 261-304. Lal, V. (1999). ‘Sikh Kirpans in California Schools: The Social Construction of Symbols, the Cultural Politics of Identity, and the Limits of Multiculturalism.’ In New Spiritual Homes: Religion and Asian Americans. Ed. by David K. Yoo. Honolulu and Los Angeles: University of Hawai’i Press in Association with UCLA Asian American Studies Center.
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Leonard, K. Isaksen (1992). Making Ethnic Choices: California’s Punjabi Mexican Americans. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Madan, T.N. (1998). Modern Myths, Locked Minds: Secularism and Fundamentalism in India. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Mathew, B., and Prashad, V. (2000). ‘The Protean Forms of Yankee Hindutva.‘ In Ethnic & Racial Studies. May, Vol. 23, Issue 3. Mayer, A. (1981). ‘Public Service and Individual Merit in a Town of Central India.’ In Culture and Morality: Essays in Honour of Christoph von Furer-Haimendorf. Adrian Mayer (ed.), Delhi: Oxford University Press, p. 153-173. McLeod, W. H. (1976). The Evolution of the Sikh Community: Five Essays. Oxford: Clarendon Press. —. (1980.) Early Sikh Tradition: A Study of the Janam-Sakhis. Oxford: Clarendon Press. —. (1987). The Chaupa Singh Rahit-Nama. Dunedin, New Zealand: University of Otago Press. —. (1989). Who is a Sikh? Oxford: Oxford University Press. —. (1996) [1968]. Guru Nanak and the Sikh Religion. Delhi and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Oberoi, H. (1987). ‘From Punjab to ‘Khalistan’: Territoriality and Metacommentary.’ In Pacific Affairs, Spring 1987, 60, 1; 26-41. —. (1994). The Construction of Religious Boundaries: Culture, Identity, and Diversity in the Sikh Tradition. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Poulter, S. (1998). Ethnicity, Law, and Human Rights: The English Experience. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Prashad, V. (1997). ‘Mother Teresa: Mirror of Bourgeois Guilt.’ In Economic and Political Weekly. Vol. XXXII, Nos. 44 and 45. November 8, 1997, pgs. 2856-2858. —. (2000). The Karma of Brown Folk. Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press. Race Relations Unit, Birmingham City Council (1996). Community Profiles: The Sikhs. Birmingham, England: Birmingham City Council. Rose, K. (1992). Where Women are Leaders: The SEWA Movement in India. London and New Jersey: Zed Books Ltd. Schneewind, J.S. (ed.) (1996). Giving: Western Ideas of Philanthropy. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Sharma, S. (2001). Famine, Philanthropy and the Colonial State: North India in the Early Nineteenth Century. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Singh, B., (ed.) (1998). sevaa daa sikkh sankalp. Patiala, Punjab: Publications Bureau, Punjabi Univerisity. Singh, M. (1997) [1978]. The Akali Movement. New Delhi: National Institute of Punjab Studies. —. (2002). The Golden Temple. Photographs by Sondeep Shankar. New Delhi: UBS Publishers’ Distributors Ltd., In Association with National Institute of Panjab Studies.
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Singh, P. and N.G. Barrier (eds.), (1996). The Transmission of Sikh Heritage in the Diaspora. Delhi: Manohar. Singh, P. (1988). The Golden Temple. Hong Kong: ET Publishing Limited. South Asian American Leaders of Tomorrow (SAALT). 2002. American Backlash: Terrorists Bring War Home in More Ways Than One. Tatla, D. Singh (1992). ‘Nurturing the Faithful: The Role of the Sant Among Britain’s Sikhs.’ Religion 22, 349-374. —. 1999. The Sikh Diaspora: The Search For Statehood. London: UCL Press Limited. Thandi, S. (1996). ‘The Punjabi Diaspora in the UK and the Punjab Crisis.’ In The Transmission of Sikh Heritage in the Diaspora. Pashaura Singh and N. Gerald Barrier (eds.), Delhi: Manohar, 227-252. —. (2000). ‘Vilayati Paisa: some reflections on the potential of diaspora finance in the socio-economic development of Indian Punjab.’ In International Journal of Punjab Studies, Volume 7, Number 2, July-December. Vertovec, S. (1999a). ‘Three meanings of ‘diaspora’, exemplified among South Asian religions.’ In Diaspora 7 (2). —. (1999b). ‘Conceiving and Researching Transnationalism.’ In Ethnic and Racial Studies. March, Volume 22, Number 2, 448-462. Werbner, P. (1990). The Migration Process: Capital, Gifts and Offerings among British Pakistanis. New York: St. Martin’s Press. —. (1997). ‘Introduction: The Dialectics of Cultural Hybridity.’ In Debating Cultural Hybridity: Multi-cultural identities and the politics of Anti-racism. Ed. by Pnina Werbner and Tariq Modood. Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Zed Books, 1-26. —. (2000). ‘Introduction: The Materiality of Diaspora – Between Aesthetic and “Real” Politics.’ Diaspora 9:1, 5-20. Newspaper Articles (primarily New York area sources) Becker, J. and Phuong L. (2001). ‘Sikhs Campaign Against Hate: Some Followers Targeted in Wake of Terrorist Attacks,’ Washington Post, Monday, September 24, 2001; p. B01. Firestone, D. (2001). ‘After a Long, Slow Climb to Respectability, a Muslim Charity Experiences a Rapid Fall.’ The New York Times, December 10, p. A18. Fries, J.H. (2002a). ‘Fire Destroys a Sikh Temple In Queens, Injuring 6 Priests.’ The New York Times, March 9. p. B1. —. (2002b). ‘Sikh Congregation Frustrated in Rebuilding Temple After Fire.’ The New York Times, July 7, 2002 p. 21. Goodstein, L. (2001). ‘National Briefing Southwest: Arizona: Immigrant’s Killing May Bring Death Penalty.’ The New York Times Nov 8, 2001 p. A18. —. (2001). ‘American Sikhs Contend They Have Become a Focus of Profiling at Airports.’ The New York Times Nov 10. p. B6.
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—. (2001). ‘8 Groups in U.S. Protest Bush Move Against Foundation.’ The New York Times, December 5, p. A8. —. and T. Lewin (2001). ‘A Nation Challenged: Violence and Harrassment; Victims of Mistaken Identity, Sikhs Pay a Price for Turbans.’ The New York Times. September 19. p. A1. —. and G. Niebuhr (2001). ‘Attacks and Harassment of Arab-Americans Increase.’ The New York Times, Sept 14, 2001 p. A14. Jain, A. (2001). ‘Canadian Sikh forced to remove turban at LaGuardia.’ http://www.rediff.com/us/2001/nov/10ny4.htm Janofsky, M. (2001). ‘National Briefing Southwest: Arizona: Indictment In Killing Of Sikh’. The New York Times, Sept 27, 2001 p. A16 Klawonn, Adam (2001). ‘Donors aid slain Sikh’s family.’ The Arizona Republic, Dec. 21, 2001. Lewin, T. (2001).‘ Sikh Owner Of Gas Station Is Fatally Shot In Rampage.’ The New York Times, Sept 17, 2001 p. B16. —. and Gustav Niebuhr (2001). ‘Attacks and Harassment Continue on Middle Eastern People and Mosques.’ The New York Times. Sept 18, 2001 p. B5. Miller, J. (2001). ‘U.S. to Block Assets It Says Help Finance Hamas Killers.’ The New York Times, December 4, p. A9. —. (2002). ‘Group Sues Over Frozen Assets, Saying U.S. Violated Rights.’ The New York Times, March 9, p. A9. —. and D.E. Sanger (2001). ‘Bush Freezes Assets of Biggest U.S. Muslim Charity, Calling It a Deadly Terror Group.’ The New York Times, December 5. p. A8. Milloy, R.E. (2001). ‘In Texas, Donors to Muslim Charity Seethe at Raids by Government.’ The New York Times, Dec 6, 2001 p. A17. Saulny, S. (2002). ‘In Aftermath of Temple Fire, Sikhs Pray, and Share Sorrow.’ The New York Times, March 10, 2002 p. 43. Sengupta, S. (2001). ‘Arabs and Muslims Steer Through an Unsettling Scrutiny.’ The New York Times, Sept 13, 2001 p. A24. —. (2002). ‘Hindu Right Goes to School to Build a Nation.’ The New York Times, May 13, p. A1. Shenon, P. (2001a). ‘F.B.I. Raids 2 of the Biggest Muslim Charities; Assets of One Are Seized.’ The New York Times, December 15, p. B6. —. (2001b). ‘U.S.-Based Muslim Charity Raided by NATO in Kosovo.’ The New York Times, December 18, p. B6. Wechsler, W.F. (2001). ‘Terror’s Money Trail.’ The New York Times, September 26, p. A19. Winerip, M. (2001). ‘The High Cost of Looking Like an All-American Guy.’ The New York Times. Oct 21, p. 33.
PART SIX SOUTH ASIAN COMMUNITIES: SOME KEY ISSUES
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TAXONOMY OF THE INDIAN DIASPORA IN SOUTH AFRICA: PROBLEMS AND ISSUES IN DEFINING THEIR IDENTITY P. PRATAP KUMAR
Abstract The present essay attempts to look at various criteria to develop a taxonomy of the Indians in South Africa. Various classificatory categories have become part of this taxonomy, viz., indentured Indians vs. passenger Indians; South Indian vs. North Indians; Tamils, Telugus, Hindis, and Gujaratis; Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Parsis, and so on. One could multiply this classification in many different ways. And the criteria used are dependent on what one would want to achieve. The criteria include colonial distinctions, culture, language, religion, politics and so on. While all these different classifications are possible, and the criteria being so different, is it possible to talk about a monistic identity or a pluralistic identity? I shall outline some of the problems and issues involved in both approaches, viz., the monistic and the pluralistic. The criteria for developing the categories are partly political and partly economical, and therefore it is imperative to understand the politics of the taxonomy of the Indian community in South Africa. I The first batch of Indians arrived in South Africa in 1860 mainly coming from South Indian origin. The second batch was brought from Calcutta port mainly drawn from the North Indian locations. By the 1870s the passenger Indians began to arrive. For the purposes of colonial documentation it mattered very little to identify the various groups in terms of their language, religion, caste and so on. The fact that the first four ships that came from Madras did not contain any significant details about their caste and other backgrounds1 1 P. Kumar, Hinduism in South Africa. Durban: University of Durban-Westville, 1995, p. 8. (monograph).
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demonstrates that the colonial record keepers were mainly concerned with the more pragmatic distinction between those who belonged to the indenture contract system and those who belonged to the commercial category. This categorisation is aimed at safeguarding the economic concerns of the European community. This classification of indenture vs. passenger Indians is simply part of the larger colonial distinctions based on race and colour. Thus the Chinese, Malay and Indian labourers were part of the indenture system, and there were some Indians who were listed as passenger or commercial groups. All of these groups were distinguished from the Europeans and Africans on the basis of race and colour. The distinction between the indenture Indians and the passenger Indians acquired special significance in the context of the economic programme of the European community during the colonial period. While the European community is interested in allowing the indenture Indians to come to South Africa to work for them in the sugar cane and other agricultural sectors, they saw the arrival of the passenger Indians with suspicion and as a possible threat to their economic progress.2. In no uncertain terms the Natal farmers made several representations to the Government of India to stop the passenger Indians from coming to South Africa and requested for only the indenture Indians.3 The seriousness with which the Europeans addressed the issue of passenger Indians is evidenced from the way they had demanded the passenger Indians, who came with Gandhi when he returned from India, to be sent back. Gandhi was particularly targeted for attack as they saw him bringing more passenger Indians. However, on the other hand the British Government of India was willing to consider all Indians as equal subjects of the crown although from time to time they conceded to the pressures of the Europeans in Natal.4 In other words, the distinction between the indenture Indians and the passenger Indians, to begin with, is based on economic considerations but gradually acquired political ramifications. Thus the
2 C.G. Henning. The Indentured Indian in Natal 1860-1917. New Delhi: Promilla & Co., Publishers, 1993, p. 81-82. 3 Jagat K. Motwani & Jyoti Barot-Motwani (eds.) Global Migration of Indians. New York: National Federation of Indian-American Associations, 1989, p. 15; also see Joy Brain. “Natal’s Indians: From Co-operation through Competition to Conflict, in Natal and Zululand: From Earliest Times to 1910: A New History. Edited by Andrew Duminy & Bill Guest. Pietermartizburg: University of Natal Press & Shuter and Shuter 1989, p. 261.
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Government of India had to be content with an incoherent situation namely, on the basis of colonial policy all subjects were to be treated equally, that is both Europeans and Indians. But, on the basis of economic and political factors, Indians were generally considered inferior to the Europeans. And once an inferior status was attributed to the Indians, they were further subjected to a second level of classification which distinguished between the indenture and the passenger Indians in an attempt to thwart the economic progress of the Indians in the new colony (e.g., introduction of the Asiatic Trading Bill).5 The distinction between the indenture Indians and the passenger Indians really meant that not only enterprising Indians from India were unwelcome but also the intentions of the Europeans became more and more apparent when they began to demand strict laws to control the mobility of the indenture Indians after their term was finished for fear of the indenture Indians becoming involved in independent agricultural and other entrepreneurial pursuits.6 In other words, a common distinction between Europeans and Indians on the one hand, and a special distinction between the indenture and the passenger Indians on the other, is to be seen primarily as part of the colonial discourse which vigorously sought to advance the European interest in the colonies.7 Although politically speaking the distinction between the indenture and the passenger lasted as long as 1911 when finally the Government of India stopped further immigration of Indians to South Africa and perhaps a little longer,8 on a pragmatic level, however, the distinction ceased to make much sense long before that time Motwani et al, op.cit., p.19 Ibid. 6 Kumar, op.cit., p. 3. By the end of the 1860s already many indentured Indians began to enter agricultural sector as independent growers of vegetables and fruits. 7 To the extent that these distinctions were in no way beneficial to the Indians, Gandhi was perhaps justified in being blind to the distinction between the indenture and the passenger and sought to unite them for a common cause. During the time of Gandhi, there was substantial opposition to Gandhi’s political opinions from mainly the Colonial Born Indians, who mainly comprised the Indenture Indians. Often the African Chronicle represented their views in opposition to the views expressed by the Indian Opinion, which was run by Gandhi and his colleagues. As a result of the opposition from some Indian communities, Gandhi, in 1913, formed Natal Indian Association, and the Natal Indian Congress was effectively divided as such. From then on Gandhi left the Natal Indian Congress and used Natal Indian Association as his political instrument. See B. Pachai. The History of the Indian Opinion, its Origin, Development and Contribution to South African History, 1903-1914. (Doctoral Thesis, University of South Africa, Pretoria) Found in the Archive Year Book of SA, Oct. 11, 1962, p. 64. 8 Brain, op.cit., p. 269; also see Kumar, op.cit., p. 5. 4 5
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since all indenture Indians, once free, began to pursue economic goals despite many political constraints.9 Which means, although not all indenture Indians managed to pursue trading and other commercial interests, a great many of them began to organise themselves as small-scale traders selling vegetables and other produce which they began to grow on their relatively smaller farms. A few of them began to enter the service industry as plumbers, mechanics, carpenters and so on. Thus, long before 1911 the indenture and passenger Indians cumulatively began to threaten the economic interests of the Europeans in varied degrees. It is precisely for this reason that henceforth the colonial discourse described the problems related to Indians in such generic terms as “Indian problem” as opposed to those of either indenture or passenger Indians separately. The reasons for this colonial attitude of initially dividing the Indians as indenture and passenger and later lumping them together under one generic head of “Indian problem” has to be understood within the context of colonial politics of dominance. Interesting as it may seem, while the colonial discourse on Indians moved from a polarised picture to a unified one, a completely different picture was emerging within the Indian community as far as the social taxonomy is concerned. As mentioned earlier, the distinction between indenture and passenger did not matter so much to the Indian community as it did to the Europeans. But what mattered to the Indian community in South Africa from the start was as to where they came from. Thus, the initial boundaries were more general and took into consideration the northern and southern cultural distinctions. But this seems only superficial and more important distinctions were made later on the basis of language, caste and religion. As the Indian community began to grow and take root in South Africa, the more important social formations became apparent. On the basis of language a distinction was made at least between four major groupings: Tamils, Hindis, Telugus and Gujaratis. This does not mean that there were no other linguistic groups. There were some Bengalis, Oriyans, Punjabis and Parsees inter alia on the north 9 As noted in f.n.7 above the indenture Indians began to turn their attention to free trading from the very start of their indenture. This is largely due to the folly of the indenture system itself which in a way turned against the makers of the system. In essence, the system could not stop the enterprising spirit of the Indian, whether he came as a passenger or an indentured labourer.
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Indian side.10 While the Parsis seemed to have maintained a distinct identity even though they were in very small number, the other north Indian linguistic groups seem to have merged into what has come to be known as Hindi-speaking group. In other words, the present socalled Hindi-speaking community is a differentiated group. The same occurred in the case of the south Indian grouping as well. There were Kannadigas, Malayalis, Telugus and Tamils on the south Indian side. Whereas the Kannadigas and Malayalis seem to have merged with the Tamil group, the Telugus have maintained their distinct identity.11 Nevertheless, it must be noted that the case of the Telugus is a bit more complex one. There were Telugus who came from Tamilnad regions, viz., some of the Reddy and some Naidoo communities. Although some of the Reddys and Naidoos have maintained their Telugu identity for the purposes of religion and culture, they pretty much follow the customs of the Tamils and to a large extent they have preserved Tamil as their home language instead of Telugu.12 It is interesting to note that in the case of the Naidoo community, the spelling “Naidoo” is preserved for those who came from Tamil regions of south India and the spelling “Naidu” is used for those who came from the coastal regions of Andhra Pradesh. Although the two broad categories, viz., north Indian and south Indian, consist of many internal differentiations, on cultural terms there seems to be coherence and homogeneity within the two groups. In other words, while the north Indian group is distinguished from the south Indian group in terms of cultural factors, such as local customs of marriage, food, music and so on, there is a general sense of the two groups being Indian. In a recent study, T.K. Oommen made an important distinction between ethnicity, nationality and citizenship.13 Whereas ethnicity and nationality are more parochial categories that apply to culturally and linguistically homogenous groups, citizenship is a category that applies to people who belong to a country either by birth or by naturalisation process. In that sense, an Indian is one who is a citizen of India, a Bengali is a category of nationality based on language and a Naidoo or Reddy and such caste cateKumar, op.cit., p. 9-10. Ranji S. Nowbath et al. (eds.) The Hindu Heritage in South Africa. Durban: The South African Hindu Mahasabha, 1960, p. 18. 12 Kumar, op.cit., p. 11 13 T.K. Oommen. “Ethnicity, Nationality and Citizenship,” unpublished lecture at the Indian Consulate in Durban, 1996. 10 11
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gories belong to one’s ethnicity. If one were to take the term “Indian” to mean “a citizen of India”, it ceases to have relevance in its application to those who formerly come from India and now live outside India. But in spite of many internal differentiations, the category “Indian” seems to have acquired certain ethnic qualities so as to allow identification of groups of Indian origin as “Indian.” It is in this sense, that the north and south Indians living in South Africa retain a certain common identity as Indians. Within India, the distinction between north and south along geographical lines is an arbitrary one because it is not clear as to where exactly north and south are culturally separated. So, the terms north and south have less of geographical reference than ideological, cultural and political significance. However, in applying these two categories to South African Indians one has to be aware of the fact that these are not so commonly used terms of identity. Although for the sake of analytical convenience one might use them in the context of South Africa, sociologically speaking they do not have much on-the-ground reference points. What is present in the social taxonomy of South African Indians is that there are four culturally and linguistically coherent and homogenous groups (Hindis, Gujaratis, Tamils and Telugus). This broad four-fold categorisation of South African Indians is only the outward appearance of it. But once we begin to investigate further, each group reveals a whole range of sub-identities. Subtle indicators rather than conspicuous traits often reveal these sub-identities. These are partly based on caste consciousness, partly the villages or regions from where they originated in India, and partly the local customs and practices. What is interesting is that although the Indian community in South Africa has gone through a process of melting by assimilation and integration, many idiosyncratic features of various sub-groups in a major category are still visible. However, these subtle indicators need to be seen as part of their more private consciousness than their public consciousness. In other words, in more private and closed circles these factors of subtle importance are manifested. But in the context of the bigger grouping these factors tend to be downplayed. For instance, in more private circles, it might be important to talk about differences in marriage customs and food habits within any of the four groups. The outsider may not see them, but for a Gujarati member it is obvious as to who is a member of the washerman caste and who belongs to the higher rank within that social structure. Similarly a Hindi-speaking person would know the distinction between a Maharaj, a Motchi, and a
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Singh; a Tamil would know among which cognate castes they could have matrimonial exchange; a Telugu would know who among them would be traditionally considered the so-called “pariah.” Although a great many of these subtle distinctions are becoming obliterated and younger generation is disinterested in these, often times when it comes to matters of custom and tradition, such as whether they should bury their dead or cremate them, these factors acquire social significance. During the first and second generations of South African Indians, the caste and other social boundaries were stronger than they are today. Many of the early social and community organisations were based on caste and other considerations.14 But today caste as a denominator is largely absent among the South African Hindus, perhaps with the exception of the Gujarati community. The four groups that are identified within South African Indian community maintain their group identities and at the same time internally differentiate on matters of custom and tradition. As such, there is a certain amount of tension that exists within each group. The social politics of how these internal differentiations are manifested within each group is important to understand the constantly shifting concerns and commitment of their members. The picture begins to change when one looks at the group formation in terms of religion. This is probably more complex one than the other classifications. It is here that the boundaries of north-south and language begin to blur and give rise to new group formations. Broadly speaking, there are at least three major religious groups: Hindus, Muslims and Christians. There were certainly others, such as Parsis who came later in the passenger group but they were not considered significant for statistical purposes in the colonial discourse. In the first couple of decades of immigration of Indians, the nomenclature of the groups is rather unspecific. For example in the colonial discourse Hindu did not necessarily refer to the religion called Hinduism as we understand it today. The word that was used in the ship lists was “Gentoo” which seems to be a corruption of the word Hindu and it was used in the first four ships that came from Madras port almost synonymous with the caste category.15 Whereas the north Indian Kumar, op.cit., p. 82f The word seems to have derived from the Portuguese word “gentio’ meaning gentile. C.P. Brown, a European Telugu scholar contended that the word is of unknown origin and seems to have referred to Hindus of south Indian origin. For an elaborate discussion on the word “Gentoo” see Book Printing: Contribution of European Scholars, Appendix 1, p. 225-235. 14 15
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groups were clearly identified with their caste names during the same period, the south Indian groups were referred to by broad categories such as “Gentoo”, “Malabari” which meant Christians, and “Arabs” which meant Muslims.16 It is only around late 1880s a somewhat clear use of religious categories began to be used to identify the various religious groupings. The colonial discourse often conflated a certain region with the religion of the group that originated from there. But as people began to settle down in various parts of South Africa after their initial period during which the immigration conditions were met, the various groups began to manifest many internal differentiations. For instance, within the Hindu fold, there were primarily two major sub-divisions that became clear: those who worshipped Vishnu and his entourage of deities, and those who worshipped Shiva and his affiliated deities, such as Murugan. Mariamman, Draupadiamman, and other deities that are usually part of the villages in south India became merged with the south Indian Shiva worship.17 The early temples of Natal depict distinctly these early formations, but by the turn of the century there was a clear attempt both in the temple rituals and in the architectural designs to integrate the various subdivisions within the Hindu fold. So, today one finds the Vaishnava, Shaiva and village Goddess shrines built within the same complex. From the middle of the 20th century onwards, the various neo-Hindu group formations became significant. By the turn of the century the Arya Samaj was already active and by the mid 20th century the other groups, such as the Shaiva Siddhanta, the Ramakrishna Centre, the Divine Life and Sathya Sai group were making significant impact on the lives of the Hindus so much so that many Hindus began to identify themselves with these groups and have fixed allegiance to one or another of these groups. All of this has significantly altered the social formations within the Hindu group in the sense that these new group formations cut across language and region. However, one cannot exaggerate these new social formations, for these tend to be more tenuous and change unlike the linguistic identities, such as Hindi, Gujarati, Telugu and Tamil. Just as there is a tension within each linguistic group as mentioned earlier, there is also a certain amount of
16 Kumar, op.cit., p.8; also see Y.S. Meer. Documents of the Indentured Labor: Natal 1851-1917. Durban: Institute of Black Research, 1980. 17 Ibid., p. 25; also see Paul Mikula et al. Traditional Hindu Temples in South Africa. Durban: Hindu Temple Publications, 1982.
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tension between a group’s desire to go beyond its linguistic identity to form religious bond and its desire to maintain its linguistic identity. As such, religious identity and linguistic/ethnic identity are often in conflict. Again religious identity and linguistic/ethnic/class identity are in conflict in the case of Muslims also. The Gujarati Muslims are distinguished from the Muslims who came from other parts of India or the present Pakistan who spoke Urdu. Whereas Gujarati Muslims spoke Gujarati and maintained a distinct identity, the Urdu speaking Muslims were often regarded not on a par with their counterparts from Gujarat. This perhaps has to do with the remnant of caste consciousness among the Gujarati Muslims even though in Islam there is no caste system. This caste consciousness seems to have been aggravated by the difference of social status between those who came as passengers/traders and those who came as indenture labourers. The recent row between Gujarati speaking Muslims and Urdu speaking Muslims to control one of the most important and wealthiest mosques in Durban is an indication of how social and class factors define ones identity.18 Thus, ethnicity and class seem to be important factors in the social formation within the Muslim community. In the case of Christians, they formed about 5% of the initial immigrant Indians.19 There were certainly conversions during the colonial period but also during the last few decades for various reasons. Most significant reasons were to be traced to either economic factors or deep dissatisfaction toward their original religious community. This dissatisfaction toward their original religious community may be attributed to various factors, such as a sense of not receiving adequate attention from their community in times of financial crisis, breakdown in the family relations, health crisis and so on. Whatever the reasons might be, today there is a strong following of Christianity among the South African Indians. Both Christians and Muslims con18 In Durban’s Grey Street, Juma Masjid Mosque is currently facing serious conflict between Gujarati Muslims, who mainly control the mosque’s financial affairs by virtue of them being the majority in the Trust Board and the Urdu speaking Muslims, whose origins go back to their indenture history. Although the Urdu speaking Muslims are in the majority (60%), because of their social status they have been sidelined by the more affluent and socially higher caste Gujarati Muslims. The trust deed provides for nine members along the sectarian lines: 5 Memons, 2 Surtees, 1 Koknee and 1 colonial born Indian (i.e., those who came under the indenture system). See “Row over mosque’s class distinction” in Sunday Tribune, 14 Feb., 1999, p. 11 19 Y.S. Meer, op.cit., p. 4ff
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tinue to make inroads into the Hindu community. However, the orthodox Hindu response has never been more resistant than it is today to the conversion phenomenon. Since the World Hindu conference in July 1995, the Vishva Hindu Parishat and the Rashtriya Svayam Sevak Samaj have been vigorously opposing both the Muslim and Christian missionary efforts. This is bound to have a significant impact on the relations among Indians in general. This means, from the standpoint of the social formation among Indians in South Africa, Hindu-Muslim-Christian tension will become an important factor in the internal politics of the Indian identity. The shifting internal politics of the Indian community in South Africa will depend on how best this three fold tension is held in balance.
II While religious matters are important in the shaping of the Indian identity, the gender issues are becoming equally important in the emerging scenario of the Indian identity. One rather important concern among social scientists, especially in the wake of the emerging feminist agenda in all maters of social concern, is the identity of women. Where do they fit in this broader problem of the Indian identity? How have they shaped their identity? Do they matter in defining the Indian identity? These and many other searching questions need some clarification in order to understand the Indian identity in South Africa. To respond to these questions some background is necessary. The indenture system in its initial stages preferred only the able bodied men who could clear the bush and plant sugar cane. But very quickly the system provided for a certain small number of women in order to provide support for the men. This rather deliberate imbalance in the ratio of men and women quickly resulted in other social problems, such as too many competing for the small number of women and this led to social insecurity not to mention the other social problems, such as infidelity both among men and women, greater instances of suicide among men. But the number of women began to rise very rapidly by the late 19th century. This had another social effect among the Indian community. There were a significant number of illegitimate relations between men and women. There were many instances where men had more than one wife. As this problem became more acute, it was no longer the Indian problem but the
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South African government had to deal with it. They did so by introducing marriage laws that made Indian marriages illegitimate. Both the Hindu and the Muslim marriages could not be recognised by the government for official purposes and this meant children born out of those customary marriages were considered illegitimate and hence could not inherit the property and assets of their fathers. The law required that customary marriages had to be registered again with the registrar of Marriages. It was against this background that Gandhi opposed the marriage act. By the early 1900s the problem became so acute that it received attention from women leaders in India. At a meeting in Bombay known as the meeting of the ‘Ladies of Bombay’ representing different religious groups the issue was addressed. Lady Petit the president of the gathering addressed Ladies, we meet here today, representing of all sections of the women of Bombay, to consider what steps should be taken to give expression to our feelings of deep sympathy with our sisters in South Africa and profound indignation at the persecution to which the South African Government are subjecting them.20
She went on to point out, The particular grievance of our sisters in South Africa is, of course, the marriage difficulty, and touching as it does the honour of the whole Indian womanhood, it is perhaps the most serious of all. The Immigration Act refuses to recognise as valid any marriage according to rites, which do not prohibit polygamy. All marriages, therefore, performed according to the non-Christian faith are to the Union Government as null and void; and a wife and even an only wife of an Indian who obtains entry into South Africa is not regarded by the Union of South Africa as a wedded wife and is therefore a prohibited immigrant.21
The reason why difficult laws on Indian marriages became important is because it affected the immigration of Indians more directly. That is, coupled with the Asiatic Law Amendment Act 2, 1907 and the Immigration Restriction Act 15, 1907 which placed educational restrictions on Indian immigrants, the 1913 legislation which placed restrictions on Indian marriages effectively curtailed the future prospects for the Indian immigration. Pachai comments,
20 S.A. Waiz (ed.). Indians Abroad. Bombay: The Imperial Indian Citizenship Association, 1927, p. 256. 21 Ibid. p. 257-258.
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When 1913 Bill had been introduced in Parliament and the Indian leaders had observed the spirit in which the Indian question had been dealt with by the Union Ministers, grave fears were aroused that the situation remained materially unaltered from what it had been when the 1912 Bill had made its appearance. If anything the position had deteriorated as a result of the Searle judgment which invalidated practically every Indian marriage.22
On 14 March, 1913 Justice Searle of the Cape Supreme Court gave a judgment “to the effect that all [Indian] marriages were outside the pale of legal marriages in South Africa with the exception of those which were celebrated according to rites which did not permit polygamous marriages and were registered by the Registrar of marriages.”23 Pachai further notes that This judgment nullified in South Africa all marriages celebrated according to the Hindu, Mohammedan, and Zoroastrian rites; the many married Indian women in South Africa ceased to have the legal status of wives for, in terms of the Searle judgment, a monogamous marriage celebrated according to rites which permitted polygamous marriages was held to be a polygamous marriage.24
It is interesting to note that Gandhi sought from the Union Government of South Africa that the plural wives be permitted to enter South Africa without their marriage being given legal status. Gandhi in fact wrote to the Secretary of the Interior, Unless the relief now sought is granted soon, the status of Indian women married in South Africa is that of concubines and the children are not lawful heirs of their parents.... With regard to polygamy, I have not asked for legal recognition, but the admission, under the powers vested in the Minister, of plural wives without the Government in any way recognising their legal status. The admission is to be restricted only to plural wives already married to Indians who may be found to be unquestionably domiciled in the Union.25
On the one hand, the social problems that arose in the Indian community necessitated the government to introduce difficult laws to contain the social problems of “illegitimate” wives. But on the other
22 B. Pachai. The History of the Indian Opinion, its Origin, Development and Contribution to South African History, 1903-1914. (Doctoral Thesis, University of South Africa, Pretoria) Found in the Archive Year Book of SA, Oct. 11, 1962, p. 59. 23 Ibid. p. 61. (Parenthesis mine). 24 Ibid. p. 61. 25 Ibid. p. 62.
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hand, the problem itself was the creation of the indenture system, which the authorities did not bother to take cognisance of. This was the contention of Gandhi, namely that such an anomalous situation of social problems leading to marital tensions was a direct result of the indenture system. Gandhi’s opposition to the marriage act did very little at that time. The problem was resolved only in the last few years when the new constitution of South Africa recognised the customary marriages as legally binding. After the collapse of the apartheid system in 1990, a new government was formed in 1994, which appointed religious priests from both Hindu and Muslim communities as Marriage Registrars. This above situation raises a fundamental question of how women were treated both socially as well as legally. First, women were only brought as a support system to men within the broader framework of the indenture system. Their wages were less than half when compared to men. So, they were exploited by the indenture system, which further more reduced them to a state of illegitimacy. Within the society at the same time, men also exploited them for their sexual pleasures. It is against this social background that women genuinely felt angered and humiliated. S.R. Pather comments, “Gandhi saw in this the possibilities of an excellent weapon and immediately decided to throw Indian women into the struggle. The honour of Indian women had been insulted! Gandhi wanted volunteers who would go to jail in protest.”26 It is no surprise that women were in the majority who responded to Gandhi’s call to passive resistance during his struggle in South Africa at the turn of the last century. In fact, the Indian Opinion, which was Gandhi’s political instrument, appealed to men to join the movement. It said, “We hope, too, that the male members of the population will realise their duty in the matter.”27 However, soon women’s associations emerged and a notable one was the Transvaal Indian Women’s Association.28 Many women went to jail and gave their lives for the struggle for freedom and equality. A shining example was Velliamma (a Tamil speaking woman who died during the passive resistance campaign of Gandhi)29, whose contribution to the 26 S.R. Pather (ed.). 1860-1960: A Century of Indians in South Africa. Durban: Cavalier Publishers, n.d., p. 77. 27 Pachai, op. cit., p. 62. 28 Ibid. p. 62. 29 This is a Story of the Indian People, Their Origin, Growth and Development, a monograph with no author’s name. Durban: University of Durban-Westville Documentation Centre, n.d., p. 81.
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freedom struggle during Gandhi’s time was duly recognised subsequently by Gandhi’s grandson in 1996/7 when he was appointed the High Commissioner of India to South Africa. Since then, Indian women have become involved in many social and religious spheres and worked alongside men. Their gradual and steady rise to recognition in many fields of activity both within the Indian community as well as in the South African society needs to be understood against the above background of social engineering by an unfavourable system. One remarkable woman who needs mention is Dr Goonam, who was known as the “Coolie Doctor” and who did a great deal to politicise Indian women. She formed the Indian Women’s League in 1938. She challenged the Natal Indian Congress to accept women in to the organisation.30 Today they have risen to occupy positions of power as doctors, judges, lawyers, speakers of parliament, business executives and so on competing with men on an equal footing in the South African society. Their sense of identity is no longer tied with that of their men. The rising number of divorces within the Indian community is an indication of the social transformation that women are going through by asserting their right to freedom and equality. What is interesting to note is that the South African laws have been transformed to provide for the rights of women within the last few years. But Indian women are still being caught in the halting pace with which the tradition and custom has held them hostage. Women still receive low status in the distribution of property by their parents or husbands. The number of instances that one encounters where women have not been given equal share of the parent’s property and assets but a token gift at the time of their marriage. In some instances, even those token gifts have not been realised due to strange clauses their fathers have inserted. (e.g., in one instance that I know, the father stipulated that his Trust would be dissolved only after his youngest son got married. The youngest son never got married and he is now more than 60 years and is unlikely to be married and thus the Trust has not been dissolved. In the mean time they have never received the two hundred pounds that the father gave each of the daughters. It is unlikely they would ever see that money unless the Master of the Supreme Court finds a legal provision 30 Uma Shashikant Mesthrie. From Sastri to Deshmukh: A Study of the Role of the Government of India’s Representatives in South Africa (1927-1946). (Unpublished doctoral thesis) Durban: University of Durban-Westville, 1987, p. 219.
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to dissolve the Trust which is now worth millions of South African Rands.) Cases such as these are far too many which illustrate the distance between the present generation of Indian women and their customs and traditions, which have for centuries trapped them.
III Let me make some general comments on the analysis that I have presented so far. The above analysis points out that the identity of the Indian community in South Africa is clearly pluralistic and any attempt to provide coherence to the notion of an Indian identity in South Africa would have to take into account the various competing ethnic and religious values of each sub-group as well as the gender issues. While the colonial discourse made distinctions between Indians against a general background of race and colour, the subsequent social distinctions that became important for the Indians themselves depended on ethnicity, which is characterised by language and culture. Religious identity often brought people across the boundaries of ethnicity, but remains very tenuous. As is implicit in my analysis, a theory of monistic identity is clearly problematic for it does not exist in any meaningful sense. On the other hand, a pluralistic identity is wrought with various competing values, which can hinder the progress of a community. However, what is significant is to recognise the pluralistic nature of the Indian community and the variegated nature of issues, and develop some pragmatic identity by mutual negotiation of the various competing values. Looking at the past history of the South African Indians, it is precisely how the Indian community has survived in the diaspora through its history. In other words, the Indians who came to South Africa came from various backgrounds: linguistic, religious, cultural and social. However, the nature of the ritual integration among Hindus, commercial co-operation between Hindus and Muslims – all demonstrate that the Indian is capable of negotiating the competing values in an effort to forge unity. To what extent the past remains an important pointer to the future direction of the Indians in South Africa depends on how the emerging inter-relations between various religious groups take shape and how gender issues, especially the rights of women are dealt with. The emerging inter-religious relations among Indians cannot be naively set aside because they provide a window into the power poli-
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tics of various social and religious forces among Indians. These emerging inter-religious relations are about social dominance, ritual control and ideological autonomy. Nor can one underestimate the resilience of South African Indian women and the tenacity with which they are forcing the society to take their issues seriously. As social scientists we can only ignore these important social transformations to the detriment of losing sight of a profound segment of history as it unfolds.
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Pather, S.R. (ed.). 1860-1960: A Century of Indians in South Africa. Durban: Cavalier Publishers, n.d. Paton, A. The Story of the Group Areas Act. Durban: Clarendon Press, n.d. Pillay, G. (1991). An Investigation into the Caste Attitudes that Prevail amongst Hindus in the Durban Metropolitan Area. (Unpublished M.A. thesis). Durban: University of Durban-Westville. Riesman, D. (1954). Individualism Reconsidered. Glencoe (Illinois): The Free Press. Robertson, H.M. (1933). Aspects of the Rise of Economic Individualism: A Criticism of Max Weber and His School. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Select Documents on British Colonial policy 1830 – 1860, (Edited by Kenneth N. Bell & W.P.Morrell). (1928). Oxford: The Clarendon Press. This is a Story of the Indian People, Their Origin, Growth and Development, a monograph with no author’s name. Durban: University of Durban-Westville Documentation Centre, n.d. Waiz, S.A (ed.). (1927). Indians Abroad. Bombay: The Imperial Indian Citizenship Association. Yinger, M.J. (1957). Religion, Society and the Individual. New York: The Macmillan Co.
PUNJABI RELIGION AMONGST THE SOUTH ASIAN DIASPORA IN BRITAIN: THE ROLE OF THE BABA SANDEEP SINGH CHOHAN
Abstract Within the Indian sub-continent exorcism and healing are an integral part of the religious practices and belief systems. However, the emergence of these practices in Britain was a somewhat later phenomenon. In the past twenty years, a number of mandirs, darbars and gurdwaras have been opened which focus mainly on exorcism and healing practices. These distinct religious centres are formed around babas (holy men) adept in the practice of exorcism because of their supernatural abilities. However, these communities are rarely if ever mentioned in the present array of academic studies on the diaspora in Britain. This study will explore the processes of community formation with special reference to the influence of exorcist and healing traditions in Britain. Reasons for the popularity of these traditions will be explored. The babas that are adept exorcists and healers will be discussed in order to assess their role and importance amongst the diaspora in the West Midlands.
Introduction The study of the South Asian diaspora in Britain was undertaken in the 1970s some twenty years after the process of migration from South Asia to Britain had begun. Works on the diaspora communities have explored the formation of distinct religious communities in different parts of Britain. Hence there are separate studies of Sikh, Hindu and Muslim communities in Britain, their development through the process of migration in the 1960s to the present-day development of second and third generations of the diaspora. This paper will explore a form of diaspora religion from the Indian sub-continent that has been neglected amongst the plethora of studies of the diaspora. Focussing on two communities in Wolverhampton in the West Midlands, this study explores the formation of religious groups that
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are broadly speaking Punjabi in origin, and have developed around the leadership of a baba – holy man. Firstly, a brief summary of the South Asian diaspora in Britain will be provided exploring, the process of migration and settlement. Secondly, the impact and importance of diaspora studies in Britain will be examined, focussing on the problems that researchers have faced as a result of their own segregation of religion and as a result of the migrants’ portrayals of their religious beliefs and practices. Thirdly, Punjabi religion and the role of the babas in Wolverhampton will be provided, exemplifying the diversity in religious traditions amongst the South Asian diaspora in Britain.
South Asian communities in Britain In 1977 Roger and Catherine Ballard identified a four-stage migration process, which traced the settlement of Sikhs in Britain. Although this model focussed on Sikh migration, it has been used as a yardstick for migration from south Asia to Britain in general. The Ballards’ work provided a classical model that could be used and manipulated to fit other South Asian migrations and settlement in Britain. Hence ‘Our model would seem to apply generally to all those of rural and peasant origin in South Asia...’(Ballard and Ballard, 1977: 51) Although a Sikh organisation was formed in London in 1908 and a gurdwara was also established in 1913, these were not the roots of the migration process, which accelerated in the latter half of the century. The first stage of migration witnessed the individual pioneers arriving in Britain around the 1920s and making a living through peddling door to door. This group consisted mainly of the Bhatra Sikhs who continued their occupation of peddling in Britain as they had in India. The second stage of migration in the 1950s was a result of the post World War boom in Britain. The migration of males was a result of the need for unskilled labour in the industrial sector. This was never seen as an opportunity to settle in Britain by the migrants but was regarded as a good opportunity to make as much money as possible and return to India and live a comfortable life. The third stage of migration in the 1960s saw the reunion of the males settled in Britain with their wives and children as a result of the restrictions being imposed by the new immigration laws in Britain.
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Consequently there was a mass migration of women and children to Britain before the legislation took effect. Other extended family members and kin were also sponsored to come to Britain and partake of the riches before the immigration legislation could restrict the migration process. The family unit was re-instituted in an alien and occasionally hostile environment. This situation exacerbated the need for religious organisations, beliefs and practices amongst the community. However, even at this stage it was not regarded as a long-term situation and a return to India was envisaged after earning substantial amounts of money. Nevertheless as family units had been established, religious needs began to come to the forefront. In the late 1960s and into the 1970s buildings specifically for religious worship were purchased or rented in which weekly communal worship could be held. According to Thomas (1993), between 1955 and 1959 seven gurdwaras were opened, by 1975 this figure had increased above fifty and in 1989 the number had grown to approximately 149 gurdwaras (Thomas, 1993: 216). The 1970s brought the final stage of the migration process with the one-time migrants raising families in Britain. As the family unit had been reunited in the third phase of the migration process, it was inevitable that the family group would develop. The birth and education of young Sikhs in British schools was the fourth and final stage of the Ballards’ process. Furthermore the ghetto lifestyle of the previous phases from the all male households to several families living in one terraced house moved on. With greater prosperity the migrants were able to move on from those cramped conditions into a suburban lifestyle. The family growth further intensified the feelings and need for religious practices and organisations. The concentration around a religion also served as a way to reminisce about their homeland and gather as a community on a regular basis. After the initial focus on the migration and settlement process of South Asians to this country scholars endeavoured to explore issues of ethnicity, identity and community amongst the diaspora. Their religious beliefs, practices and traditions were prominent features of their identity or ethnicity along with association to their homeland. The University of Leeds’ Community Religions Project (CRP) is a prime example of the research conducted in the field of religious studies, exploring the settlement and development of South Asian communities in Britain. Scholars such as Kim Knott, Seva Singh Kalsi and Ron Geaves have all conducted and published monographs on the
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developments of Hindu, Sikh and Muslim communities in major towns and cities throughout Britain. The study of South Asian migration and their religious traditions has been an important part of academic study since the 1970s, the work of the CRP has a number of aims of which several are expressed as follows: 1. It aims to provide more in-depth information on particular religions by encouraging empirical research... 2. It aims to investigate the different stages in the reproduction of the religions of ethnic minorities in Britain and to raise questions concerning their future development. 3. It aims to contribute to academic debates about the relationship between religion and ethnicity...(Knott, 1992: 6-7) Each monograph has focused on individual religious diaspora in Britain in certain cities or towns. They trace the migration, settlement and development of the specific diaspora groups focusing on the development of their religious traditions. The monographs have followed general frameworks and have been at the forefront of South Asian diaspora studies in Britain.
Punjabi Religion It is within the present array of studies that an examination of the exorcist and healing traditions of the Indian sub-continent was undertaken, focussing on the Punjab and the West Midlands. These two sites were selected as the focus of the research because of the history of migration from the Punjab to Wolverhampton, which exemplifies the four-stage migration process. For the purposes of the research, the term ‘Punjabi religion’ has been used to refer to religious beliefs and practices that are popular in the northern states of India and have been transported to Britain through migration. Integral parts of this form of religion are the aspects of religious healing, exorcism and counselling conducted by a religious leader. Whether this is a guru, sadhu, baba or bhagat, he is at the forefront of these religious practices and is highly revered. It is because of the prevalence of the charismatic leader that this form of religion cannot be referred to as a regional form of religion. Further-
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more the attempts at universalisation transcend the regional factors of ethnicity and identity. Although the Punjab has geographical and linguistic boundaries in India, my perception of Punjabi religion stretches beyond these, hence Punjab and Punjabi religion stretch from [t]he fertile plain bounded by the Indus to the west and the Yamuna to the east, rising into the foothills of the Himalayas to the north and tailing off equally fuzzily into the desiccated deserts of Rajasthan to the south (Ballard, 1999: 11).
Punjab and North India are regarded as a social, cultural and religious melting pot within which the most diverse religious traditions have culminated. Within the northern states, there is a dense milieu of Vaishnavite and Shaivite traditions. The Sikh religion as the predominant form of sant/bhakti religion is geographically tied to the state of Punjab. Sufi shrines are scattered throughout the villages and townships and are an integral part of the religious system. Within the diverse religious traditions present, exorcism, healing and belief in supernatural forms of malevolence are intertwined. These are not mere superstitions and ailing forms of magico-religious practices but are an important part of the religion. Belief and practice of these phenomenon serve as a binding device in which a person afflicted by malevolence will venture through religious traditions to find a cure hence, whether the healer is Hindu, Sikh or Muslim, their religious powers will be sought to alleviate the problem. What is most interesting about the religion of Punjab is the pantheon of religious figures that are revered, and their formation from the Hindu, Sikh and Islamic traditions. The Peer Darbar exemplifies the way in which the daily religious lives of followers are not restricted to one tradition but use and fuse religious figures from various traditions. Geaves has commented on the array of popular lithographs one faces entering a home in India and the ease with which they use an array of different religious practices, beliefs and traditions (Geaves, 1996: 6). It is precisely this form of religion, rarely mentioned in academic studies, that is the Punjabi religion that I am examining in its setting in India and in the West Midlands. The Ballards’ four phase theory of migration was published in 1977, some 25 years ago. The fourth phase of migration in which the second generation was born has since developed and a third, possibly fourth generation are growing and being educated in Britain. The South Asian religious communities established in the 1960s and
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1970s have been examined initially in relation to identity and ethnicity based on language, caste, region and religion. As the second generation was born and educated in Britain the problem of culture clashes was raised. How could South Asian children born and educated in Britain navigate the different cultures of their parents and the society in which they were being raised? Hence ethnicity, and identity with their roots, were highlighted even further. Events in south Asia were still important to communities in Britain. The Indian army invasion of Harimandir Sahib complex in Amritsar in 1984 and the destruction of the Babri Masjid on the Ram Janam Bhoomi in 1992 are prime examples of the links that are kept with the country of origin. Punjabi religion is something that has gone relatively unnoticed amongst academics, even though it has been present in South Asian communities in Britain for the past twenty years. Eventually Punjabi religion has found its place in Britain and has established itself as a part of the British South Asian religious landscape. Migration from the Punjab to the West Midlands has led to several religious centres dedicated to regional Punjabi deities being opened and established. The mandirs and shrines in Walsall and Wolverhampton based on the deity Baba Balak Nath are a prime example of this trend. Apart from Geaves’ work on the Baba Balak Nath cult there has been no academic study of other Punjabi forms of religion. There are several reasons for the lack of examination of Punjabi religion or other forms of religion which are focused on charismatic leadership: 1. The compartmentalisation of religion. According to Oberoi It is all very well for historians of religion to think, speak and write about Islam, Hinduism and Sikhism, but they rarely pause to consider if such clear-cut categories actually found expression in the consciousness, actions and cultural performances of human actors they describe (Oberoi, 1997: 1).
In the study of South Asian religious communities in Britain, the labels of Hinduism, Sikhism and Islam are used without hesitation even though religious practices and beliefs are so much more diverse and different from what is presented in academic publications. There are two main reasons for what Oberoi (1997) has labelled ‘the construction of religious boundaries’. Firstly, European scholarship has
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from the beginning categorised the religious beliefs and practices of South Asians into Hindu, Muslim or Sikh groups. Secondly, the reform movements in the Hindu and Sikh tradition in the 1900s sought to label distinctly their respective traditions by differentiating themselves from each other. 2. Formalisation of religion in a new environment. As discussed earlier, the importance of religious institutions and organisations did not take place until the second and third phases of migration and settlement in Britain. According to scholars like Singer (1972) Indian religions, especially Hinduism, were undergoing processes of ecumenicalism. This was exacerbated through the adverse affects of migration. This paper does not allow for a full exploration of the effects of migration on the construction of religious communities; however a brief overview is required. Vertovec in his book The Hindu diaspora suggests that reproduction of Hinduism in Britain is achieved through cultural transmission through the family and secondly through organisational structures based on the Weberian notion ‘to create and crystallise...broader symbolic orientations and norms, to articulate various goals, to establish organisational frameworks, and to mobilise the resources necessary for all these purposes’ (Vertovec, 2000: 94).
Vertovec explores the organisational reproduction of the Hindu community in three different stages. In the first phase, where the British Asian population comprised predominantly of young male migrants, religious practices were not required, the hostile conditions necessitated the formation of loose community networks based on common difficulties in the foreign climate, hence caste, region of origin and language were of little importance and all India festivals were celebrated on low key scales. According to Vertovec, ‘The second phase witnessed the growth of diverse regional-linguistic, sectarian and caste associations.’ (Vertovec, 2000: 96) This fits in with the Ballards’ third phase of migration where families were being re-united before the implementation of rigid immigration laws. Whereas the all male households were bound by mutual hardship they suffered, the reunion of families reinforced the caste, regional and linguistic divisions of the Indian subcontinent. Hence, communities, organisations, institutions and societies were formed.
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Thirdly, the formation of umbrella organisations characterised institutional developments. This was in an aim to achieve the ecumenical form of Hinduism mentioned earlier, overriding the caste, linguistic and regional bias (e.g. The National Council of Hindu Temples). What were presented in Britain were religious traditions that were undergoing massive changes in order to assert their own identity. Aspects of Punjabi religion based on charismatic leaders were not required and hindered the attempts to present South Asian religion as wholesome and homogenous forms of religion. Hence, academics were faced with communities that asserted Hindu, Sikh and Muslim categories themselves. 3. Aspects of Punjabi religion were maintained in the home rather than on a community basis. It therefore follows that what Vertovec defined as religious nurturing through the generations occurred in the home rather than community basis. However, the attempt to portray Hinduism as a homogenous religion that was constant throughout India obscures regional religious beliefs and practices. For the reasons mentioned above, Punjabi religion and other regional religious beliefs, practices and traditions have been neglected by South Asians settling in this country and by academics. However, there is evidence to show that the practices of regional forms of religion are rising, and Punjabi religion is being expressed not only in the homes but is being expressed through specially defined religious centres. What is required in the study of South Asian religion is a closer examination of these forms of religion and their importance in the religious landscape and mindset of the British South Asian communities. In order to examine this, the centrality of the holy man or baba amongst the South Asian diaspora in Britain is required.
Defining ‘Baba’ The terms used to refer to holy men are more often then not introduced and used by followers rather than the godman himself. Most terms used represent certain aspect of the holy person, for example, the prefix Shaykh or Pir indicates an allegiance to a particular Sufi tariqa and silsila, ‘Sant’ refers to a particular holy man from the Sikh
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traditions as do the terms ‘Bhai’ and ‘Giani‘, ‘Swami‘ is an honorific term given to holy men in the Hindu tradition. Yet the term ‘baba‘ is used in a generic sense and has no particular religious implication, although it is used mainly within the confines of the bhakti tradition. According Dogra and Mansukhani (1997) Baba means father, grandfather, an old man, or an ascetic. The Sikhs call Guru Nanak ‘Baba’ or father, in the same way as they use the word ‘Mata’ or mother to the wives of the Gurus. It is also added as a prefix to the names of holy men (Dogra and Mansukhani, 1997: 50).
This is a standard definition of ‘baba‘ used in everyday Punjabi language, by Punjabi people. Within the Punjab and those within its linguistic boundaries use the term to refer specifically to their paternal grandfather, however as indicated above it is also used in a number of different ways. It is the latter part of the definition ‘prefix to the names of holy men’ which is of interest in this paper. Hence Jackson and Nesbitt’s (1993: 206) definition of baba as a ‘term of affectionate respect used for some religious leaders’ provides an invaluable insight into the importance of the Baba and his multi-dimensional role within society. The affection in the term is a key factor to the accessibility of the holy man to his followers and this will be explored particularly in the context of the diaspora. However, it should be noted that, as well as the use of the term, mostly in the Punjab region, it is also used for other more famous holy men of India, for example Sathya Sai Baba.
Babas in the Diaspora The role of holy men in the diaspora has been explored by a number of academics. Kalsi (1992:166-185) in his monograph on caste in Sikhism in Leeds and Bradford provides an insight into the role of holy men amongst the sangat in these cities. Nesbitt (1985: 67-79) and Barrow (1999: 335-348) explore the role of Sants in the Sikh tradition and their impact on the diaspora. These scholars explore, briefly, the diverse role of the holy men and their importance for the communities, however these groups are entrenched in the Sikh tradition. The babas explored in this chapter do not pledge allegiance to a specific religion, instead they provide places of worship where all can gather under one roof regardless of religious identity or category. This form of religion is referred to as Punjabi religion, based on its regional ori-
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gin in the Punjab and development amongst the Punjabi community in the West Midlands. Although the religious practices are found throughout India, there are key elements that are essentially Punjabi in nature. This is mainly the pantheon of gods and goddesses that are venerated but also the views on the supernatural and malevolent world and how they interact in the human world. Within the West Midlands there are numerous holy men who are adept at exorcism and healing. Baba Tarlochan Singh Bhoparai and Baba Subash Chander Kapur, both based in Wolverhampton are both holy men that practice healing and exorcism. Both babas provide religious, social and cultural counselling as well as religious healing and do not participate in any life cycle rituals like births, marriages, initiation or death for any religious tradition. However, their importance in the community and the role they play is immense.
‘Chip shop man who became a cult leader’ The front cover of the Sunday Mercury on 23 April 2000 read ‘Chip shop man who became a cult leader’. An enthralling title and fascinating piece of tabloid journalism followed. Baba Bhoparai – the chip shop man turned cult leader (also a butcher and business partner in a dry cleaning business) was criticised by medics and local religious groups for the practice of exorcisms and ritual slaughters. Baba Bhoparai was criticised for his treatment of women during the process of exorcism and healing and the ill effects this had on younger members of the sangat. Local Sikh gurdwaras, the Wolverhampton InterFaith Group, the British Medical Association and the leader of the Walsall based Baba Balak Nath Mandir all criticised Ek Niwas and its leader for the religious practices carried out. The article in the Sunday Mercury was the first form of publicity that these groups have received. Indian magazines and newspapers catering for the British diaspora have numerous advertisements for babas and pirs offering solutions to marital, financial and supernatural problems. However, these regional forms of religion from the West Midlands do not feature in the advertisements. The article in the Sunday Mercury was followed by a spate of short articles nationally in The Sun and in local newspapers, Indian publications in this country and India. The day the article was published, devotees demonstrated outside Ek Niwas holding placards professing their reverence and love for Baba Bhoparai.
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The demonstration was more daring than it may seem. Ek Niwas has a history of conflict with the local Sikh gurdwara, the largest in Wolverhampton. The committee members of the gurdwara are vociferous in their attacks on the practices at Ek Niwas in the past and in the article published in the Sunday Mercury in 2000 and other Punjabi publications catering for the Punjabi British diaspora. Ek Niwas expounds a belief that all can come and worship under one roof; hence they have a Guru Granth Sahib along with murtis of the Hindu gods and goddesses, Jesus and Buddha. This is further exemplified by the English subtitle used by Ek Niwas ‘Universal Divine Temple’ for their place of worship. Members of the gurdwara are unhappy with the placement of the Guru Granth Sahib in the same place as so many murtis and have attempted to remove the Guru Granth Sahib on a number of occasions. The demonstration outside Ek Niwas coincided with the Vaisakhi Mela hence large numbers of Sikhs had congregated at the gurdwara. Conflict ensued throughout the day with Sikhs passing by in cars and showing their displeasure in a number of ways. The swiftness with which the demonstration was arranged was fascinating as it portrayed the importance and reverence the sangat have for the Baba. Placards professed openly their love for the Baba and their beliefs in his truthfulness and holiness. Libel cases were filed by Baba Bhoparai against Sunday Mercury, The Sun and other publications which ran any similar articles. In December 2000 Baba Bhoparai won the libel cases and apologies were printed and damages paid. A video recording was made of the Baba and some close devotees after they had won the case against the Sunday Mercury, in which the sangat openly professed their support and respect for their Baba and his importance in the community. Other members of the sangat that are on the recording regarded Baba Balak Nath and Baba Bhoparai as the backbone of the community. Although Baba Bhoparai regards himself as a mere sevadar – a servant of Baba Balak Nath, his importance in the community and to his followers is immense. In respect some members of the sangat will touch his feet while others kneel and prostrate themselves. Although Baba Bhoparai dissuades the sangat from this, they are steadfast in this act of reverence. The reason for such homage is the role the Baba plays not only as a religious leader with supernatural powers for healing, but the perception of his holiness emanating through the advice he gives to his sangat. The relationship between Baba Bhoparai and Baba Balak Nath is
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a typical bhakti model of a devotee showing love and devotion to their deity. However, Baba Bhoparai is regarded by the sangat as a baba because of the exemplary manner in which he serves Baba Balak Nath. Hence, the close relationship between the devotee and the deity in this case has elevated the person on a pedestal. Furthermore the Baba is regarded as a holy person because of his sincere bhakti and service to Baba Balak Nath. The Baba himself sees his role in the community changing because of the problems that the South Asian diaspora are facing in this country. Although some would see the baba’s role merely as a holy man with religious powers, he sees his role in a different light. Baba Bhoparai re-iterated on a number of occasions that he was a sevadar, to the deity, the sangat as a healer and as a guide for those with social or cultural problems. He indicated that the majority of people that attend Ek Niwas do so because of some problems they encounter. A prominent scenario is a clash between the older and younger family members. Watson (1977) explored the difficulties the younger generation of the South Asian diaspora, were facing in Britain in adhering to two sets of cultures at home and in society. In early studies of the younger generation of the South Asian diaspora the ‘between two cultures’ thesis was used as the foundation for any discussion. However this approach was too simplistic and was inappropriate because it did not consider the complexity within which individuals formed their own identity (Nesbitt, 1998: 189-190). According to Nesbitt, Watson’s work did not take into account the pools of identity from which the younger South Asian generation could form their identity. For example one could identify by religion, nationality, or parental nationality and all the permutations of these groups that developed. Hence this approach does not truly reflect the ways in which the British born, South Asian diaspora cope with the differing cultural systems. However, Baba Bhoparai supports the theory of a culture clash between the younger generation and their parents, not as a result of the migration and settlement process, but because of the inherent evil in the world generally. He indicates that the majority of people whom he sees now are faced with family problems rather than malevolent spirits or ghosts. Conflicts between the parents and their children are brought to the Baba and he attempts to reconcile their differences. The use of recreational drugs is a main concern amongst the older generation that come to him for counselling. Other concerns or problems that have been encountered include inter-racial or inter-caste
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marriages, children leaving home, and a general tension between the wishes of the older generation and the actions and thoughts of the younger generation. The Baba believes the conflict is a result of the kali yuga (dark age) that the world is in. The dark age has plunged society into turmoil and malevolent practices are also used to harm people. He states that the age is so bad that jealousy amongst families results in the use of malevolent practices to harm others, as a result of which the younger generation is attacked and eventually fall into social ills. Baba Bhoparai regards the present kali yuga as the main cause of all the problems he encounters in society, whether these are on and international, national or local level. The kali yuga is the main causation of problems that are brought to him by the sangat. Whether a person is afflicted by a malevolent being or whether there is friction within a family the root cause is the lack of love and religion in peoples lives today. Although his main function is regarded publicly as a healer or exorcist, he feels that bringing people back to religion is the main role in his life. As a sevadar he can only assist the sangat and guide them to the solutions of their problems.
The Peer Darbar and Baba Subash Chander Kapur The Peer Darbar, under the leadership of Baba Subash Chander Kapur, established a permanent place of worship in 1998. For the previous seven years the community congregated in a terraced house in the Whitmore Reans area of Wolverhampton where a converted loft, initially intended for family use only, was opened to the public for worship. The focus of the community’s belief and practice is a Sufi shrine in the village of Kangar, District Hoshiarpur, Punjab. However the Baba who leads the community is Hindu, and the majority of the congregation that attend Peer Darbar are from the Punjab and are either Sikh or Hindu. The village shrine is a traditional khanqah or lodging used by Sufis. Historically, the shrine is dedicated to a Sufi that lived in the khanqah some time ago. Villagers do not know the pir’s age, tariqa, or silsila. They simply refer to the pir as Baba Kangar wala – The Baba of Kangar. Through the normal processes of migration the Baba and his family settled in Wolverhampton. A house shrine was opened initially, after a spate of bad luck dogged the Baba. Various illnesses and finan-
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cial difficulties caused him to take advice from other babas, who suggested that he begin the worship of his family pir. Through the process of migration and re-settlement in Britain the family did not maintain the worship to their pir. Within Indian traditions ancestral traditions of religious beliefs and practices must be maintained by the subsequent generations. If the worship or service ceases the deity may easily be angered and show their wrath by financial or physical damage. The Baba in this case suffered ill health as a result of his neglect. The family was advised to re-establish worship of the pir and appease him. The loft in the house was converted into a shrine with an array of lithographs of popular gods and goddesses from the Punjab, including pictures of the Sikh Gurus, other Sants of north India and popular Sufis. The central shrine was dedicated to their pir. As the house was within a highly populated area where migrants from the Punjab had settled, news of the Baba’s powers spread, as did the fame of the temple for healing people and helping people in difficult situations. Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, the holy days of Baba Balak Nath, the Goddess Durga and the pirs respectively saw the temple filled. On any of these three days the shrine would be visited by up to a hundred people throughout the day and the numbers steadily grew. Initially in the shrine, apart from the arti and playing of shabads of the Gurus, bhetan to the goddess and other Hindu gods, and qawali on audiocassette, no other religious practices were performed. Gradually the fame of the temple grew, as did the sangat. Two melas were prominent in the calendar of the temple, firstly and foremost the celebration of Baba Kangar wala’s birthday when a bhandara (large meal) of rice and kurri (gram flour and yoghurt curry) was prepared, the bistra (cloth bedding) on the manji (seat or bed) were changed and new flags were hoisted within the temple. The other mela was held on the annual pilgrimage to Baba Balak Nath’s Guffa (cave) another popular figure of Punjabi religion. During Navratri members of the sangat kept fasts and puja (worship) was performed in a typically Punjabi way. The temple was run solely on the offerings made by the sangat. Eventually funds were raised through the sangat to purchase a derelict factory in an industrial estate, which was converted into the present place of worship, now named Peer Darbar. The new darbar follows the same format with the focal point of attention and worship Baba Kangar wala. Shrines to the Goddess and Baba Balak Nath are found on either side and a Shivlingam has been installed. Arti is per-
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formed twice a day including an arti to the pirs and in the evenings members of the sangat sing kirtan. The arti has taken on a more vibrant role as drums are played, conch shells blown and bells rung. Like the leader of Ek Niwas, the Baba of Peer Darbar also practises religious healing and counselling. Hence if there were problems of any sort he would see the family discuss the problem and then ask the pir on their behalf for any solutions. The Baba at Peer Darbar is concerned mainly with the betterment of pragmatic problems faced by the sangat. Although kirtan is recited in the darbar, the Baba does not address the sangat in any form to bring them closer to salvation or liberation. Through the hava (literally this means wind, but in this context it refers to religious power) he receives he is able to assist the sangat in any problems they face and counsel people where necessary. The majority of people who attend the darbar do so for the betterment of their own lives by the removal of malevolence or malaises of any kind. The Baba is able to guide the sangat through the healing, exorcism and counselling within the family where problems can be resolved through the intermediation of the Baba. As Ballard (1999) and Oberoi (1997) point out, the process of religious counselling that is used by babas of this kind provide a framework within which the unspeakable can be said. An example both scholars use is the oppressed daughter-in-law, who being possessed is able to able to reveal the strained relationship between herself and her mother-inlaw. This provides the daughter-in-law with the opportunity to say what may not be possible within normal day-to-day life. As the exorcisms or healings take place in front of the sangat for them to witness the powers of the pir and the baba, the process has been used as a forum to vent anger against family members whether it is a motherin-law and daughter-in-law, or other contentious relationships like sister-in-laws. As with Baba Bhoparai, Baba Kapur also indicates that the majority of people that seek his help do so for family problems rather than being affected by malevolent practices. In an interview with a member of the community, Baba Kapur was likened to ‘the Godfather’, because of the prominence he has within the community and the respect he has gained by helping the sangat over the years.
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Dimensions of Religion Ballard (1999) in his study of Punjabi religion divides sacred activity into four dimensions. The dimensions of Panth, Dharm and Quam are concerned with inspirational leadership, the divine laws and the process of constructing a community. The fourth, kismetic, dimension is a conceptual umbrella under which all unfortunate incidents are explained as fate or the work of the supernatural. The kismetic dimension is of most importance in this research because the popular belief of the people is that misfortune is caused by malevolent ‘disembodied spirits’ like ‘bhuts, jinns, dhags and churails’ as a result of their jealousy for human life. Furthermore humans are also capable of creating misfortune for one another through nazar (evil eye), or by magical practices to inflict misfortune on their enemies. This aspect of religion is the most widespread in the villages of rural India but maintains its hold even in cities with increasing urbanisation (Ballard, 1999: 17-21). The kismetic dimension is an important part of Punjabi religion. Its dismissal as mere superstition ‘is both analytically unsustainable and deeply ethnocentric’ (Ballard, 1999: 21). The kismetic dimension provides the believers with a belief system in which the inexplicable can be rationalised in life. The kismetic system of beliefs is the result of the integration of Sufi Islam, the bhakti traditions and the traditional beliefs in the occult and exorcisms. In Punjabi religion this dimension is of immense importance, but the Punjab only provides a case study for a phenomenon found throughout the Indian subcontinent. However, in spite of its importance, Roger Ballard states: Yet so intense is the prejudice against this dimension of Punjabi religious practice that I cannot point to a single serious contemporary study of such activities (Ballard, 1999: 21).
The other salient feature of Punjabi religion is the panthic dimension. These two dimensions together place the baba at the forefront of Punjabi religion. Within this network the baba is able to heal, exorcise and counsel members of the sangat through supernatural and social problems. The panthic element of the sangat following the holy leader acts as a support network where grievances, problems and stories can be shared. The panthic leader is the only one who is capable of solving kismetic problems that may be endured and that is why the panth congregates around a baba. Hence the dimensions of panth and kismet sup-
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port each others existence. Without the dimension of kismet, the panthic dimension would exist but not in the same manner. Some may argue that the main stay of the panthic dimension could be directed towards dharm; however the kismetic dimension, the most prevalent of the other dimensions in Punjabi religion, is the most important. Bowen’s (1988) work on the Sathya Sai Baba community in Bradford is a good example of the way in which the charismatic leader of a panth is thrust into the spotlight by the ability to deal with kismetic dimensions of religion. Hence, in his monograph Bowen considers the siddhis as the basis of growth. Barrow (1999) also mentions the importance of spiritual power to Sant Jaswant Singh’s followers, and the way in which stories of miraculous recoveries are told and re-told to confirm the divinity of their panthic leader through the kismetic dimension.
Dimensional Changes Baba Bhoparai and Baba Kapur have both gathered around themselves panths, which have been attracted to them through their kismetic practices and beliefs. Although the kismetic element was the prominent reason for the formation of a panth, there are signs of change in both groups. Baba Bhoparai’s healing practices have changed somewhat over the past few years since Ek Niwas was officially opened in 1995. Initially religious practices were all conducted in a terraced house in Blakenhall, Wolverhampton. In the house shrine the counselling and healing would take place in front of the whole sangat. The healing or exorcism consisted of a dialogue between the Baba and the afflicted and at times some physical force was applied like holding of hair to retrain the malevolence within the afflicted. However, since acquiring the present building, a disused factory in the same area, the Baba has changed his approach to exorcisms and healing. A sevadar said these changes had taken place as the Baba had gained spiritual power and did not require any physical force to exorcise, a mere glance and blessing expelled evil spirits and healed people. Furthermore, the practices of a physical nature were disconcerting for the younger members of the community. The Baba re-confirmed this point stating that once a person attains knowledge of the workings of the spiritual world, physical actions are not required for healing, but the gian
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(knowledge) guides the learned to help people without physical actions. As well as the kismetic practices the Baba is also beginning to direct the panth in terms of the dharmic dimension, through the kirtan and his counselling on religion. The Baba suggests that it is not his aim to change people’s religious perception but to affirm their belief in their own respected traditions; hence a Sikh should follow the rahit maryadas (codes of conduct) and perform nam simran. Baba Kapur, on the other hand, did not begin with an explicitly kismetic dimension but has gravitated towards it as the community has grown. During the development of the community from a small shrine in the loft of a terraced house to a converted building for the use of a darbar, there have been changes in the views of the Baba and the religious practices. The exorcism of people possessed by any form of occult magic or spirit possession would be removed by firstly, drinking amrit (water consecrated with ash from the incense and the performance of arti). Secondly, the afflicted was required to fulfil seven chonkis at the temple on a specific day, usually Thursday as the pir’s holy day or if Baba Balak Nath’s devotees or the Goddess, Sundays and Tuesdays. Chonki is derived from the word chonkri, to sit cross legged, however in this context it refers to sitting amongst that sangat as ordered by the Baba to alleviate the problem of possession. Thirdly, supplications to Baba Kangar wala were made for the healing of the afflicted. During this process gifts would be promised to the pir on their return to good health. Gradually exorcisms of a physical nature became the norm. Those afflicted by any form of malevolence would be brought to the front of the sangat and during arti the malevolent spirit would feel dis-ease and begin to speak of their discomfort through the afflicted. As the arti would bring the malevolence to the forefront of the afflicted person this would allow Baba to speak to the inhabiting malevolence and ask of its purpose and reason for afflicting the person. A discourse would continue between the Baba and the malevolent spirit through the afflicted person until a compromise was agreed for the inhabiting being to release the person from its malevolent possession. The discourse would be carried out in front of the sangat as witnesses to the karamat (miracles) of the pir and the blessings that were upon the Baba. Exorcism would follow a set pattern and would not be completed in one session. The process of exorcism could continue over some time depending on the type of affliction, length of time since the person
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had been affected and the possible reasons for the affliction. Chonkis, drinking of amrit, and prayer still form a part of the exorcism but physical exorcism where the afflicted may be beaten is also practised. Although this sounds barbaric and extremely violent, the belief is that once the malevolent being is brought to the forefront of the afflicted person any physical punishment is felt by the malevolent being not the person. Other difficulties like barrenness, marital problems and financial problems are also dealt with through the guidance of Baba and his supplications to Baba Kangar wala. The drinking of amrit and sprinkling it throughout the house are also common practices followed by all followers. Those who are afflicted by any malevolence may be given a rakh (a small cloth amulet which contains the ashes of incense). Focussing on the kismetic dimension, Baba Kapur has gained greater popularity and a larger panth, hence intensifying the panthic elements simultaneously. The concepts of dharma are not evident within the group. Unlike Baba Bhoparai, he has concentrated solely on the kismetic dimension. Although a large part of Baba Bhoparai’s time is spent dealing with problems of a kismetic nature, through kirtan and discussions with the sangat, there are dharmic elements. As stated earlier, Ek Niwas has been using the current premises since 1995 whereas the Peer Darbar has been at its present site since 1998. According to Baba Bhoparai he has been involved in religion of this kind since an early age, whereas Baba Kapur was introduced to these beliefs and practices through his own misfortunes. Furthermore, Baba Kapur’s role as a panthic leader was gradual; the place of worship from which the community began was a simple house shrine for the use of close family and friends.
Conclusion In the past thirty years the study of the South Asian diaspora in Britain has been moved above and beyond the initial four stage process of the Ballards’. As a result of the construction of religious boundaries, formalisation of religion in a new environment and the privacy in which aspects of Punjabi religion were practiced provided a picture of religion in the South Asian diaspora in Britain which was either one was a Sikh, Hindu or Muslim. Although the construction of these religious boundaries had commenced many years before the
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South Asian diaspora in Britain developed, the boundaries and limitations were still intact in the minds of academics and believers in Britain. Kalsi, Nesbitt and Barrow have provided useful insights into the role of the holy man amongst the South Asian diaspora. The present research has utilised these studies and covered a wholly new area of South Asian diaspora religion that has been neglected in academic studies apart from those mentioned above. The role of the baba as the healer, exorcist, counsellor or guide is fundamental to the South Asian diaspora and is imperative in their community formations. In the community formations in Ek Niwas and Peer Darbar the Babas are the foundation. The Baba provides the link with the supernatural the deity. Although a sevadar himself the close relationship they share with deity imbues them with holiness, which can then be shared amongst the sangat. Furthermore the Baba holds a pivotal role as a mediator between the different generations of the family. There is a very complex system of identity that requires further exploration in light of allegiance to charismatic leaders and the prevalence of kismetic forms of religion. Geaves’ work on the Baba Balak Nath cult in India and in the West Midlands has provided a fuller picture of the true religious landscape of the South Asian diaspora in Britain. Although Ek Niwas and Peer Darbar are unique in the number of religious traditions, they cover under one roof the religious practices and belief patterns of the sangat are exemplary of the situation in south Asia. The religious boundaries are not as restrictive and as well constructed as they are in the academic world for the believers. Hence the ease in which a person can pay respects to a Muslim pir, Hindu god or goddess, or the Sikh Guru Granth Sahib under one roof provides a unique insight into the religious beliefs and practices of the South Asian diaspora in Britain.
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HAUNTING STORIES: NARRATIVE TRANSMISSIONS OF SOUTH ASIAN IDENTITIES IN DIASPORA KIRIN NARAYAN
Abstract Family stories in the South Asian diaspora are an important link to a South Asian past and the formation of an identity containing facets of South Asia. Drawing on interviews with second-generation South Asian Americans, this essay explores two kinds of stories transmitted within families: family history, and folklore and mythology. In addition to maintaining connections to an ancestral homeland, family stories also connect a web of relatives spread across national locales. Particularly when retold with critical reflection, such stories are an important imaginative resource for crafting diasporic identity. “India haunted me,” observed Arjun in the course of recounting his experiences of growing up as an Indian-American in the mid-West. About 30 years old, of Gujarati background, and with intense searching eyes, he laughed ruefully as he remembered being a child. “Sometimes I felt like our house was haunted. But now that I think about it, that was just another way of conceiving of difference. Because when something’s haunted, it’s marking it as different. I wasn’t very into ghosts or anything, but, of course, these stories are circulating all around.” In talking about stories “circulating all around” Arjun was referring to narratives that brought shades of his parents’ homeland into their suburban Ohio house. His observation about how cultural difference was signified through India-centred stories raises larger issues of the transmission of cultural narratives within diaspora. How are culturally haunting stories transmitted in diasporic families, and how do they carry South Asian identities forward to a generation born or brought up outside of the subcontinent? How might these stories be adapted and transformed, crafting revised identities? I argue that within diaspora, family stories help maintain links to an ancestral homeland and a web of relatives spread across national locales. In addition to family history, the folk narratives and mythology pressed
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upon children by their parents might be viewed as another kind of family story intended to promote shared cultural knowledge. I argue that particularly when retold with critical reflection, such stories are an important imaginative resource for crafting diasporic identity. This essay emerges from the oral testimonies of roughly twenty second-generation Indian Americans and Pakistani Americans whom I interviewed in assorted sessions between 1995 and 2000. They were all connected in one way or another to the mid-West and to university life, whether as students, faculty, or the children of faculty. They had either acquired or were in the course of acquiring a college or graduate education, and were all of middle-class background. At the time of our first conversations, they ranged in age from 18 to 40. Most had been born in the United States, but a few had been born elsewhere, whether India, England or Libya, moving to the United States when they were young. Though the explosive politics between India and Pakistan has strained relationships between Indian Americans and Pakistani Americans, I have chosen to group both together as South Asian Americans to emphasise cultural continuities and to hope, along with some of my subjects, that such diasporic alliances might eventually ease the fraught politics of the subcontinent. I approached these interviews with the premise that all people construct selves and identities through stories (cf. Bruner 1986, 1989, Sarbin 1986, Rosenwald and Ochberg 1993, Holstein and Gubrium 2000). As Tridib, the wise older cousin in Amitav Ghosh’s novel The Shadow Lines consoles the narrator, “stories are all there are to live in, it [is] just a question of which one you choose,” (Ghosh 1988:184). Families everywhere seek to impart continuities across generations through telling family stories, or else attempt to break with stigmatised or traumatic family experiences by enforcing silence (cf. Bertaux and Thompson 1993). For diasporic subjects, the transmission of stories across generations appears to be a more fragile and self-conscious process since families are displaced and the stories that might be multiply reinforced from different sources often become primarily the responsibility of parents. The self-conscious circumstances of such transmission can also entail an expanding range of stories and the possibility for hybrid formations. While diaspora is conceptually linked to displacement (Bammer 1994, Lavie and Swedenburg 1996), the act of storytelling within diasporas can also be seen as a form of emplacement, staking out imaginative space for changing conjunctions of cultural experience
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(Narayan 2002). Parents who press family stories upon their diasporic children are trying to ensure that the values, knowledge and experience of a different place will take root in the unfolding of these children’s lives. As the therapist John Byng Hall has observed, “The stories and legends recounted by older family members provide powerful images, glimpses of action or energy, which can capture the minds of children, conveying a moral tale which will spring to mind in a comparable situation” (Byng-Hall 1990:220). However, since it is the nature of actively recalled stories to shift in relation to changing experience, what parents tell children may be resisted, adapted and invested with new meanings. I start this essay by providing an overview of the conditions framing the lives of my subjects, and the importance of family in conceptualising South Asia. I then present examples of family stories that emerged in the interviews. First, I discuss narratives drawn from family history. Next, I turn to narratives associated with folklore or mythology. The specifics of family histories were new to me, though allusions to folklore and mythology sometimes traversed familiar ground. While I could not judge how retellings altered family stories, changes were easier to discern in retellings of folklore and mythology. Through this essay I have used pseudonyms for all these interview subjects and have tried to suppress or alter other identifying markers. I also honour the lively artfulness of tellers by reproducing their stories verbatim, with minimal editing, rather than in summary.
Frames for Stories In the United States, a noteworthy South Asian presence can be traced to the early part of the twentieth century, particularly centred on the West coast after 1905. Many of these settlers were Sikhs who encountered strong racial prejudice (Daniels1989:11-25). After the passing of immigration bills that excluded most people of Asian origin in 1917 and 1924, the numbers of immigrants dwindled, and those who were in the United States encountered difficulties in obtaining citizenship and owning land. In 1946, naturalisation for those of South Asian background became possible, and also small quotas of immigrants were allowed each year. It was not until 1965, though, that the immigration law was changed, allowing for 20,000 new immigrants each year from each country in South Asia, and showing
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preferences for immediate relatives of citizens and permanent residents, as well as educated professionals (Helweg and Helweg 1990:5860). Since then, the flow of immigrants has continued to be tied to the vagaries in immigration laws as well as the global political economy (Leonard 1997:68). The men and women with whom I spoke were all children of professional, post-1965 immigrants. While the term “ABCD” or “American Born Confused Desi” (desi implying someone from the homeland or desh) is often used to describe people like them, I found that few used this identification. “Why can’t I be an American Born COOL Desi?” queried Medha. Rather than confused souls floundering between discrete cultures, one might view second-generation South Asian diasporic subjects in different parts of the world as masters of code-switching, showing different sides of themselves in different cultural contexts (Ballard 1994: 29-33) while also actively creating new cultural configurations for identity (Brah 1996:41-42, 61, Maira 1999, K. Hall 2002). Personal narratives interspersed with analytic commentary formed the broadest frame of our conversations. The content of these personal narratives resonated with other research on second generation South Asian American lives (Agarwal 1991, Bacon 1996, Gupta 1999, Maira 1998, 1999) as well as nonfiction, fiction, and poetic testimonies of assorted second generation South Asian Americans (Dasgupta 1998, Hidier 2002, Kamdar 2000, Ratti 1994, Srikanth and Maira 1996, Women of South Asian Descent Collective 1993). Many stories traced how conflict between the South Asian and the American sides of self through childhood reached a miserable pitch of anger, depression, denial or repression in early teenage years. In college, people usually sought ways of being South Asian without parental mediation, whether through friendship, courses, political mobilisation, involvement with cultural performances for “India Night” or “Pakistan Night,” or religious involvement; at the same time, they were also exploring new ways of being American. Travelling back to India or Pakistan without the constraints of parental supervision was also important to many (cf. Prasad 1999, 22-23). Realigning the valences of what various angles of ‘South Asian’ and ‘American’ meant in a South Asian American identity resulted in greater personal integration, and also reframed received family stories. I found these personal narratives poignant and sometimes very
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painful in evoking the disjunctures between the expectations of parents and pressures from peers; I also found the styles of storytelling to be thoughtful, analytic and often very funny. There was significant variation in experience depending on the era in which the person grew up, with those raised in the 1960s and 1970s describing more loneliness and isolation than others who grew up in the 1980s with a greater South Asian American presence. Furthermore, geographical region made a difference, so that someone who grew up in a small mid-Western town as a rare child of colour had different struggles than someone raised in a metropolitan centre with greater diversity. Nested within the personal narratives were often allusions to, or sometimes outright retellings of other kinds of stories that had carried forward aspects of South Asian identity within the family, particularly family histories, religious stories, and Bollywood film narratives (though no one retold the plot of an entire Hindi film, references to films, film music or film stars sometimes served as a signpost for ethnic identity). If my own knowledge of Bollywood films was more extensive, I could have followed this theme through interviews. Instead, I actively sought expansions of narratives of family history, as well as retellings of folklore and mythology. Many of the subjects I spoke to envisioned the country of their origin – India or Pakistan – in terms of family. As a network spanning places, the extended family of grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins, cut through the borders of nation states, realigning subject’s sense of geography and identity. As Asha answered in response to my question about what India meant to her as a child: Hmmm. Well, mainly family. I mean, you know, I always thought that’s where my family is. Until I was old enough to really understand geography, I always thought that India was one of the states in the United States. I didn’t understand that it was meant to be another country. And so...I just thought that the world was this big United States [laughs]. Like, and India was one of them.
While Asha now laughed at her childhood perception of the world, her comment is a reminder that in diaspora, the strongest emotional ties linking people back to the countries of origin are established through relatives made vivid through stories. At the same time that such stories reached back to the subcontinent, they also traced multiple histories of family migration by invoking relatives settled in other parts of the world. As Arjun mused, “I think of the South Asian family as imperial in a way–in the fact it’s ever-expanding.”
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Family Histories Family histories were often told with nostalgia by parents as a way to link children to relatives. Even as such stories created images of life in India or Pakistan, they also commented on desirable human traits in interpersonal relations. For Vasant growing up in California, an iconic tale of male heroism featured his Mama (maternal uncle), who jumped off a moving train when a friend was left behind. Similarly, Zeynab was instructed in the value of female discretion through tales of her grandmother who pointedly turning to the Koran and began reading aloud if gossip started up around her. Dinesh was taught the dangers of excessive religiosity through tales of his paternal grandfather whose spiritual pursuits led him to buy books rather than milk for children. A commonly told form of family story involved tracing the routes of arrival: how it happened that the parents emigrated and the person was born or raised in the United States. Given the class background of most of the people I talked to, the story of immigration was most often one of parental accomplishment, resulting in pressure for children to do well too. For example, when Sudam, an energetic student leader identified himself as being a “total overachiever” I asked what the roots of this might have been. He responded, “I don’t know. My Dad was very ambitious. He did lots of activities, he was a student leader.” Sudam then went on to tell the story of how his father arrived as a physician in the Chicago area in 1972 to consolidate a successful practice. Similarly, Najma observed, “probably one of the strongest things I know about each of my parents, is how important education was for them. And how dedicated they were to it. I mean, they’re very intelligent people, too. But, you know, just the dedication just amazes me. My mother, I think, stood first in her medical school, you know, in the region, and...for myself, it’s just kind of like, ‘You too–?”’ Bina linked the tales told to her about female ancestor’s struggles as subtly encoding what her own life project should entail; these were energising women’s “stories to live by” (cf. Benmayor et al. 1990). These stories were very much in the foreground....my grandmother and mother and me on a jhoola (swing), we’d be sitting, and they’d be telling me this story, very explicit, you know, this is the story, this is your legacy that you have: these narratives.
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A key narrative was about how her poverty-stricken grandmother had acquired an education and freed her family from debt, regaining sold land, yet was never able to fulfil all her professional ambitions because she was a woman. Bina’s mother had more possibilities of fulfilling her ambitions, but both grandmother and mother emphasised that Bina was in a unique situation of opportunity. As Bina said: It’s really shaped me a lot, this idea that I have this project in life, and it comes from this story of women. To follow through that I have choice: that’s what defines me, that I have a choice.
Pointing out new opportunities open to immigrant children, such stories also set high standards of parental expectation, standards that many found stifling. A recurrent theme in many accounts of choosing a college major was parents’ certainty that a career in science, medicine, or engineering was the only viable option for immigrant accomplishment, while a career in the arts or humanities was risky and disappointing. Tales of parental sacrifice on behalf of children also served as reminders of the human costs of diaspora, when families are split up. Manjeet recalled a family story about his grandfather, a sojourner separated from wife and children, who sent home remittances, first from within India and then from abroad. An interesting story about them is that my grandfather, he got a job. I’m not sure which state, but outside of Punjab. And my mom has three brothers and a sister. And they’re all, like, about to go into school-age, you know. My grandmother didn’t want to have to move them to a different state. A different language and everything, you know, starting all over again in a sense. So then, my grandmother and my grandfather were going to move together and leave the kids with a family–a part of the family. But at the last second, my grandmother’s like, you know, “I can’t leave my kids.” So she stayed. And my grandfather, then, went to work. (KN: Where exactly?) I heard either he was working in Iraq, or at some point he was working in Pakistan, he was working in another part of India at some point also... But he left, and for thirty years they were apart. He would come back every six months. Like for Divali he would come and one other time. So, they would write letters to him every day when they were younger. Every week, you know, send a letter to him. But he wasn’t around for I guess, thirty years.
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And then finally the ’80’s is when they finally came back together again–my grandparents did. So, like [laughs], they’ve only been together, like, for like, you know, like really together for, like–it’s crazy...My Mom’s like, you know, “This is what we do for our kids.”
Told by an Indian parent to an Indian American child this story emphasises the sacrifices willingly made by a parent of South Asian origin while also implicitly questioning what American-raised children in turn do for their parents. Stories could also be told as an outright moralising device. Dinesh recalled a genre of stories regularly drawn on by his parents, involving “desis that marry out of caste or class and of course the most significant, marry a Caucasian American.” These stories were not directly about family members but pointedly established what was desirable behaviour for their sons. As Dinesh said, “You could almost guarantee the outcome in stories like that: ‘We know of so and so and they got married to a white girl and then they divorced and now she’s running around with someone else.”’ Yet one of Dinesh’s uncles had married a white American and had not divorced, going against the grain of these stories. The family tale about this uncle could not emphasise the danger to the person getting married, and instead dramatised the danger posed to parents. The most interesting story is about my Uncle who married a Caucasian. My grandfather, when he found out, he decided to become a sannyasi. My grandfather wandered up to Benaras and then to Rishikesh, to an ashram there. Then he got very sick up there. He got diarrhoea. The news came to his other son who went up and got him. He decided that being a sannyasi was a shitty idea, I guess! So he came home. This was told to me by my father about how getting married could make a parent really sick. I was a little scared.
That a son could drive a father to such despondency that he would want to renounce the world and its human ties, becoming a sannyasi holy man up in the Himalayas contained the warning that Dinesh’s own father would not recover if his son were ever to make an unsuitable marriage. Recalling his father’s retelling of the tale about how his grandfather almost became a sannyasi, Dinesh said, “When I was younger, it was like ‘Oh my goodness!’ But when I got older I realised how funny this was.” What had started out as a stern moralising tale instead became for Dinesh high family comedy. For Dinesh as with the others whose stories I draw on here, there is a self-conscious evaluation of parental
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intent in telling stories, showing that the children did not simply passively absorb the stories but were aware of their didactic intent. Not having been told family stories could make for a sense of alienation. Kausalya attributed her own sense of isolation not just to having been brought up with few South Asian peers, but also to not having been told family stories: We didn’t talk much about my parents’ families. I feel very disconnected in that way. When I’ve gone to India I see that they know all about me, but I don’t know about them. I feel very lost a lot of the time. I think my parents wanted me to fit into Western culture. I think that what ended up happening is that I became really distant. I often feel very alone.
An exception that proves the rule, Kausalya’s experience is a reminder of how shared stories can impart a sense of connection.
Folklore and Mythology South Asia, particularly India, is often seen as a rich and fertile fount of parables, folktales, legends, epics, and myths. Particularly for Hindus, folklore and mythology are viewed as key to understandings of self (Kakar 1981, Roland 1987). My research indicates that folklore and mythology transported within diasporas continues, to a limited extent, to be a source of self-understanding. The people I spoke to showed varying levels of involvement with South Asian-based folklore forms, depending on their parents’ repertoires and the medium through which the stories were presented to them. None of the people I spoke to described religious schools, summer camps, or community events as important sources of their own stories, but it is possible that these play more formative roles with other second-generation South Asian Americans. In the course of telling me how she had chafed at her parent’s definitions of India, Medha retold an allegory used by her mother. Her mother had tried to raise Medha as “the perfect Indian woman which all little Indian girls are supposed to strive for,” telling tales of family paragons like her cousin “who could cook a meal for 80 people when she was 8 years old,” and also by using vivid images: There’s this one sort of metaphorical story, that she... I don’t remember if it was her or someone else who said it, and then she related it to me: It was that a woman is like a rock in the water, and a man is like
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the water, and the woman allows the water to flow over her, slowly eroding, so that’s it’s easier for the water to flow over. But see that’s what I think that little Indian girls are taught. (KN: to be passive and pliable). Yeah (rolling her eyes). You’re strong enough to be the family stronghold when the family needs it. If everyone else has broken down, you can’t break down. But if someone else has control, then you let them have control.
Here Medha was not actively changing the structure or content of her mother’s allegory; however, it was retold from an incredulous, ironic distance. Medha went straight from this story to describe her own rebellious anger as a teenager, dramatising how she was in no way willing to submit or be eroded by authority. Zeynab also told a story about an idealised woman’s role: a legend that her Pakistani mother used to recount as she drove her children around the city they lived in. I guess I’ve heard some of the stories over and over. I think I remember them differently as a child than I did when I was older. A lot of them were about a mother’s devotion to her child. There was one that used to make me cry every time I heard it, and then, there were.... (K: What was that?) That one was about...a mother whose husband had died in the war. Independence. Fighting for Independence. And she had to raise the son. Alone. You know, working in other people’s houses. She used to clean their clothes, scrub their floors, a very, a very hard life. And she did it just because she wanted to give her son a good life with all the things that he would need. So the son grows up with everything he wants and he falls in love with a woman. And the woman is very chaalaki, very.... (K: sly, clever). Very sly. And also very selfish. She was very resentful of her [potential] mother-in- law’s love for the son. He had fallen head over heels in love with her. I mean, he was, you know, divaana [crazily in love], right? So he wanted to marry her...So the woman says I’ll marry you only if you kill your mother and bring me her heart. And so the young boy eventually succumbs. He became so overwhelmed with his passion for this woman that one night he goes and kills his mother and he takes out the heart. And then he’s walking to his lover’s home and he trips over a rock and he falls. And then, a voice, his mother’s voice comes from the heart and says, “Son, are you okay?”
The Urdu words surfacing in Zeynab retelling seemed to evoke her mother’s own voice. “Oh! I used to cry and cry and cry when I heard that,” Zeynab said. “Did you think this was true?” I asked, inwardly wondering if such a story, used in a diasporic situation, might also serve as a plea to chil-
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dren not to choose mates from outside the community – a permutation of the same moral from Dinesh’s father’s stories? Zeynab reflected, brown eyes serious. I think that what touched me was a mother’s devotion to her child, regardless of the child’s lack of consideration. You can’t think of a more heartless son. I think that in a lot of ways, I did see my mother in that role because she had really made a lot of sacrifices for all of us. I mean, she had literally given her life to us. I don’t think any of us feel that we’ve deserved that by any means. I know that not just for me, but for my sister that story has had lot of impact. It’s a story that will always make us cry. And I don’t think that my mother ever meant to say that [she had made sacrifices]. In telling us this she just wanted to emphasise a mother’s love for a child, that your mother will love you no matter what.
As Zeynab so astutely points out, stories often provide metacommentary on the relations between teller and listeners. Though her mother did not apparently intend to call attention to her own selflessness, all her children heard the tale in that way. While Zeynab’s interpretation did not challenge her mother’s, it provided the different angle of appreciating a plight that Zeynab sensitively portrayed in describing her mother at different moments in our interview: the plight of the immigrant woman who has stepped beyond a circle of safe familiarity and nostalgic family connections to raise her children in an alien and often lonely environment. I’ve touched on two examples of folklore that did not involve explicitly religious allusions. In addition, second-generation South Asian American children were exposed to religious stories– Hindu, Sikh, and Muslim families all figured in my interviews. The kinds of religious narrative transmitted depended not just on the religion, but also on whether there was an accomplished storyteller living in the house, whether the family visited a religious teacher who told stories, and whether stories were read aloud in translation or given to a child to read. However, even within families, between parents, there could be different versions of religious narratives. Manjeet’s father, for example, emphasised stories about Sikh Gurus, while Manjeet’s mother told more Hindu tales. Dinesh’s father was always telling his sons to be like Ram (or Rama), model son of the Ramayana epic, while Dinesh’s mother vehemently differed: When we heard about Rama, my Mom would inevitably react very strongly against Rama. She’d say, “What the hell is that guy about anyway? He tossed his wife out!’ As long as I remember my Mom was
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anti-Rama and Dad was pro-Rama. She trashed him and Buddha too because he left his wife.
Writings on the Indian diaspora in other parts of the world point to the Ramayana as a key text of indentured labourers in part because of its accessibility and the theme of exile (Cohen 1997:63) and in part because of colonial desire to highlight a single sacred text for swearing upon (Kelly 2001). Perhaps on account of current politicised associations of Ramrajya and Hindu nationalism, none of the people I interviewed particularly identified with stories from the Ramayana, not even to revise them in the innovative ways described by Paula Richman (2001) in her account of a Ramlila performance put on by South Asian feminists in Southall. Instead, many stories returned to Ganesh. Here is a myth of how the Ganesh came to have an elephant head, as retold by Asha. In the version I know best, Ganesh is created by his mother Parvati from the dirt on her body, and his father Shiva does not know of his existence. When Parvati is bathing, she asks Ganesh to keep watch and not let anyone enter. Shiva, always hot-headed, does not take kindly to being barred from entering his own home by an unknown child, and cuts Ganesh’s head off. To appease heartbroken Parvati, Shiva says he will put a new head on the body and bring it to life, but the head that first comes to hand is that of an elephant. In Asha’s version: There’s a story about how Lord Ganesh got his elephant head that I remember. That he was playing hide-and-go-seek and his dad came home and thought it was a burglar, and, you know, hiding. And so he cut his head off and then felt horrible, so had his–had his men go out, and the first animal they found, they cut his head off. And it was an elephant and they brought it–I don’t know if that’s accurate! I just remember vaguely that this was a story I learned.
Playing “hide-and-go-seek” and being mistaken by his “Dad” as a “burglar” gave this story a distinctively American flavour, much as two other Indian American retellings mentioned Ganesh’s Mom as having been “in the shower” when Shiva arrived home–an image that greatly modernised the plumbing arrangements that had thus far existed in my own imagining of the divine homestead on Mount Kailash. How Ganesh came to have his elephant head is probably one of the most widely known Hindu tales, but I wondered, listening to these retellings, whether the seamless joining together of two sorts of bodies might make Ganesh a special deity for children of the South Asian diaspora. I was also very struck by Vasant’s family’s practice of
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rubbing the belly of a Ganesh image to ask for a wish as a possibly syncretic tradition, adapting the rubbing of a Buddha belly. While the details and textures of mythology were Americanised, the meaning of stories could also be taken in directions counter to what parents intended. Medha for example likened the popular Hindu tale of the pious boy Prahlad to her own conflicts as an Americanborn child rebelling against the strictures of Indian-raised parents: There are stories about Prahlad who had this awful father who was against God and wanted to proclaim himself as God and Prahlad would have none of that and he was disobeying his father because he knew there was something better. I want to say to my parents, “So when I disobey you it’s because I know that there’s something better, it’s not because I want to throw it in your face.” And that’s not something they want me to see in that story! What they want me to see in that story was “Oh, he was so devoted to God that even though his father was doing all this to him, he was still devoted to God.” We definitely have different interpretations of things and they are very rigid. That doesn’t work well with the lifestyle that I have made for myself here.
A common form of exposure to mythology and legends was through the Amar Chitra Katha comic book series (cf. Pritchett 1995). Many subjects mentioned a happy sense of recognition if they found their own name in the stories they read. For example, Kausalya said she liked the Ramayana and Dasharatha comics since her own name was in them (as Ram’s mother), and Arjun became fascinated by the Mahabharata epic as he shared a name with one of the Pandavas. Shankar came to feel a special affinity for snakes when he learned that Lord Shiva, whose name he shared, wore a cobra round his neck. Dinesh recalled how a character he knew from the comic books was often invoked in family life. If we ate too much we’d always be told not be a Bakasura. I think that’s from the Mahabharata. The Pandavas are wandering about in the forest and they come across a village where people are very scared because Bakasura is eating them. They are supposed to send a cart of food with a person each week, and then Bakasura eats all the food in the cart and the person too. Bheema volunteers to go fight him. Bhima takes the cart of food and eats the whole cart himself. So when Bakasura comes, there’s no food in the cart and he gets mad. Then they fight and Bhima kills him. So Bakasura has this voracious appetite. Say if we had ten cookies and we were pigs, Mom would say “You’re Bakasura.” Basically she was making a parallel to someone who can’t control their eating.
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Mythological figures, then, could become shorthands for particular kinds of desirable or undesirable behaviour. The Amar Chitra Katha comic books were intended by parents to educate children in a cultural heritage, providing imaginative connections to South Asia. At the same time, the very medium of a comic book could give the impression of light reading and easily forgettable entertainment. Manjeet almost apologetically recalled how the tales of the Sikh Gurus revered by his family had “at the time looked more like a cartoon to me than anything else. A comic strip...you know, and they were like warriors. You know, like the Sikh fighters. You know you see ‘em fighting and stuff like that. So it’s, like, entertainment.” Dinesh reported that he had read comic books in the bathroom, as “they’re just the right size and length.” Dinesh came from a South Indian Brahman family, and recalling Brahmanical associations of toilets with pollution, it struck me that reading mythological tales in the bathroom was a big step in stripping these stories of potential sacred content. Prakash confessed that he and his brother used the impeccable cultural credentials of Amar Chitra Katha comic books as a cover for more subversive kinds of reading: We’d buy them in India and we’d come over to the U.S. and read them. There were only 3-4 other Indian families in the town I grew up in and we’d borrow theirs and they’d borrow ours. There’s something I’m embarrassed by, but I’ll tell you anyway, just don’t use my name. See, our family’s closest Indian friends had two kids, a girl and a boy. This young boy finds a pile of Hustlers. He had them stowed away in his backyard somewhere. My brother and I when we were 13-14, like that, we just had to borrow those magazines and take them over to our house. The big question was: How could we transport them safely? After all, our parents were driving us, or our Mom was and we had to ferry them somehow. So we’d put them in a bag with other Amar Chitra Katha comic books and Mom would ask “What do you have there?” and we’d say “Amar Chitra Katha comics.” So that was the Amar Chitra Katha story.
Arjun was another active consumer of Amar Chitra Katha comics, grouping the characters he met here with the superheroes of American comic books and cartoons. He also scanned the comic books for narratives that might help him make sense of his own difference. For example, he came to identify with Karna, the older half-brother of the Pandavas in the Mahabharata epic. Karna had been abandoned at birth by Arjuna’s mother, and through most of the epic was never known to be a brother.
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One of my favourite characters is Karna. And I think I identify strongly with him because of his kind of outcaste birth, his outcaste background. And that, you know, he was the eldest brother of this privileged brotherhood. And they scorned him until his last dying moment. And I think that – that story is just so full of drama and tragedy, especially in South Asian terms. I mean, it’s a great story–in fact, I always thought it’d be great if somebody named their child Karna. But, no–I think it would take some gumption on their part, just because of the–I don’t know, the tragedy of the whole thing.
Emphasising Karna’s “outcaste birth, his outcaste background,” Arjun is pointing to his own sense of not belonging as either a “real” Indian of the parental motherland or as a “real” American in his own motherland where he regularly felt disowned. He was the only Indian in his school in the 1970s, regularly perceived as different and also actively harassed with a pipe bomb during the Iran hostage crisis because (ironically) the family’s last name was ‘Shah.’ Arjun sheepishly confessed that as a way to “understand my difference, my special situation” he had pictured himself as both a superhero and an avatara divine incarnation– taking form in the world to combat evil. So like the avatar, they came...to, you know, bring cosmic justice and generally, like, [laughs] wreak havoc on the world and eradicate evil and all that. And so they had a special, you know, mission, and...they had some [laughs] grand historical design. And...they were supernatural, and they were–they were different in a superior way. Mythology, then, could take difference and valorise it.
Conclusion Through this essay, I have argued that in the South Asian diaspora family stories are an important link to a South Asian past and the formation of an identity containing facets of South Asia. Yet as the British family therapist John Byng-Hall in conversation with the oral historian Paul Thompson has observed, family stories are not merely benign: Family stories can give a feeling of continuity, of how the past led to the present, or rootedness and family tradition, and so help to make sense of a complicated and fraught family life in the present. But their power makes them dangerous too (Byng-Hall 1990:216).
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The sense of diasporic continuity created through family stories can be of great value as a vivid imaginative resource, a symbolic language, for individuals making sense of their backgrounds. Equally, though, family stories can be repressive in various ways, emphasising standards that are difficult to meet for idealised gendered behaviour, filial duty, educational accomplishment, and more. In emphasising South Asian aspects of identity such stories potentially carry the danger of leading to static and conservative images of South Asia set in a previous time and distracting individuals from engaging with the American sides of their lives. While none of the people I talked to supported religious nationalism, I sometimes wondered while listening to their retellings whether mythological tales spread among other children of the South Asian diaspora might not have encouraged diasporic support for the rise of different sorts of nationalism in the subcontinent. The retellings of family tales I have drawn on demonstrate that the power of family stories is best harnessed when individuals have the maturity and distance to evaluate which stories they choose to bear onward. “I guess I’ve heard some of the stories over and over,” Zeynab said when recalling her mother’s story about a mother’s loving heart. “I think I remember them differently as a child than I did when I was older.” Rather than being unreflectively transmitted, these retellings showed how individuals artfully brought their own evaluations to bear on their South Asian diasporic heritage, sometimes with affection, sometimes with anger, sometimes with irony and irreverent humour. While representing a variety of family members, legendary characters, and Gods or Goddesses, family stories were also about relationships in the here-and-now. Starting as artefacts of the relationships between parents and children and encoding parental desires, the stories could also become symbolic of alienation from some kinds of peers and of bonding with others. Kausalya said that she had given up trying to retell such stories to Americans who did not share her Indian background because, “they don’t know the names of the Gods and get really confused.” Arjun, though, described how meeting a South Indian from Canada at college who knew some of the same stories “was really great for me because I didn’t really have that before: to find someone else whose imagination was so stirred by the mythology.” Retold to me, a scholar of diasporic background, these shared stories created new bonds of sympathy and affection. Yet diasporic stories are but one strand in emerging multicultural
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tapestries of narrative. If framed differently, the same stories that I have drawn on here might be seen not just as evidence of South Asian diasporic transmission but might equally be used as illustrations of American family or ethnic folklore (cf. Georges and Stern 1982, Stern and Cicala 1991, Zeitlin, Kotkin and Baker 1982). The narrative repertoires of those I interviewed also contained stories that did not derive from South Asia, but from different aspects of the American experience. As Stuart Hall has observed, “[I]dentities are the names we give to the different ways we are positioned by, and position ourselves within, the narratives of the past” (1990:225). Clearly, for identities with multiple dimensions, different bodies of narratives are available to draw on, with the particular kind of story elicited depending on the particular situation. Diasporic subjectivity, then, throws into sharp relief the more general human challenges of making meaning amid movement, multiplicity and changing circumstances (cf. Cohen 1997: 196, 133). As Rapport and Dawson have argued, in the contemporary world of movement, “it is in the motion of narrative that people are at home” (1998:34). Having started with Arjun’s eloquent reflections on feeling haunted by stories, I end with his thoughts on how a diasporic consciousness means there is never just one home – and by extension, no single cultural accent to storytelling: [I]f you only belong one place in the world, then by implication, everywhere else, you don’t belong. And if there’s no such place for you, if there’s no home so to speak, then everywhere can be your home. And in a way that’s kind of liberating, and might I say empowering, too?
Acknowledgements I am grateful for support from the University of Wisconsin Graduate School, particularly in the form of a Vilas fellowship, a Romnes fellowship, and a faculty development grant that have enabled me to explore new directions in my research. I am also deeply indebted to every kind person who gifted me with their time and stories. Special thanks to Ken George, Narayana Rao and Deepak Sharma for their insightful comments.
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Helweg, A., and U. Helweg (1990). An Immigrant Success Story: East Indians in America. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Hidier, T.D. (2002). Born Confused. New York: Scholastic Press. Holstein, J.A. and J.F. Gubrium (2000). The Self We Live By: Narrative Identity in a Postmodern World. New York: Oxford University Press. Kamdar, M. (2000). Motiba’s Tattoos: A Granddaughter’s Journey into her Indian Family’s Past. New York: Public Affairs. Kelly, J. (2001). ‘Fiji’s Fifth Veda: Exile, Sanatan Dharm and Countercolonial Initiatives in Diaspora.’ In Questioning Ramayanas: A South Asian Tradition. P. Richman (ed.), Pp. 329-352. Berkeley: University of California Press. Lavie, S. and T. Swedenburg (1996). Displacement, Diaspora, and Geographies of Identity. Durham: Duke University Press. Leonard, K. Isakson (1997). The South Asian Americans. Westwood, CT: The Greenwood Press. Maira, S.M. (1998). Chaste Identities, Ethnic Yearnings: Second-Generation Indian Americans in New York. Ph.D. thesis, Graduate School of Education, Harvard University. —. (1999). Identity Dub: The Paradoxes of an Indian American Youth Subculture (New York Mix). Cultural Anthropology 14:29-60. Narayan, K. (2002). ‘Placing Lives through Stories: Second Generation South Asian Americans.’ In Everyday Life in South Asia, Sarah Lamb and Diane Mines (eds.), pp. 425-439. Urbana: Illinois University Press. —. and K.M. George (2001). ‘Personal and Folk Narrative as Cultural Representation.’ In The Handbook of Interview Research: Methods and Context. Jay Gubrium and James Holstein (eds.), pp. 815-831. New York: Sage. Pritchett, F.W. (1995). ‘The World of Amar Chitra Katha.’ In Media and the Transformation of Religion in South Asia. S. Wadley and L. Babb (eds.), pp. 76-106. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Prasad, L. (1999). ‘Continents of Belonging: Indian Americans in the Delaware Valley.’ In Live Like the Banyan Tree: Images of the Indian American Experience. Leela Prasad (ed.), pp. 20-31. Philadelphia: Balch Institute for Ethnic Studies. Ratti, R. (ed.), (1993). A Lotus of Another Colour: An Unfolding of the South Asian Gay and Lesbian Experience. Boston: Alyson Publications. Richman, P. (2001). ‘The Ramayana Migrates to Southall.’ In Questioning Ramayanas: A South Asian Tradition. P. Richman (ed.), Pp. 309-328. Berkeley: University of California Press. Rosenwald, G.C. and R.L. Ochberg (eds.), (1992). Storied Lives:The Cultural Politics of Self-Understanding. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Srikanth R. and S. Maira (eds.), (1996). Contours of the Heart: South Asians Map North America. NewYork: Asian American Workshop. Stern, S. and J.A. Cicala (eds.), (1991). Creative Ethnicity: Symbols and Strategies of Contemporary Ethnic Life. Logan: Utah State University Press.
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PERFORMANCES OF MULTICULTURALISM: SOUTH ASIAN COMMUNITIES IN SYDNEY CHRISTOPHER HARTNEY
Abstract South Asian communities in Sydney, as elsewhere, are continually struggling to position themselves between their own religious tradition and the generally secular but increasingly multicultural host society. As a general concept multiculturalism is almost undisputedly recognised as a social good amongst Australians. In more specific regards however, seeking to become part of a neighbourhood that is accepting of cultural and religious difference can be an entirely different issue. This paper examines the recorded performance, through media and other sources, of a number of South Asian Australian religious communities settling in Sydney. These communities, controversial in some regard, reveal many of the negotiations that contribute to both the history of the South Asian diaspora in this city and also, allow an examination of the confrontations and ameliorations of various attitudes from the Diaspora and from Australians in general. Three Hindu and one Sikh community are briefly examined in this light.
Introduction Sydney has become a microcosm of the religious life of the world and almost every religious tradition, ancient and modern, is represented by the hundreds of communities that dot the suburbs. South Asian communities have played a vital role in the diversification of cultural and religious influences in the life of this island nation of a mere 20 million people. The increasingly “universal” nature of Sydney has been created out of, and in spite of, an isolationist and racist history. Australian federal immigration policy played the most central role in restricting South Asian immigration from 1901 until the 1960s. The policy itself was a reflection of the ideal of an homogenised white Australia. Since the overturning of this ideal, and as communities continue to establish markers of their cultural difference (purpose-built
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places of worship being the most obvious manifestation of this difference and so the main focus of this study), tensions in the suburbs between various communities and the general community continue to highlight the struggles that strain the multicultural process. South Asian-Australian communities are not alone in negotiating the trials that beset religions seemingly “new” to Sydney. Through a thorough examination of the events, public debates and controversies concerning South Asian Australians (what I have termed the outward “performance” of a community) and how this performance is received in the wider community, we can see how the negotiations, misunderstandings and cultural assumptions on both sides provide a better understanding of the process whereby the South Asian diaspora struggles to find itself a place within an increasingly “universal” city.
The Delineations of This Study. There are a multitude of groups in the general Sydney area which one could speak of as embodying aspects of the South Asian diaspora. Although there are numerous support groups for various gurus in the general Sydney area, I have chosen to look at those groups that have completed or are in the process of completing their own specifically traditional place of worship. Thus the Hare Krishna (ISKCON) centres in North Sydney and Newtown, although they are frequented by a significant number of South Asian-Australians, utilise in one instance a shop front, and in the other, a former funeral parlour and so are not included in this study. The Zoroastrian community based at Annangrove in the far-northern suburbs of the city was another possible candidate. I had originally hoped to include this group because of its Parsi membership; however, its active core of PersianAustralians, make speaking of this community as part of the South Asian diaspora problematic. Of those communities/temples remaining I have chosen to concentrate on four which have, by dint of the controversies, good works, festivals and other noticeable events and factors, most impressed themselves upon the public mind in Sydney.1 This study will therefore concentrate on the Lord Murugan Temple 1 There are five gurdwaras in Sydney, Revesby, Blacktown, Turramurra, Liverpool and Bonnyrigg and six Hindu temples, Mays Hill, Auburn, Helensburgh, Rosehill and two in Minto.
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at Mays Hill (to Sydney’s west), the Mukti-Gupteshwar Mandir Society Temple at Minto (south west), the Sri Venkateshwara temple (to the extreme south of the city), and the Sikh gurdwara at Turramurra (north).
Background to Hinduism and Sikhism in Australia Before the federation of several colonies into a Commonwealth in 1901, various colonial forces encouraged at various times, the importation of indentured labour from South Asia. The debate was fuelled by the cessation of the transport of convicts (a supply of cheap labour) from the United Kingdom in the 1830s. In conjunction with the opening of vast tracts of rural land by explorers forging into western New South Wales at about the same time, a high demand for shepherds and other basic labourers occurred. The call for “coolie” labour by free settlers became so intense that separate colonial commissions on immigration were held in 1837, 1838 and 1841. In 1842 pastoralists established a “Coolie Association”. Many other colonials, mainly freed convicts, who felt that cheap labour would worsen wage conditions and increase unemployment, countered this group. The Colonial Office in London which was passing through a period of evangelical and emancipationist enthusiasm and thus refused to condone the pastoralists’ wants (De Lepervanche, 1984:44) cooled the passion for indentured labour. Despite a lack of government assistance, immigration from the sub-continent did take place in relatively small numbers (Yarwood, 1968: 10). Indians worked initially as shepherds, but by 1854 a fourth commission had brought such immigration to an end in New South Wales. In Queensland however, from the 1860s onwards, plantation-style operations for sugar cane and bananas led to the assisted immigration of Hindus, Punjabi Sikhs, Polynesians and Italians. The sub-continental labour was indentured. When the period of tenure was complete, various state laws made continued residency and employment in other areas extremely difficult (de Lepervanche, 1984: 63). Federation in 1901 brought into being a unified “White Australia Policy.” Known in legislation as the Immigration Restriction Act 1901, it would remain in force until 1958. Under this law a language test was used to prevent non-white immigration. At first the language test was in English (two Indians are recorded as passing before 1903)
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but continued adjustment of the legislation meant that in the end any European language could be used. Non-whites applying for entry to Australia, if they demonstrated high-level English language skills, could be tested in Welsh or Scots-Gaelic. In this racist way Australia protected itself from cultural difference. Due to pre-Commonwealth immigration in 1911 there were 4106 “Hindoos” in Australia. “Hindoo” was a census classification that included Muslim Afghans, Punjabi Sikhs, and Hindus (Bilimoria, 1989: 21). Accounts taken from Sikh families in Woolgoolga, a town in northern New South Wales where the first Australian gurdwara was opened in 1968, recount that their ancestors came to Australia before 1901 and, given the prevailing systems of racial control, maintained a strong contact with the sub-continent, “...men would marry and beget children to their wives in India between sojourns in Australia.... With few exceptions, the wives and daughters remained in India; only recently have women emigrated in numbers” (de Lepervanche, 1984: 60). In fact it was only through appeals throughout the empire concerning the equal treatment of British subjects in Australia that many non-white residents including South Asian Australians were given the franchise in 1925, twenty-four years after the franchise was enshrined in the constitution. By 1947 only 2189 people identified themselves as “Indian” an indication of the effectiveness of “White Australia.” During World War II Australian soldiers may have been the first to turn the tide of Japanese expansion (Papua New Guinea 1942) but the war left the nation in shock. The perceived inability of such few people (less than 8 million in 1945) to defend a continent three times the size of India caused concern. The Labor (predominantly Catholic working class) Government of Ben Chifley established a Department of Immigration (1945) to increase the population. A million people were welcomed to the nation over the next 10 years. The emphasis was on Europeans and the Immigration Restriction Act remained in place. Throughout its history, this legislation maintained bi-partisan support both as a pillar of conservative policy for a homogenous Australia, and as a central platform of the Australian Labor Party’s (ALP) wage control plan. Although redundant since 1958, only after the election in 1972 of Edward Gough Whitlam, a highly educated atheist and son of a federal bureaucrat, led the ALP to government was significant change made. In the short life of his government (1972-75) Whitlam and his Italian-Australian minister for immigration Al Grassby did much to challenge the national attitudes that had, for so
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long, supported such legislation. It is after 1972 that the bulk of subcontinental immigration takes place. One commentator has suggested that because mostly urban-educated professionals were making their way to Australia, what was hoped from the new land by South Asians was, “secularism and modernity; Australia [appealed] as a safe refuge from the religious orthodoxies and caste-based life back home” (Hughes et al, 2002:1). Once here however, he suggests, a seeking out of individual and group identity leads to the development of a strengthening religious life and so communities develop more strongly than they may have if initial immigrant expectations had been adhered to.
The Lord Murugan Temple Mays Hill It would defeat the purpose of this paper to account for a detailed history of each community noted below, so, by way of one example, I have provided a more extensive account of the rise of the Tamil community at Mays Hill which is to be taken as a general pattern to which other South Asian communities generally adhered. I have chosen this group because it is Sri Lankan and so is typical. Out of an estimated 35,000 Indian-Australians in the nation currently, 25,000 are from Sri Lanka (Hughes et al, 2001:3). Shut off from the non-white world for so long and featuring very rarely on the world stage, Australia was little more than a mystery for most South Asians and could be hardly ranked as a desired destination. Through the Colombo Plan student exchange program and a trickle of immigration throughout the 1960s, some news of what Australia was, including its consistently high living standards and generally buoyant economy, became increasingly well-known. From the revolts of 1971 the political situation in Sri Lanka continued to worsen and people started leaving in significant numbers. In fact much immigration to this country after 1972 had tended to be from world hot spots; Vietnam after unification in 1975, Lebanon during their wars, and so forth. As Ravi Ravindraja points out, the United Kingdom loomed large in the minds of many leaving Sri Lanka. Canada which like Australia, was operating an open door policy as far as Sri Lankans were concerned also attracted many at first and some of these immigrants also later moved to Australia (Ravindraja, interview, 14 August 2002). Ravindraja himself went to Britain for his
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education in the early seventies and only latter came to Australia, as did Sivajoti Danika Skanda Kumar who, having become disappointed with the economic situation in early 1980s Britain had relocated to Australia. He brought with him a Lord Murugan statue from Jaffna (Subramaniam, 1994: 5). It was around this statue, carried from place to place in a car, that the early community began to coalesce after 1983. In 1985 the Saiva Manram was incorporated as an association and held services each Friday at Strathfield Girls High School. The community continued in this manner until land was bought in Mays Hill to the west of Sydney. A land purification ceremony was performed in 1994 and building commenced. In comparison with other communities in this study, the Lord Murugan project benefited immensely from the number of well trained professionals within this community who already had expertise working for (or with) certain state government organisations central to the smooth establishment of places of worship. Various local government authorities already employed some Tamil-Australians. This allowed the community to understand the processes of planning procedures from the inside and speak with this level of government in formats readily comprehensible by local bureaucrats. Most important of all was the fact that at least one community member worked for the New South Wales Roads and Traffic Authority (RTA). This state government body is one of the largest land acquisition groups in New South Wales and, as road developments change, it is also responsible for the disposal of surplus land. This land is often sold to community groups for well below market value. It is not however, a publicly known possibility, and some communities worked for years and suffered great heartache before discovering this avenue of temple development (Hartney 2003: 45). With its connections however, the Saiva Manram was able to purchase a significantly sized block, surplus RTA land, in Mays Hill for AUD$350 000 (approx. US$130,000). Almost immediately, by building a “cultural and educational” hall first (which was used as an interim temple) the community was also able to apply for a $25,000 grant from the Ethnic Affairs Commission of New South Wales. Four years later an adjoining block of land was purchased from the RTA. In fact the main issue the community had to face was whether this additional purchase would stretch to financial breaking point the resources of the community. Once this second purchase was made, land size increased from 4,000 to 11,000 square metres, the temple plans were resubmitted, changing the worship
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space from 625 to 820 square metres and, most importantly of all, parking was increased from 59 to 114 car spaces. The land, building and other costs are today estimated by the community at well over $3,000,000 (Ravindraja, interview: 14 August 2002). The execution of the project was ideal because the land itself is isolated from local residents. It is built on land wedged between the old main highway west from Sydney and the new multi-lane expressway. Except inside the temple itself, the site is not a quiet contemplative space because of noise from these roads, but its elevated position means that most of Sydney has at one time or another driven past the building. Apart from a bizarre rumour that elephants were going to be stored in the car park (Ravindraja, interview: 14 August 2002), reactions from local residents have been minimal. Reflecting the importance and impressiveness of the temple, it was officially opened by the titular head of the Commonwealth, the Governor-General, Sir William Deane, in 1999, a singular honour for what is a stunning building. Discussing the spiritual dimensions of the project, Ravindraja notes many fortunate factors; the temple was built on a hill (as are many temples in India), the land had not been previously in use (emphasising the sacredness of the site), and as Lord Murugan’s anniversary falls in the month of May, building in a suburb called “Mays Hill” is particularly auspicious (although the “May” in Mays Hill may not refer to the month). Acknowledging the future potential of the temple at the foundation laying ceremony in 1994 the president of the Saiva Manram wrote On completion of the new building, the community will, first and foremost, have a place of its own to be proud of. The inextricability of religion and language and culture which is unique to the community, will see the spiritual fulfilment and modification of behavioural patterns in the day to day lives of the people (Subramanian, 1994: 5).
This last point is well stated. The temple has indeed changed people’s routines. Friday, of course, remains the most auspicious day for worship; whereas the original community would only rent space on Fridays to worship, the temple is now a refuge open to all Australians seven days a week. It is impossible to essay either comprehensively or cursorily the many community charity works, feasts, and classes that are held at the temple nor assess the impact on the hundreds of teachers, students and members of the general public who visit the temple each month. So successful has the temple been that the only signifi-
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cant restriction I can note between its operation in Mays Hill, and a similar temple in India is that festivals take place wholly on the temple grounds. It is not hard to foresee that the parades of various deities through the streets and shopping areas of nearby Parramatta will take place one day.
The Sikhs of Turramurra With many citizens new to Sydney fleeing trouble in their land of birth, lacking English language proficiency and being financially disadvantaged, settlement in Sydney takes place mainly in the cheaper parts of the city. These factors thus isolate the more affluent suburbs along the coast to the east and north of the city from multicultural developments that most of the city has become used to, but not completely. Of the five main Sikh gurdwaras in the Sydney metropolitan area, one is located in Turramurra, an affluent suburb to the north of the city. Here a Sikh community has been based since 1980 (an indication of the highly-educated, well paid backgrounds of many South Asian Australians). When in 2000 the Sikhs decided to continue developing what was originally a drab Christian church into a gurdwara complete with traditional dome a sudden and vehement controversy enveloped the community. The community wanted to develop their building into an obviously Sikh building. Gurdeep Singh, a planning consultant explained, “This site is an unobtrusive section of Turramurra and the current building is of rundown and disorganised forms, hardly reflecting the philosophy of the Sikh religion” (McMillan 2000, 7). Locals seemed outraged. Kuring-gai Municipal Council received over 360 complaints against the proposed development from local residents. Obviously not all who placed complaints were in the immediate neighbourhood of the gurdwara, and the number of complaints for a local issue suggest that a concerted campaign was being organised by residents collecting complaints from a wide area. One commentator summarised the complaints as raising “...issues such as traffic, parking and the possibility the structure will cause a disruption to the otherwise homogenous residential landscape” (McMillan, 2000: 7). The reader can immediately see the nonsequitur; an existing community wishing to change its architecture will not suddenly increase its membership and so cause additional parking and traffic problems. We will come to aesthetic issues in moment, but let us further examine the issue of parking.
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Until the 1970s “car parking” was not an issue. A high number of Christian churches were built in Sydney with no car parking and absolutely no capacity for dealing with parishioners who might drive to church during major festivals such as Christmas or Easter. Traffic inconveniences at these times of the year were considered normal in a predominantly Christian country (Hartney, 1998: 21). Since the 1970s however temples, like homes, flats and commercial premises, must fit into a local planning policy which, although developed by individual councils, is based on a number of assumptions that turn local governments into the fiercest opponents of multicultural diversity. The planning power of councils has allowed local residents and councillors spurred on by the fears of voter backlash to blackmail the builders of what are essentially community-building spaces in the name of the automobile. It is not going too far to suggest, as I have elsewhere that “parking” is a socially acceptable means of expressing xenophobia and racial intolerance. To claim, as many do, that the right to park in and around their homes or (as is even more often suggested) to live in suburbs free from traffic that may understandably accumulate on certain festival days, exceeds the right of a community to bond in worship before their god or gods, is to deny social cohesion and stability for the sake of personal convenience (Hartney, 1998, 3). Moreover, councils are not obliged to take an investigative role in assessing the numbers of parishioners in a given community. Although the Sikhs of Turramurra can say that there are “...10 to 15 families attending the church each Sunday for around three hours” (McMillan, 2000: 7) and although 22 car parking spaces would have been provided under the new plan (Williams, 2000, 11) a consultant such as Gary Shiels, after a few brief visits to the temple can conclude that these requirements are not adequate because “...the congregation at the temple has been [numerically] underestimated” (Williams, 2000: 11). Additionally, by counting the maximum number of worshippers at major festivals rather than the yearly average the “parking” issue becomes a very convenient mechanism of control. Recognising the need to express fear through “parking” issues as an emotional, rather than rational complaint, we are left with resident concerns regarding aesthetics. Put simply, a domed gurdwara in Turramurra is a marker of difference, contrasting starkly to the present architecture of the suburb. One might argue that the classic lines and proportions of the struc-
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ture would have put the monotonous drab rows of brick and fibre houses to shame. One might, on the other hand, argue that it would “...cause a disruption to the otherwise homogenous residential landscape” (McMillan, 2000:7). It is ultimately a matter of taste but many residents remained outraged that their own particular preferences could not be enshrined in legislation. “The issue is one of architectural appropriateness” stated complainant R.L.Grant who then went on to add, “it is architecturally inappropriate” before concluding that “...the issue is architectural not cultural” (2000: 11). The underlying assumption of such constantly repeated language is that there are standards of “architecture” (which need not be delineated because “everybody” understands them) and then there are gurdwaras and the two are quite separate. Replying to this sort of complaint, one resident had it that for two decades the Sikh community had “...put up with a run-down fibre shack which served for their temple. I wonder how many people complained about that building’s effect on the ‘otherwise homogenous residential landscape”’ (Bass, 2000:12). When parking and other arguments fail, there is always the trusty fall back argument that, although a community is welcome to build anywhere, it should not be done in this particular area, “...according to one resident the Sikhs should move elsewhere, close to the Baha’i Temple in Terrey Hills” (Hellbuth, 2000: 10). This suggests that all religions new to Australia should be moved to the extreme outskirts of the city and placed alongside other unknown religions in a sort of multicultural theme park (there is in fact a suburb called Bonnyrigg in Sydney’s west where this has happened). We will see below the ramifications of one Hindu-Australian community that moved to the rural fringe of the city. Although residents close to the temple describing the community as quiet “...they have never made any noise” (Hellbuth, 2000: 10), noise pollution was used in complaints. Most disturbing of all for the community was the complaints of curry smells. Cooking at the gurdwara and offering food to parishioners and visitors alike is a central concern as made clear by Singh (2000:12). Complaints of smells, however, made it to one city wide newspaper (The Daily Telegraph, April 2001) with the implication that the priest (i.e. an amritdhari) cooked fish in the temple kitchen against all codes of Sikh behaviour (Parasher, 2001: 12). The paper was forced to apologise. Despite all these provocations and the painful process of feeling their way through this amazingly intense debate, the community tried
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to lever itself into a neutral position by withdrawing their hotly contested proposal to facilitate an independent consultant’s checks on their plans. In no way could they be said to have been militant. When discussing the proposal, community members’ language was not of parking but of more celestial concerns, “The dome is going to be built on a circle. A circle is a symbol of wholeness and perfect divinity....In the Sikh religion it appears in the form of an iron bangle (Kara)....The complete unbroken circle symbolises the unbroken continuity of existence” (Singh, 2000, 6). Indeed, as unbroken as the chain of complaints that continued until the community backed down in 2001 and deleted the dome from its design. Justice did not prevail, but the community gave way. The current dome-less temple is nearing completion and is more rectangular and unspectacular in its design, more like the rest of the unremarkable suburb of Turramurra.
The Hindus of Minto There is no single path that guarantees success in developing a specific place of worship in Sydney. Moving to the rural fringe of the city is something often recommended by more metropolitan councils and residents, but on the edge of the city the battles can be even more intense. The Australian Zoroastrian Association discovered this when attempting to establish a fire temple in Annangrove to the extreme north of Sydney. Despite being situated on a land of more than 1000 square metres on a quiet rural road with few neighbours, the local council refuses to allow a change of zoning to “place of worship” and has attempted to force the community to cease worshipping. Recognising that wherever they establish their community they will be harangued by local councils, the community has not moved and continues to pray before the small fire shrine set in one corner of what looks like an average Australian community hall. Moving to a rural area was also an idea of a number of Hindus who have been working to establish a community in Minto. The story is complex and after many internal struggles two temples are actually listed on two blocks next door to each other at 201 (the Sri Siva Mandir) and 203 (MuktiGupteshwar Mandir Society) Eagleview Road Minto. I will be discussing the worshipping space at 203 which is being organised mainly by Prem and Rama Misra. The Misras have helped built a large underground temple space,
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unnoticeable from the road, but containing prayer, meditation study and media rooms. Here we see settlement conditions in Australia marking a precedent on Hindu architecture. Says Hughes et al, The motivation to go underground did not arise from any religious necessity of vision. It was simply a strategy to avoid the intransigence of the local council which had earlier rejected the temple plans on the grounds that the project entailed interference with the natural surroundings (2002:3).
We should ask, is such a move justified? And consider also other seemingly duplicitous acts by this group. For example, an application to build a tennis court was approved by council, but this now operates as a car park to the chagrin of residents. Also, the nature of the concept of Hindu worship has been used to obfuscate local planning laws which understand “worship” in a the Christian sense of the word as congregational. “We never have group worship at all...” said Misra, “...we never ever have a congregation. It’s very private, it’s only families or a single person would come and pray by themselves. It’s such a quiet worship too” (Lamont, Iaccarino, 2001: 2). Despite these claims, residents have been complaining about noise and “busloads of people” (Smith, 2000: 5). When the issue reached the Land and Environment Court in 2001 Justice Dennis Cowdroy said, ...the site could not be used for public worship nor could it be advertised as such. It could be used as a residence and residents including the in-house Brahmin priest were allowed to use the site for religious purposes (Lamont, Iccarino, 2000: 2).
Which suited Prem Misra completely “I told the council it’s not a place for public worship so the situation remains the same.” Nevertheless, he did refer to the opposition from Campbelltown Council and residents as “racist” and noted that the council had to acknowledge his constitutional right to freedom of worship and culture (Lamont, Iccarino, 2000: 2). We might say that Misra is walking a very fine line between the definitions of worship, but in an environment where protesting residents have had to be restrained by police (Scala, 2001: 11) and the local Mayor labelled his fellow councillors racist after another refusal to build was rejected (Scala, 2001:11) perhaps he is right. Scanning the complaints we find similarities with many of the issues raised against the development at Turramurra. Traffic is men-
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tioned (Scala, 2001a: 11) but given the extensive land upon which the temple is situated, this is really bad argument. Said Rama Misra, “[Council’s] objection against the increased traffic in the area sounds absurd. We are near a major road intersection and have a vast parking area” (Parasher, 2001:1). The site is in fact 5 acres which instantly nullifies any argument over parking. In council’s dismissal of the first application and their attack on the second aesthetics were prominent. On the underground shrine/temple we find this stunningly ludicrous attack “[residents and councillors] also complained that the underground buildings, located next to housing commission homes, would be a blight on the landscape” (Scala, 2001a: 11 see also Parasher, 2001:1). Only from the air can an underground building be seen to be a “blight” on the landscape. Concern for the visual effect the temple would have on neighbouring government housing is laughable. The full irony of this aspect is lost on anyone who has not lived in Minto (as I have), but the social and visual “blight” of the acres of housing commission homes moved the State Government in 2001 to declare the area a planning disaster, one that would be demolished in the coming years. Rama Misra concludes “We have been here for the last three decades, and are law abiding Australian citizens...” (Parasher, 2001:1). There was one serious complaint. Many residents noted that the temple was being developed on “Scenic Protection Lands.” One neighbour, Karen Nelson, pointed this out, as did another un-named complainant, “We’re not upset about it being a Hindu temple, we’re upset about... paying big rates to live in Scenic Protection Lands that are not zoned for a temple” (Smith, 2000:5). John Nelson (the husband of Karen) said they bought in Eagleview Road “...because it was in a scenic protection area, to enjoy peace and quiet” (Bladen, 2000: 3). The inference is that the temple is in some way besmirching a pristine environment protected under environmental law. Yet it is interesting to note when the land was thus categorised. Writes Mark Scala “[following the] application and controversy [of the temple’s first application], parts of Campbelltown were labelled scenic protection zones, preventing the construction of places of public worship” (2001:11). Here we can see council using its rezoning powers in an attempt to stop the temple, which is a clearly intolerant act. Scala adds, “several large religious institutions already operated in these areas...” and he goes on to list some, all of them are Christian and continue their operations despite the zone change (2001:11).
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Members of the Mukti-Gupteshwar Mandir Society are being militant and pushing many boundaries including the concept of “worship” and the very nature of Hindu temple architecture (by going underground). The Misras are being very careful about calling a temple a temple. Moreover, they express the place of the temple not in terms of parking, traffic or aesthetics but in terms of the buildings usefulness to the religious community, holiness and also the status of Australia on the spiritual scale, as Misra explained, “To be chosen for the icon [presented by the Nepalese Royal Family and enshrined in the temple] is a very great honour for the whole of Australia and not only ourselves and this is the significance and the thing the council doesn’t understand” (Scala, 2001:11). Bringing in another point of value to the community the staff at Hinduism Today wrote, “The priest here is very popular with the congregation, especially for his youth programs” (1995:1). These benefits, however, are beyond the assessment of Campbelltown Council. The Council’s determination to discriminate against a Hindu establishment despite other [Christian] religious establishments already in the area, suggests that the subterfuge on the part of the Misra’s is justified in an area that has gone into panic over a worshipping space that marks religious difference.
The Sri Venkateswara Temple, Helensburgh The Sri Venkateswara temple in Sydney’s far south, on 10 acres and containing spacious Vishnu and Siva shrines remains the collective centre of Hindus in Sydney. The Vishnu temple was consecrated in June 1985 and in January 1994 the main Siva temple complex was consecrated (Ambirajan 2000:1). The temple complexes are host to the city-wide annual Ganesha Visarjana (Hinduism Today 1995:1). This community of mainly Vaishnavites brought Sri V. Janakiramana Sthapati to Australia to design its now extensive complex in 1983. Building has continued right through to the present day, and it is through the building process itself that this temple has become most famous to the wider community, not only for the magnificent and spacious shrines, but also in a more unusual way. Interestingly the history page of the temple’s website looks forward to the arrival of 14 artisans from Tamilnadu in July 1997. In what became a scandal redolent of the indentured labour days of the colony of New South Wales, it was discovered in February 2001 that
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temple stonemasons were being paid AUD$45.00 per month, completing aspects of the temple complex. In addition to their monthly $45.00, an additional AUD$100.00 per week was being transferred out of Australia to their families. Other reports suggest that the team of artisans were “working a seven day week... cash in hand [i.e. avoiding tax] and were living five to a room in small, cockroach infested huts on site” (D’Cruz, 2001: 27). Whereas, according to union estimates the temple was “...paying these men about 15 per cent of what they would have to pay an Australian worker to do the same job, they are not providing workplace insurance or superannuation and there is no tax being paid” (Rowlands, 2001: 19). It is not clear that the worker’s were the first to complain of their situation, for The Illawarra Mercury and The Daily Telegraph both reported that the Construction, Forestry, Mining and Energy Union (one of the country’s largest labour unions) had “raided” the temple complex (The Illawarra Mercury, 2001a: 3, Rowlands, 2001:19). The union then complained about the difference in wages between the official pay rates of Australian stonemasons and what the temple workers were being paid. They then put a black-ban on the temple which immediately closed the site for all building purposes only to conclude, “These men are not doing specialised jobs, they are doing jobs which could be done by unemployed Australian workers” (Rowlands, 2001: 19). The union encouraged the workers to leave, placed them, free of charge in a luxury hotel nearby and promised them large sums in back pay. “Eight Indians... signed up with the [CFMEU] and will pay $5 a week in membership dues after the union vowed to fight for back pay and other legal entitlements” (Norrington, 2001a:6). After arranging talks, the Temple Association agreed to a $25,000 settlement which was labelled an insult by the union which was attempting to seek $1 million for the workers (The Illawarra Mercury, 2001b: 3). A settlement was reached in early may, “...believed to exceed $200,000 [and which] will make the men rupee millionaires in their village. They claimed to be very happy about the outcome yesterday.” (Norrington, 2001b, 5). The eight returned home soon after. Throughout the controversy the union’s objectives were quite clear, they sought to direct all blame for the issue at the (conservative) Federal Government and the controversial minister for immigration Philip Ruddock. On 28 February, only days after the “raid” South Coast Labour Council secretary Arthur Norris “...called on Mr Ruddock to “accept responsibility for the slave labour scam” (The Illawarra
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Mercury, 2001b: 3). The state secretary of the union echoed these sentiments, “We want to know why it has been left up to the union movement to discover these men working in these conditions when it is Philip Ruddock’s job” (Rowlands, 2001: 19). In this way the debate quickly became an argument between federal and union responsibilities with union officials stirring up century old anxieties that underpaid Asian labour would steal work from Australian workers. It is in this controversy that we see perhaps the greatest gap in thinking between South Asian Australians and the general community. There is a stark difference between bringing non-citizens to Australia to work in factories and importing temple builders to build temples. The union movement made no distinction between the two and so, driving the debate, successfully shamed the community into a settlement with its workers. If the debate had been less about Federal responsibilities and more about what constitutes a worker in a temple, and what conditions and pay are appropriate for someone working for their faith, then the debate may have been more constructive. The response by the temple community was, in the main, not to become entangled in the debate. When the community’s comments were recorded it was out of the mouths of unions officials, “A CFMEU spokesman Phil Davy said after yesterday’s meeting the temple management claimed the eight Indian nationals were not workers in the conventional sense but spiritual volunteers” (The Illawarra Mercury, 2001c: 3) giving the union the last word he added “[we] strongly dispute that view.” In emphasising the spiritual nature of the work the community leader played down the idea that the workers were being paid for their work at all. “The head of the temple’s management committee, Sydney pathologist Dr Perumal Janarthanan, originally claimed the men worked at the temple as part of their religious duty. He said the $45 comprised $1 per day and $15 for mowing the lawn” (Norrington, 2001b: 5). The union had the right to enter the site and raise concerns about pay and conditions, however, if such “raids” were carried out on most temples, mosques and churches, then the religious life of the city would come to a standstill for so much of it is dependent on volunteer labour, community donations of time and money and craftspeople who are brought from overseas. This is done on a regular basis and the debate as the union drove it, did nothing to account for the role of karmic return that many community members suggested was a part of the deal.
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Conclusions What can be clearly seen is the distance in viewpoint between local residents and councils on one hand, and religious communities on the other. On one side we see amongst South Asian Communities a need to express their religious identity in traditional buildings for many reasons including a need to belong, to encourage community and good behaviour, to stress identity and ameliorate homesickness. On the other side however, we see in residents and local councils a series of strained and often illogical arguments that permit the use of planning guidelines to stop buildings of religious difference as well as hide racists or intolerant motivations. We have seen that a community isolated from nearby residents and well-connected to various government departments has few troubles in setting up a traditional space of worship as was the case with the Hindus of Mays Hill. Where these government connections are less intense with a close proximity to neighbours more difficulties are encountered as is the case in Turramurra and Minto. Whereas in Helensburgh, although the temple management committee were obviously bringing cheap (skilled) labour to Australia, the debate did not rest on the temple and the ways that temples are build, the economics of temples and so forth, but reverted to an argument between the CFMEU and the Federal Government. What all these issues show, most importantly, is that the general community in Sydney undervalues the unique spaces built by members of the South Asian diaspora. Residents, government bodies, particularly at the local level, and other interest groups, the CFMEU for example, treat places of worship on the same level as other residential or commercial sites, except when there is a need to separately identify a “place of worship” in order to add additional controls. What lends hope to these travails is that the South Asian Australian communities continue to persevere against this attitude, and take on, as their own duty, adding to the rich diversity that makes Sydney one of the most multicultural cities in the world.
Bibliography Bachelard, M. (2001). ‘Immigration Officials Back Claims of Temple Workers.’ Melbourne: The Australian, 1 March 2001, 5.
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Bass, W. (2000). ‘Temple Better Than Federation Fakes.’ Sydney: North Shore Times, 9 February 2000, 12. Bilimoria, P. (1989). Hinduism in Australia. Richmond: Spectrum Publications. Bladen, E. (2000). ‘Concern Over Plans for Land.’ Macarthur Chronicle, 29 August 2000, 4. D’Cruz, N. (2001). ‘Hindu Workers Scandal Not Embarrassing Says Canberra.’ Malaysia: Bernama, 27 February 2001, 1. de Lepervanche, M. (1984). Indians in a White Australia. Sydney: George Allen and Unwin. Grant, R.L. (2000). ‘Standard of Temple Debate Leaves a Lot to be Desired.’ Sydney: North Shore Times, 4 February 2000, 11. Hartney, Ch. (1998). ‘Wiley Parked: Local Council Planning versus Religious Utility’ paper delivered at Australian History Association Annual Conference, Places of the Heart, 25 September 1998, State Library of New South Wales. —. (2003). ‘Caodaism and Sydney.’ Unpublished PhD thesis, submitted December 2002. Hinduism Today, 1 December 1995, http://www.hinduism-today.com, accessed 21 June 2002. Hellbuth, B. (2000). ‘Sikh Temple Should be Welcomed.’ Sydney: North Shore Times, 26 January 2000, 10. Hughes, P., Bilimoria et al (2001): ‘Hindu’ at http://www.cvxmck.edu.au/ intranet/private/contents/hindus/hnch2.htm, accessed 24 July 2002. Illawarra Mercury (2001a). ‘Stonemasons Idle as MPs, Unions Argue.’ Wollongong: 28 February, 2001, 3. —. (2001b). ‘Offer Insult to Indian Workers.’ Wollongong: 2 March, 2001, 3. —. (2001c). ‘Temple Workers Go Home a Little Richer.’ Wollongong: 4 May, 2001, 5. Irving, R. (2001). Twentieth Century Architecture in Wollongong. Wollongong: Wollongong City Council. Lamont, L. and C. Iccarino (2001). ‘Temple in a Private Prayer-only Zone.’ Sydney Morning Herald, 27 December 2001, 2. McMillan, J. (2000). ‘230 Responses to Temple Plan.’ Sydney: North Shore Times, 2 February 2000, 7. Norrington, B. (2001a). ‘Indian Workers Paid $110 A Week to Build Temple.’ Sydney: Sydney Morning Herald, 27 February, 2001, 3. —. (2001b). ‘Union Backing for Indian Stonemasons.’ Sydney: Sydney Morning Herald, 28 February 2001, 6. Parasher, P. (2001). ‘Sydney Temple Disallowed Public Worship.’ Indo Asian News Service, 23 August 2001, 1. Ravindraja, R. (2002). ‘Taped interview with author 14 August,’ University of Technology Sydney. Rowlands, L. (2001). ‘Workers Paid $45 a Month on Temple Site.’ Sydney: The Daily Telegraph, 27 February 2001, 19).
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The Daily Telegraph (2001). ‘Fish Sauce Annoys Neighbours.’ Sydney: 23 April 2001, 4. Scala, M. (2001). ‘Rejection of Shrine is Racist.’ Sydney: The Daily Telegraph, 11. Smith, K. (2001). ‘Prayer room is “not legal.”’ Macarthur Advertiser, 15 August 2001, 5. Sri Venkateswara Temple web-page (2002, archived after 23 January 1994). ‘History.’ http://www.acay.com.au/~svt/main/history.html. Accessed 20 June 2002. Subramaniam, T. Siva (1994). ‘Foundation Laying Souvenir, Lord Murugan Temple.’ Sydney, Saiva Manram. Singh, S. (2000). ‘Circular Dome Has Special Meaning.’ Sydney: North Shore Times, 4 February 2000,. Williams, K. (2000). ‘Temple Development Application Withdrawn.’ Sydney: Hornsby Advocate, 16 March 2000, 11. Yarwood, A.T. (1964). Asian Migration to Australia: The Background to Exclusion. Melbourne: Melbourne University Press. Other works not cited but relevant for the study of the South Asian diaspora in Australia Bilimoria, P. and J. Bapat (1988). ‘Hindus.’ In Many Faiths One Nation A Guide to Major Faiths and Denomination in Australia (ed. Ian Gillman). Sydney: Collins Australia, pp. 332-348. Bilimoria, P. et al. (1988). Indians in Victoria (Australia). Melbourne: Ethnic Affairs Commission of Victoria. Bilimoria, P. (1994). ‘Traditions and Transition in South Asian Performing Arts in Multicultural Australia.’ In Sneja Gunew and Fazal Rizvi (eds.), Arts for Multicultural Australia. Sydney, Australia Council with Allen & Unwin, October. pp. 108-129. Jayaraman, R. (1988). ‘Indians.’ In The Australian People: An Encyclopaedia (sic) of the Nation, Its People and Their Origins. Sydney: Angus and Robertson Publishers. Lahiri, A.K. (1992). ‘Diaspora Hindus and Hinduism in Australia: A Sketch.’ In Religion and Multiculturalism in Australia. Adelaide: Australian Association for the Study of Religion.
HINDUS AND SIKHS: COMMUNITY DEVELOPMENT AND RELIGIOUS DISCRIMINATION IN ENGLAND AND WALES PAUL WELLER
Abstract This chapter aims to rectify an imbalance of attention to Muslim minorities in European societies by specific focus on the Hindu and Sikh experience. It provides background on the migratory origins, community characteristics and organisational developments of Hindus and Sikhs in the UK. Their experience as religious minorities is then explored by reference to the findings of the Religious Discrimination in England and Wales Research Project recently undertaken under commission from the United Kingdom Government Home Office. Finally, the findings of that project are explored within a broader context of the implications of religious discrimination, its social consequences, and possible means for tackling it.
Introduction In recent years in the United Kingdom, individuals and organisations from a variety of religious traditions have begun to claim that discrimination exists on grounds of religion and that such discrimination deserves to be taken as seriously as discrimination on the grounds of ethnicity, gender, disability and sexual orientation. Muslims1 – who constitute the largest religious minority in the UK – have been at the forefront (UK Action Committee on Islamic Affairs, 1993) in arguing for such recognition and in arguing for the necessity of legislative measures to tackle religious discrimination. It
1 The 2001 decennial Census indicates that there are 1,591,126 people in the UK who are identified as Muslims. This is 2.7% of the total population of the UK and includes 1,524,887 Muslims in England, 42,557 in Scotland, 21,739 in Wales and 1,943 in Northern Ireland.
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has also been the case that public attention in relation to these issues has largely focussed upon the Muslim population. This is because, in recent times, it has been in relation to Muslims that the most publicly dramatic and symbolic events and debates that raise issues of religious discrimination have occurred. These include the long-running Satanic Verses (Appignanesi and Maitland (eds.), 1989; Ahsan and Kidwai (eds.), 1991) controversy and the position (Allen and Nielsen, 2002) of Muslims following the September 11th (2001) attacks on the World Trade Centre and the Pentagon. Just as with Muslims, however, so also for Hindus and Sikhs, events connected with their co-religionists in other parts of the world have heightened awareness of the significance of religion as a key marker of self-identification and as a basis for self-organisation. These events include the storming of the Golden Temple in Amritsar (Tatla, 1993a, 1993b) by the Indian army and discrimination against Hindus in the context of the coup in Fiji. Within the UK, Sikhs in particular have had a long and well-documented early history of struggle (Helweg, 1986) against discrimination. This has often centred on issues related to the wearing of the turban, especially in relation to uniforms in public transport (Beetham, 1970), and also in respect of legislation concerned with the wearing of motorcycle crash helmets. For Hindus the planning permission conflicts over the use of Bhaktivedanta Manor (Nye, 1996, 2001) in Hertfordshire as a major national centre of Hindu pilgrimage and worship were of equally symbolic importance. Sometimes, however, in debates on religious discrimination, the degree of focus on the position of Muslims has meant that the specificity of the experience of Hindu, Sikh and other religious minorities has been relatively overlooked. Given that, in comparison with other countries in the European Union, one of the distinctive characteristics of the UK is that it has a wider range of religious minorities with substantial numbers than most other European countries, this tendency is particularly unfortunate. This chapter therefore aims to rectify something of this imbalance by focussing specifically on the Hindu and Sikh experience of unfair treatment on the basis of religion. The chapter proceeds, in its first substantive section, by providing some background in relation to the migratory origins, community characteristics and organisational developments of Hindus and Sikhs in the UK. In doing so, this section draws upon relevant materials
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from the directory, Religions in the UK: A Directory, 2001-3 (Weller (ed.), 2001).2 In the following section of the chapter, the experience of Hindus and Sikhs as religious minorities in the UK is explored by reference to empirical findings from the Religious Discrimination in England and Wales Research Project (Weller, Feldman and Purdam, K, 2001), commissioned by the UK Government Home Office.3 In the last major section of the chapter, what are argued to be the likely social consequences of unfair treatment on the basis of religion and religious discrimination are noted. Drawing upon the project’s reporting of the views of Hindus and Sikhs concerning a range of policy options for tackling such unfair treatment and discrimination, possible ways forward are explored within an analytical framework that was developed by the project’s Interim Report. Finally, both the reported views and this analytical framework are used to inform some personal and professional reflections by the author.
The Hindu and Sikh Diasporas in the UK Migratory Origins of Hindus in the UK The 2001 decennial Census indicates that there are 558,810 people in the UK who are identified as Hindus.4 Small numbers of Hindus 2 This section draws upon materials in the text of chapters on “The Religious Landscape” (pp. 23-62), “Introducing Hindus in the UK” (pp. 297-316) and “Introducing Sikhs in the UK” (pp. 549-561) from Weller, P. (ed.) (2001). Religions in the UK: Directory 2001-3. Derby: Multi-Faith Centre at the University of Derby. A large number of academic experts and community representatives contributed to the consultative processes that produced this directory, and these are listed in the directory’s “Acknowledgements” chapter (pp. 643-650). 3 The chapter draws on text in the Home Office Research Study 220, Religious Discrimination in England and Wales, Research Development Statistics Directorate, London: The Home Office, by Weller, P., Feldman, A., Purdam K., et al. which is © Crown Copyright, 2001, as well as on other research materials gathered in the course of the Religious Discrimination in England and Wales Research Project. Ahmed Andrews, Anna Doswell, John Hinnells, Marie Parker-Jenkins, Sima Parmar and Michele Wolfe also made contributions to the publication. The authors and contributors also express acknowledgements to the fieldwork informants and questionnaire respondents, whose experiences and views form the basis of the research findings. The views expressed in this chapter are those of the author of the chapter, not necessarily those of the authors of the report, or of the Home Office, nor do they reflect Government policy. 4 This is 1.0% of the total population of the UK, and includes 546,982 Hindus in England, 5,546 in Scotland, 5,439 in Wales and 825 in Northern Ireland.
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have visited and worked in the UK for centuries. But it was not until the 1950s and 1960s that significant numbers settled here and the contours of an organised community began to emerge (Bowen (ed.), 1986; Burghart (ed.), 1987; Thomas, 1993; and Knott, 2000). Some arrived directly from India, but between 1965 and 1972 others came from countries of previous migration (such as Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Zambia, and Malawi) when the Africanisation policies of these newly independent states led to ethnic Asians becoming economic migrants and/or refugees. Hindu migrants also came from Fiji, and from Trinidad and other Caribbean islands (Vertovec, 1994). Hindus are now established in most large towns and cities in the UK. The largest Hindu communities are to be found in Greater London (especially in Harrow and Brent), Birmingham, Leicester and Wolverhampton. Migratory Origins of Sikhs in the UK The 2001 decennial Census indicates that there are 336,149 people in the UK5 who are identified as Sikhs. The Sikh population is the largest outside the Indian subcontinent. One of the first Sikhs to live in the UK was an exiled young Sikh prince called Maharaja Dalip Singh, the son of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, and who acquired the Elveden Estate in Norfolk. During the First and Second World Wars many Sikhs served in the British Indian armies and a number of exservicemen migrated to Britain particularly after the Second World War. The vast majority of Sikh migrants, however, arrived in the 1950s and 1960s (Cole, 1989; Thomas, 1993b; Ballard, 2000). Many came directly from the Punjab, although a significant minority also came, in similar circumstances to the Hindu migrants described above, from East Africa (Bhachu, 1985) and other former British colonies. The largest Sikh communities are to be found in Birmingham, Coventry, Leicester, and Greater London (especially Sandwell, Wolverhampton, Ealing and Hornslow).
5 This is 0.6% of the total population of the UK, and included 327,343 Sikhs in England, 6,572 in Scotland, 2,015 in Wales, and 219 in Northern Ireland.
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Language, Social and Religious Groups Among Hindus Between fifty-five and seventy per cent of Hindus in the UK are thought to be of Gujarati background and between fifteen and twenty per cent Punjabi. The remainder have ancestral origins in other parts of India such as Uttar Pradesh, West Bengal, and the Southern states, as well as in other countries such as Sri Lanka. Thus the Hindu population is constituted of many ethnic and linguistic groups, the most common of which are Gujarati, Hindi, Punjabi, Bengali and Tamil. In the UK, caste or jati groups do not necessarily correlate with the social, economic or occupational status of individuals and families but they do remain a significant social, cultural and economic factor for many aspects of internal Hindu community life. Due to differential patterns of settlement jati groups can be found concentrated in specific localities including, for example, a concentration of Mochis in Leeds (Knott, 1994), and Lohanas in Leicester and North London. Sampradayas or spiritual traditions also often have a linkage with a regional base in India. These include Swaminarayan6 (Williams, 1984; Dwyer, 1994) Hindus who, in the UK, are predominantly of Gujarati origin, and the Pushtimarg (Dwyer, 1994) or Vallabha sampradaya7 whose members are largely Lohana by jati. There are also members of the ISKCON (The International Society for Krishna Consciousness (Carey, 1983; Knott, 1986b),8 the Arya Samaj9 and the Ramakrishna Mission.10
6 Swaminarayanis follow teachers in the line of Sahajananda Swami (1781-1830), also called Swaminarayan, who is believed to have been an incarnation of the Supreme Lord. They combine traditional Hindu practices with specific customs of their own, including the strict separation of men and women in the mandir. There are various Swaminarayan groupings in the UK, reflecting different views concerning the proper line of succession to Sahajananda Swami. The largest is the Akshar Purushottam Sanstha (the Swaminarayan Hindu Mission) which looks to the leadership of Pramukh Swami with its main UK centre being in Neasden, London. Another is the group which looks for leadership to Acharya Tejendraprasad Pande, the main UK centre of which is in Willesden Lane, London. 7 Vallabhis follow the teachings of Vallabha (c.1479-1531 CE) and worship Krishna, particularly in the form of Srinathji and as the infant Krishna. 8 Devotees associated with ISKCON follow the teachings of A C Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada (1896-1977) in the Bengali Chaitanya Vaishnava tradition. The first ISKCON mandir in the UK was opened in 1969 in central London. Later, George Harrison (one of the Beatles) donated Bhaktivedanta Manor in Hertfordshire where, every year, a festival involving thousands of Hindus from all over the UK has
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Language, Social and Religious Groups Among Sikhs The vast majority of Sikhs are of Punjabi ethnic origin. A few are indigenous converts, although conversion is not common because Sikhism is not an actively proselytising faith. As well as English, most Sikhs in the UK also speak Punjabi, which is held in great esteem by Sikhs who have gone to great efforts to transmit it to second and third generation children, with most gurdwaras running Punjabi language classes. Sikh religious teachings emphasise that there should be no distinctions between people and therefore reject the concept of caste (or Jati) as having no religious significance. However, social groups continue to play a role in the life of the community. The names of such groupings are, for example, often reflected in the names of gurdwaras. They do not necessarily define who is allowed to attend a particular gurdwara although they may, in practice, indicate the background of those who do actually attend. These include Bhatras, who were originally associated with itinerant traders and, due to their pre-Second World War settlement in a number of British ports, founded some of the earliest gurdwaras in the UK. Ramgarhias were originally a community of blacksmiths, bricklayers, carpenters, engineers and technicians, many of whom migrated to East Africa at the end of the nineteenth century in order to assist in the development of the transport network there. There are also a number of movements and groups that have an historical or doctrinal relationship with the Sikh tradition, but the nature of whose relationship is often a disputed one. These disputed relationships involve conflicting and mutually exclusive self-understandings in relation to the Rahit Maryada or Sikh Code of Conduct published by the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee11 in Amritsar. Such been held to celebrate Krishna-Janmashtami. The long-running planning dispute that threatened this temple with closure for public worship was settled in 1996. 9 Arya Samajis are mainly Punjabis and follow the teachings of Swami Dayananda Saraswati (1824-1883 CE) who rejected the concept of jati and the worship of murtis. They stress belief in, and the purity of, the Vedas and reject those parts of post-Vedic Hindu teachings which they believe do not conform to the Vedic revelation, including parts of the Puranas and Tantras. 10 The Ramakrishna Mission was founded by the Bengali Swami Vivekananda (1863-1902 CE) in the name of his master, Ramakrishna (1836-1886). It teaches Advaita Vedanta, and is led by an organised body of sannyasins. 11 The Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee was established in 1920 in the wake of the Gurdwara Reform Movement. The Rahit Maryada gives a definition of a Sikh as one who believes in Akal Purakh (the one immortal God), the ten Gurus,
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movements include Namdharis12 who are distinguished by their belief in a continuing succession of living Gurus. It is estimated that there are around 10,000 Namdharis in the UK, many of whom are organised through the Namdhari Sangat UK (The Sant Khalsa Spiritual Institute of the Namdhari Sikh Community in the UK). Hindu Organisations The first Hindu organisations in the UK were set up in the late 1950s. Since then a variety of different national, regional and local organisations have been developed.13 There is no single national representative organisation of Hindus in the UK, although the Hindu Council of the UK, founded in November 1994, aspires to a role as an umbrella organisation for the various national groupings. Among these groupings are the National Council of Hindu Temples. There is also a UK branch of the international organisation, the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (The World Council of Hindus) which also has local branches throughout the UK. At the local and regional levels there has been some development of representative groups such as the Hindu Council (Brent), the Hindu Council of Birmingham, the Leicester Gujarat Hindu Association, the Hindu Council of the North, the Hindu Council of Nottingham, and the Hindu Resource Centre (Croydon). Many of these local and regional bodies serve a range of functions, including lobbying and campaigning, as well as youth activities, language classes, women’s
the Guru Granth Sahib and the Gurbani (the teaching of the ten Gurus considered as a unity and incorporated in the Guru Granth Sahib) A Sikh is also said to believe in the Amrit Pahul (the Sikh form of initiation) of the tenth Guru and to adhere to no other religion. The Code of Conduct was first drawn up in 1936, but was formally approved and adopted with some amendments in 1945. 12 Namdharis understand themselves as Sikhs, but hold that Guru Gobind Singh did not, as Sikhs generally believe, pass away at Nander (Maharashtra) in 1708, but that he continued to live until 1812. They further believe that the Guruship continues with successive living Gurus rather than that it having been conferred on the Adi Granth. Their present supreme spiritual head is His Divine Holiness Sri Satguru Jagjit Singh ji Maharaj who was born in 1920 and attained Guruship in 1959. 13 Contact details for Hindu national organisations (pp. 317-322) can be found in Weller (ed.) (2001) Religions in the UK, and of Hindu regional and local organisations on pp. 323-356. There is no generally available Hindu publication listing Hindu religious groups nationally, although lists have appeared in some general publications, e.g. Virat Hindu Sammelan, Virat Hindu Samaj, Milton Keynes, 1999. The National Council of Hindu Temples and ISCKON jointly maintain a database of Hindu mandirs that have installed deities. There are a wide range of handbooks pertaining to specific jati organisations, but these are not generally publicly available.
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groups, trust funds and education, in addition to more specifically religious activities. The Swaminarayan Hindu Mission in London has started an independent Hindu school where, in addition to the National Curriculum, students are taught about moral and ethical values and Hindu religion, culture and music. There are also many supplementary schools that, out of school hours, teach Indian languages and Hindu religion. Some national and local groups are organised on the basis of a specific shared regional or linguistic background. Jati (see above) associations are important, especially among Gujarati Hindus, at both national and local levels, having functions that range from social networking through to voluntary welfare support and provision. The existence of sampradaya based organisations has already been noted above In addition, there are many Hindu-related movements and groups, including the Divine Life Society, the Transcendental Meditation movement and others, which practise the disciplines of Yoga. Some focus purely on the more physical exercises of Hatha Yoga whilst others seek to present a complete religious approach through Raja Yoga; some are closely connected with the wider Hindu tradition, whilst others have recruitment and management from the wider society. Sikh Organisations The Network of Sikh Organisations facilitates co-operation among Sikhs in the UK and is developing as a national representative umbrella body. A range of other national, regional and local groups14 exist which serve the diverse needs of particular sections of the Sikh population, including literary, social, cultural or professional societies and associations as, for example, the Sikh Missionary Society. A number of groups define themselves in relation to the political demand for an independent Sikh homeland of Khalistan. A major municipal grouping of gurdwaras is the Council of Sikh Gurdwaras in Birmingham and Councils of Gurdwaras have begun to 14 Contact details for Sikh national organisations (pp. 562-565) can be found in Weller (ed.) (2001) Religions in the UK, and of Sikh regional and local organisations on pp. 566-585. There is no generally available up-to-date Sikh directory or handbook. Previous publications of this kind have included: Shergill, N S (1985). International Directory of Gurdwaras and Sikh Organisations. London: N S Shergill, and The Sikh Cultural Society of Great Britain (1989). The Sikh Gurdwaras (Sikh Temples) in the United Kingdom. 5th edition. London: Sikh Cultural Society of Great Britain.
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emerge also in a number of other towns and cities. At the local level Sikh organisations often serve several functions in addition to what are often understood to be more specifically religious functions, including the provision of youth and women’s activities and education. In 1999, the Guru Nanak Primary school and Secondary school in Hayes, Middlesex, became the first state-funded Sikh schools in the UK. There are also many local supplementary schools which, outside of schools hours, teach Punjabi, as well as Sikh religion and culture. Hindu mandirs in the UK Among Hindus, the practice of domestic worship is widespread with most Hindus having in their own homes a shrine or small area for worship (ghar mandir, “house temple”) containing pictures and/or murtis of favourite deities. Nevertheless, Religions in the UK (Weller, 2001) records details of around 131 Hindu mandirs (temples). Generally, mandirs in the UK are converted public or religious buildings and private houses, with only a few being purpose-built. However, the Shri Swaminarayan Mandir in Neasden, North-West London, which opened in 1995, is the first ever traditional mandir carved in white marble stone to be built in Europe. Mandirs in the UK are more likely to cater for a variety of sampradayas than is the case in India. This is partly because of the minority position of UK Hindus and the financial constraints within which they must operate, but it is also made possible by the inclusive approach of the Hindu tradition to various deities. As well as the hall for worship, mandirs may also have other facilities on their premises, such as social, cultural, educational, and administrative rooms. The mandir therefore also fulfils an important social function, providing an opportunity to engage in community and cultural activities and consolidate faith together. A mandir is usually governed by a management committee that includes within its membership the temple president and secretary. Many officiating pandits visit from India, staying only for a temporary period before returning home. Sikh Gurdwaras in the UK The Sikh place of congregational worship is called the gurdwara, meaning “doorway of the Guru“. The Registrar General’s 1999 list of certified places of worship gives 170 gurdwaras in England and Wales whilst Religions in the UK (Weller, 2001) records details of around 202 gurd-
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waras in the UK of which 159 are in England and Wales. The first gurdwara in the UK was opened in Shepherd’s Bush in 1911 at the initiative of Sant Teja Singh, and with funding from Maharaja Bhupinder Singh of Patiala. The gurdwara is not only a place for formal worship, but it is also a centre for religious education and other activities such as Punjabi classes, and social activities such as youth clubs, women’s groups, welfare provision and elderly day centres. In addition, in keeping with Sikh traditions of hospitality, temporary accommodation is sometimes provided for people who are in particular need. The majority of gurdwaras in the world, including in the UK, follow guidance from the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC), Amritsar, which is based at the Harmandir Sahib (Golden Temple) complex at Amritsar in the Punjab. Gurdwaras are usually run by a Management Committee, which consists of honorary office bearers, president, secretary and treasurer. The people who serve on such committees are usually elected by the congregation every two years or so. There are also some gurdwaras that are led by a sant (individual charismatic leader).
The Religious Discrimination in England & Wales Research Project The previous section of this chapter provided an outline of some of the contours of the history and composition, community and organisational development of the Hindu and Sikh populations in the UK. This next major section goes on to summarise some of the key empir-
15 The project was the undertaken by a research team based at the University of Derby, and of which the present author was Project Director. In commissioning the research, the Home Office set the following objectives: 1. To assess the evidence of religious discrimination in England and Wales, both actual and perceived 2. To describe the patterns shown by this evidence, including: • its overall scale • the main victims • the main perpetrators • the main ways in which the discrimination manifests 3. To indicate the extent to which religious discrimination overlaps with racial discrimination. 4. To identify the broad range of policy options available for dealing with religious discrimination. For further background to the project, see the project website on the internet at, http://www.multifaithnet.org/projects/religdiscrim/reports.htm
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ical findings of the Religious Discrimination in England and Wales Research Project with respect to Hindus and Sikhs. The project was the first piece of systematic research into the possibility of religion being an axis of discrimination in its own right to have been commissioned15 by the UK Government. It commenced work in April 1999, published an Interim Report (Weller and Purdam, et al, 2000)16 in January 2000, and reported to the Home Office in October 2000. The Home Office published the project’s final report, Religious Discrimination in England and Wales (Weller, Feldman and Purdam, 2001)17 on 23rd February 2001. Under the project’s terms of reference unfair treatment on the basis of religion was examined across the full range18 of the contemporary religious plurality of England and Wales. However, for reasons set out in the introduction, this chapter focuses on the project’s findings specifically as they emerge from, and relate to, the reported experience of unfair treatment on the basis of religion among Hindus and Sikhs. Due to constraints of space, this section of the chapter explores this unfair treatment by focusing primarily on the project findings in the
16 Weller and Purdam et al (2000). Religious Discrimination in England and Wales, Interim Report, January 2000. Derby: University of Derby. This reviews the historical background, describes the current religious diversity of Britain, and provides information on anti-discrimination legislation in the UK and a number of other countries. Printed copies are no longer available, but electronic copy can be accessed through the University of Derby’s MultiFaithNet website at http://www.multifaithnet.org/projects/ religdiscrim/reports.htm. An Executive Summary was also published, and is also accessible at the above internet address. 17 Paul Weller, Alice Feldman, Kingsley Purdam et al (2001). Home Office Research Study 220, Religious Discrimination in England and Wales. London: Research Development and Statistics Directorate of the Home Office. The report is available electronically through the Research Development and Statistics Directorate’s section of the Home Office web site at http://www.homeoffice.gov.uk/rds/pdfs/hors 220.pdf. Printed versions of the report are available on request from the Home Office Research Development and Statistics Directorate Information and Publications Group at [email protected]. 18 The religions covered in the research include Bahá’í, Buddhist, Christian, Hindu, Jain, Jewish, Muslim, Sikh, Zoroastrian, New Religious Movements and Pagans, and those categorised for the purposes of the research project as “others”. It should be noted that there are geographical parameters to the findings since the project was not commissioned to undertake primary research on Northern Ireland or Scotland [in relation to which a general literature and comparative review was undertaken], but only in England and Wales. Whilst there may, in fact, be some commonality of experience among in all four countries of the UK, the religious contexts of Scotland and Northern Ireland have distinctive historical and contemporary dimensions.
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three key areas19 of education, employment, and the media that were highlighted by the research as being the main foci of concern. Finally, this section reviews relevant project findings in relation to the complex relationship between religion and ethnicity. The project findings are primarily based upon the results of a postal questionnaire survey20 of religious organisations as well as interviews and discussions21 conducted in four local areas of England and Wales.
The Questionnaire Survey The postal survey was distributed to religious organisations and most of the survey questions were directed to the experience of the members of the organisations surveyed. The survey was therefore generally intended to reflect the ongoing experience of these organisations and their memberships rather than the experience of individuals alone. In some cases, these members were other organisations, in other cases individual memberships, and in others, both organisations
19 These were the areas of social life which, across all the religions surveyed, produced most evidence of problems. Other areas on which the project final report presented findings included criminal justice and immigration, housing and planning, health care and social services, public transport, shops and leisure, funding and benefits, political and pressure groups, and other religious groups. For findings in respect of these areas, readers are referred to the full project report. 20 The postal questionnaire was sent to a total of 1,830 religious organisations throughout England and Wales, of which 100 were sent to Hindu organisations (34 to national organisations, 2 to regional organisations, and 64 to local organisations) and 100 were sent to Sikh organisations (26 to national organisations, 1 to a regional organisation, and 73 to local organisations). A survey of individuals might ideally have been a better option than a survey of organisations, but it would have been extremely difficult and expensive to obtain representative samples. In the absence of census data on religion at the time the project was conducted it would have been necessary to use information on ethnicity as a proxy in planning a sampling strategy, and this is far from ideal. The 2001 Census in England and Wales for the first time included a question on religion. People were asked to choose from the options of “None”, Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, Jewish, Muslim or Sikh, or to write in the name of any other religion. This should, in future, make it a little easier to plan surveys of individuals, since it will be possible to pinpoint geographical areas where there is a reasonable chance of finding representative samples of people from specific religions. 21 Research was carried out in the following four locales for approximately six weeks in each during 1999-2000: Leicester (November-December 1999), the London Borough of Newham (January-February 2000), Blackburn (March-April 2000), and Cardiff (May-June 2000).
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and individuals. At the same time, there were a small number of questions in the survey where the respondent completing the questionnaire was asked for their personal response. Where this was the case, it is noted when the findings are reported. The response rate, although not low (between 34-42%) for postal surveys, was less than had been targeted. For this and a number of other reasons the results of the survey need to be treated with caution. These include the possibility that the relatively low response rate may have biased results towards responses from organisations that identify problems of discrimination. It was also the case that the ratio of national to local responses varied considerably, and from the results it appears that national organisations were more likely to indicate unfair treatment than were local ones. Finally, it should be noted that where questions were directed to the experience of an organisation’s membership, this necessarily entailed a very challenging task for those individuals who had to try to reflect the views and experience of the members of the organisation on whose behalf they responded. The questionnaire survey asked the respondent whether members of his or her organisation experience unfair treatment because of their religion in a variety of different areas. In each case the respondent could choose between indicating “frequent”, “occasional” or “no unfair treatment”, or they could indicate that they did not have any experience in the area concerned.22 For each area, there was also space for write-in examples. The final section of the questionnaire asked individual respondents for their personal views on the seriousness of different forms of unfair treatment (e.g. ignorance, discriminatory policies, physical abuse); whether it was getting better or worse; the extent to which it might be based on racial hostility; and the measures that should be considered for tackling it. The results of the questionnaire survey do not provide precise statistical data.23 Therefore this chapter does not generally (with the
22 Organisations that said that their remit meant they had no relevant experience of the areas of society being addressed were excluded from the analysis of the results. 23 In the project as a whole, 628 questionnaires were returned giving an overall response rate of between 34-42% per cent (for a discussion of the technical difficulties involved in establishing the exact response rate see the full project report’s Technical Report). From the 100 Hindu organisations sent a questionnaire, 27 were deadwood or other non-contact, and 3 organisations refused to participate. 37 completed questionnaires were returned, of which 11 (30%) were from national organisations, 1 (3%) was from a regional organisation, and 25 (66%) from local organisations. This gave
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exception of the first table below, on the seriousness of religious discrimination as perceived by Hindu and Sikh organisations) present the survey findings in terms of percentages. This is because such a form of presentation can give an impression of greater solidity in the results than is sometimes warranted by a more sophisticated understanding of the data and, as noted above, of the methodological issues that lie behind it. At the same time, the survey results do generally tally reasonably well with the findings from the qualitative interviews and discussions. This triangulation therefore provides a measure of confidence in the overall picture of the reported experience and views within each religion, as well as of the areas of public life that cause most concern to particular religious groups.
Fieldwork Interviews and Discussions For the local fieldwork, interviews and meetings were held in Blackburn, Cardiff, Leicester and the London Borough of Newham. The interviewees were of three categories: individual members of religious traditions; representatives of religious organisations; and representatives of secular agencies in the public, private and voluntary sectors. Some of the representatives from religious organisations and secular agencies were seen in groups of two or more. In total, there were altoan overall response rate for Hindu organisations of between 37-51%. Of the 37 responding Hindu organisations that also provided data on the size of their membership, 1 had 1-25 members, 3 had 26-100; 18 had 101-1000; 6 had 1001-2500; and 6 had 2500+. Geographically speaking, 0 of the responding Hindu organisations were from North East England; 3 from Yorkshire; 1 from North West England; 8 from the English East Midlands; 4 from the English West Midlands; 0 from East Anglia; 14 from Greater London (the majority of national organisations are based in London, which also has the largest population as well as concentration of Hindus); 6 from South East England; 0 from South West England; and 1 from Wales. From the 100 Sikh organisations sent a questionnaire, 23 were deadwood or other non-contact, and 2 organisations refused to participate. 35 completed questionnaires were returned, of which 11 (31%) were from national organisations and 24 (69%) from local organisations. This gave an overall response rate for Sikh organisations of between 35-45%. Among the 35 responding Sikh organisations that also provided data on the size of their membership, 5 had 1-25 members, 3 had 26-100; 14 had 101-1000; 5 had 1001-2500; and 5 had 2500+. Geographically speaking, 1 of the responding Sikh organisations was from North East England; 1 from Yorkshire; 1 from North West England; 5 from the English East Midlands; 11 from the English West Midlands; 0 from East Anglia; 10 from Greater London; 3 from South East England; 3 from South West England; and 0 from Wales.
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gether 156 meetings involving a total of around 318 individuals.24 The local interviews were more open-ended than the postal questionnaire and interviewees were not taken systematically through the same list of topics. Instead they were asked to volunteer their own experiences as a member of a specific faith community, or as an employer, service provider, or advice worker. The interviews with individual members of religious traditions were biographical in nature. The secular agencies included employers, local authorities, the police and others. Such agencies have the potential to be both sources of discrimination, as well as to be a part of the solution. They were asked about their policy and practice in this area, their awareness of ongoing problems, and their views on how discrimination can be avoided or tackled. A range of organisations involved in giving advice or community support were also interviewed. They provided an overview of the nature and extent of discrimination, and of the willingness and effectiveness of other agencies in dealing with the problem.
General Project Findings The Nature of Unfair Treatment and Religious Discrimination In general, groups composed predominantly of people who are also members of ethnic minorities reported the relatively highest levels of unfair treatment and discrimination in relation to religion. From among all the religions surveyed, Muslims reported the most frequent incidence of such treatment and also more often reported it as of a serious kind. However, as also groups composed predominantly of ethnic minorities, Hindus and Sikhs reported relatively high levels of concern as well. Often, the reported experiences of Hindus and Sikhs were broadly similar. However, as will be seen in the detailed findings, on occasion in specific areas, Sikhs reported a greater frequency and seriousness of problems than did Hindus. 24 Leicester (34 meetings with approximately 70 people) Newham (45 meetings with approximately 113 people) Blackburn (38 meetings with approximately 87 people) Cardiff (39 meetings with approximately 48 people). This included specific meetings with local Hindu and Sikh organisations and biographical interviews with Hindus and Sikhs, and well as Hindu and Sikh contributions to discussions conducted in wider fora such as inter-faith groups, or in other organisations/agencies.
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In general, attitudinal issues and the behaviour of individuals related to ignorance and indifference towards religion were of most concern amongst research participants from all religious groups, including for Hindus and Sikhs, although issues arising from the policies and practices were also identified. In the local interviews, those who actively practised their religion often said that they were made to feel awkward and that they experienced pressure to conform. They claimed that other people based their views on pre-conceived ideas and stereotypes and seemed neither to know nor care about the things that are central to the experience of those for whom religious identity constitutes an important, or the key, aspect of their lives. The Seriousness of Unfair Treatment and Religious Discrimination Questionnaire respondents to the project postal survey were asked for their personal view of the seriousness of their experience of various aspects of discrimination and unfair treatment, including ignorance, indifference, hostility, verbal abuse, physical abuse, damage to property, policies of organisations, practices of organisations, and media coverage. The table25 below illustrates the range of Hindu and Sikh responses to these questions. Respondents were asked whether experience of these areas was “not at all serious”, “very serious” or “quite serious” (with the option of “Don’t know” also being offered). Only a minority of Hindu and Sikh respondents said each issue was “not at all serious”. Over three-quarters of both Hindu and Sikh respondents identified issues of ignorance as being of some seriousness, whilst over twothirds of both Hindu and Sikh respondents saw issues of indifference as being of some seriousness. At the same time, of these, at least twice as many indicated these problems as being only “quite serious” in comparison with those who saw them as “very serious”. Ignorance
25 In this table and also in the tables that follow, the maximum possible number of responding Hindu organisations was 37, and the number of responding Sikh organisations was 35. The possible sources for unfair treatment appear in the far left hand column of each table and actual number of Sikh organisations that responded to the question on each possible source of any unfair treatment is found in the far right hand column of each table. In between these columns, from left to right, are columns containing the total numbers of Sikh organisations reporting at least “some experience” of unfair treatment, the frequency of which is then presented in figures that kindicate such experience to be either “occasional” or “frequent”.
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and indifference do not themselves constitute discrimination, but in organisational settings they can contribute towards an environment in which discrimination of all kinds (including “unwitting” and institutional discrimination) are able to thrive. Over two-thirds of Hindu and Sikh organisations reported hostility as being of concern. The seriousness of violence against persons and property was as highlighted by both Hindu and Sikh respondents, although in respect of both persons and property, the proportion (over three-quarters) among Sikhs was higher than that reported by Hindus. The Frequency of Unfair Treatment and Discrimination Alongside the question of the seriousness of discrimination and unfair treatment in particular areas, respondents to the postal survey were also asked their personal view of whether, in the past five years, problems in the areas outlined above had become “more frequent”, “less frequent”, “stayed the same” or “don’t know”. The majority of Hindu respondents thought indifference, hostility and verbal abuse had all become more frequent. Most of the answers given by Sikhs were fairly evenly divided between “less frequent” and “stayed the same”, with a smaller number of respondents indicating the problems had become less frequent. The Agents/Contexts of Unfair Treatment and Religious Discrimination The findings suggest that, as well as being experienced by some groups more than others, discrimination is also much more likely to be experienced in some areas of life than in others. Religious organisations with a large membership of people from minority ethnic groups (including Hindu and Sikh organisations) were also much more likely than other groups to report unfair treatment in such areas as policing, prisons, immigration, health care, social services, and transport. In these areas, the attitudes and behaviour of staff were generally seen as a more frequent source of unfair treatment than the organisational policies. In education and housing, pupils and other neighbours and tenants were often seen as the most likely source of unfair treatment. In respect of the media, for every religious tradition (including Hindus and Sikhs) the attitudes of journalists and presenters and the coverage given to particular religions were seen as relatively frequent sources of unfairness, especially in the national media. The postal survey also gave some fairly consistent indications about
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Table 1: Hindu and Sikh perceptions of the seriousness of various problems Very serious
Quite serious
Not at all serious
Don’t know
Total responses (100%)
Ignorance Hindu Sikh
21% 22%
58% 63%
9% 9%
12% 6%
33 32
Indifference Hindu Sikh
15% 13%
58% 53%
24% 25%
3% 9%
33 32
Hostility Hindu Sikh
35% 25%
35% 47%
13% 19%
16% 9%
31 32
Verbal abuse Hindu Sikh
27% 36%
36% 48%
21% 12%
15% 3%
33 33
Physical abuse Hindu Sikh
28% 23%
17% 52%
31% 23%
24% 3%
29 31
Damage to property Hindu Sikh
47% 33%
25% 48%
9% 12%
19% 6%
32 33
Policies of organisations Hindu Sikh
7% 10%
38% 32%
24% 32%
31% 26%
29 31
Organisation practices Hindu Sikh
10% 14%
42% 34%
26% 28%
23% 24%
31 29
Coverage in the media Hindu Sikh
32% 21%
29% 36%
19% 27%
19% 15%
31 33
the role played by the attitudes and behaviour of individuals compared with the policies and practices of organisations. Across all the religions surveyed, the areas most often highlighted in the postal survey and local interviews (and including among Hindus and Sikhs) were: education, employment, and the media. Having outlined the overall project findings, as well as the position of Hindu and Sikh research participants within these, the chapter now
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turns to a more detailed outline of the project findings regarding Hindus and Sikhs in respect of the three particular social areas highlighted in this chapter. These are education, employment and the media.
Hindus, Sikhs and Education Survey Findings on Schools For nearly every aspect of education covered in the questionnaire, a higher proportion of Hindu and Sikh organisations reported unfair treatment than was the case for Christian, Jewish, Buddhist or Bahá’í organisations, although this was seen as more “occasional” than “frequent”. Unfair treatment in schools was reported by more Hindu and Sikh organisations, and was said to be more frequent, than unfair treatment in higher education or by education authorities. The behaviour of school pupils was a concern for nearly all religions: it was indicated as a frequent or occasional problem by more than three-quarters of Hindu and Sikh organisations. At least two-thirds of Hindu and Sikh organisations said their members experienced frequent or occasional unfair treatment from teachers. Other aspects of schooling that drew numerous claims of unfair treatment were the Religious Education curriculum and/or the teaching of Religious Education. Around two-thirds of Hindu and Sikh organisations said their members experienced unfair treatment in these areas, with many saying the problem was frequent rather than occasional. By contrast, there were relatively few complaints about Citizenship Studies, although this curriculum area is not yet well developed or known. Arrangements for collective worship in schools were perceived as at least occasionally unfair by the majority of organisations from nearly all religions other than Christianity. Unfair treatment arising from the policies and practices of schools were reported by around two-thirds or more of Sikh organisations. Among Hindu organisations, less than half reported problems with educational policies and just over half with educational practices.
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Table 2: Hindu and Sikh organisation responses on unfair treatment in schools Some experience
Frequent
Occasional
Number of organisations
Teachers Hindus Sikhs
14 23
1 8
13 15
21 30
Pupils Hindus Sikhs
20 28
3 12
17 16
24 31
Policies Hindus Sikhs
7 17
2 6
5 11
19 26
Practices Hindus Sikhs
10 18
2 6
8 12
18 27
RE curriculum Hindus Sikhs
15 21
7 8
8 13
24 29
RE teaching Hindus Sikhs
14 19
9 9
5 10
21 30
Citizenship studies Hindus Sikhs
5 6
1 1
4 5
13 15
Collective worship Hindus Sikhs
14 18
5 4
9 14
22 27
Examples of unfair treatment in schools given by respondents to the postal survey included: admissions (Hindus), curriculum (Sikhs), dress (Hindus and Sikhs), and funding (Sikhs). Specific quotes from Hindu respondents included reference to: “teachers’ unfair attention to Asians”, “told not to wear the Kunti-Mala”, “selection of Asians in Roman Catholic schools”, “token treatment of Hindus”, “name calling” and “racial and physical abuse”. From Sikh respondents, quotes included reference to: “teaching of Punjabi not being encouraged”, “not allowed to wear Five Ks”, “students taunted for wearing Turban”, “abuse by peers because of name”, “Sikhs excluded from policy making” and “harassment by white students”.
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Survey Findings on Higher Education In respect of higher education, two-thirds of Sikh organisations reported unfair treatment from the behaviour of students and just under two-third from staff. By contrast, just over half of Hindu organisations reported issues with regard to students, and only a third with regard to staff. Examples of unfair treatment in universities and colleges given by Hindu respondents to the postal survey included reference to dress, whilst Sikh respondents referred to admissions to university. Table 3: Hindu and Sikh organisation responses on unfair treatment in higher education Higher Education
Some experience
Frequent
Occasional
Total response
Staff Hindu Sikh
6 14
1 2
5 12
18 23
Students Hindu Sikh
13 18
1 3
12 15
22 27
Policies Hindu Sikh
5 11
0 2
5 9
16 26
Practices Hindu Sikh
5 16
0 2
5 14
14 25
Survey Findings on Local Education Authorities A majority of Sikh organisations said that their members experienced frequent or occasional unfair treatment from education officials and from the policies and practices of education authorities. This contrasted with Hindu organisations where, in each case, less than half of all responding organisations reported this. Examples of unfair treatment from Education authorities given by respondents to the postal questionnaire included: curriculum (Sikhs), dress (Sikhs), holidays (Sikhs), officials’ attitudes and behaviour (Hindus), and timetables (Sikhs). Specific quotations from Sikh respondents included reference to: “policy implementation without consultation” and “timetable conflicts with Punjabi classes”
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Table 4: Hindu and Sikh organisation responses on unfair treatment from local education authorities Local Education
Some experience
Frequent
Occasional
Total response
Officials Hindus Sikhs
9 16
4 3
5 13
20 26
Policies Hindus Sikhs
7 14
1 2
6 12
19 24
Practices Hindus Sikhs
8 17
1 2
7 15
18 25
Local Interviews on Education Interviews and meetings included education specialists, local authority education staff, and individuals from among a range of religious communities with experience of education as either staff or students. A significant number of interviewees referred to particular difficulties still encountered by Hindu and Sikh schoolchildren despite the length of time that Hindus and Sikhs have had a substantial presence in the education system. For example, a Hindu educationalist in the field research reported that a teacher had derided Sikh children and their hair saying “Why can’t they chop off that bun?!”. It was noted that because of the status and power of teachers, negative attitudes and behaviour on their part can also have an adverse influence on the behaviour of other students. In respect of the Religious Education curriculum, parents and young people frequently cited examples of the ways in which schools and teachers failed to include, recognise or reflect their religious identities and beliefs. With regard to the current requirements for collective worship and assemblies, an education officer noted that there were particularly acute problems for those parents wanting to exercise their legal right for their children to “opt out”. He felt that current practice tends to highlight pupils’ differences and disrupts the process of community-building that it might be intended to support. Having permission to opt out of collective worship is not the same as having one’s religion recognised or validated. A number of interviewees argued that collective worship/assemblies needed to be abol-
476
ished either altogether, or at least in the form in which they are currently framed in law. It was felt that removing what was widely perceived as a Christian bias would give more space to achieving objectives such as the promotion of tolerance and harmony in all-school assemblies. It was also felt that it would contribute to the development of Religious Education as a curriculum subject in its own right, rather than something that might be confused with induction into a particular religious tradition. Religious holidays can sometimes conflict with mandatory or key educational events. Parents of pupils and higher education students are then put into the position of having to choose between their religion and important school-based events. These interviewees drew attention to the problem of having, in such circumstances, to make hard choices. One Hindu recalled that a University’s graduation ceremony had been held on the first day of Diwali, and that an inoculation day at school was scheduled on the Hindu New Year. Interviewees felt that, at least in terms of major holidays, things could be made easier either by more informed scheduling or by allowing more flexibility in relation to time off for religious festivals. As one interviewee observed: “I don’t understand. These are education institutions. The holidays are even printed on calendars now.”
Hindus and Sikhs and Employment General Survey Findings on Employment The majority of Hindu and Sikh organisations reported unfair treatment in almost every aspect of public, private and voluntary sector employment, although this unfair treatment was more often seen as “occasional” rather than “frequent”. Survey Findings on the Private Sector In relation to the policies and practices of private sector, around three-quarters or more of the Hindu and Sikh organisations said that their members experienced unfair treatment from private sector managers and their colleagues. In relation to private sector employment policies, a high 27 out 31 Sikh organisations reported unfairness. Examples of unfair treatment in employment given by respondents to the postal survey included: dress (Sikhs), lack of respect and ignorance towards religious customs (Hindus), and recruitment and application
477
practices (Sikhs). Specific quotes from Hindu respondents included reference to: “indirect racism” and “white supremacy in good jobs”, and from Sikh respondents to: “excuses made for rejections”, “wearing of 5k’s” and “promotions for white only”. Table 5: Hindu and Sikh organisation responses on unfair treatment in private sector employing organisations Private sector Employers
Some experience
Frequent
Occasional
Number of organisations
Managers Hindus Sikhs
17 26
6 7
10 19
23 30
Colleagues Hindus Sikhs
16 23
2 6
14 17
21 29
Policies Hindus Sikhs
13 27
4 2
9 25
19 31
Practices Hindus Sikhs
13 26
2 4
11 22
17 30
Survey Findings on the Public Sector Hindus and Sikhs, among others, reported marginally less unfair treatment in relation to the public sector than the private sector employment contexts. Examples of unfair treatment in employment given by Sikh respondents to the postal survey included: dress, and less chance of promotion. Specific quotes from Hindu respondents included reference to: “low job survival rate”, “low representation in civil service” and “indirect racism”, and from Sikh respondents to: “no Sikhs in council” and “wearing of 5k’s”. Survey Findings on the Voluntary Sector In general, among Hindu and Sikh organisations, the voluntary sector fared better than either the public or private sectors, with around half or just under half of Hindu and Sikh organisations reporting problems. But examples of unfair treatment in employment given by respondents to the postal survey included: dress (Sikhs), and lack of respect and ignorance towards religious customs (Hindus). Specific
478
quotations from Hindu respondents included reference to: “indirect racism” and “white supremacy in good jobs“ and from Sikh respondents to: “language difficulties” and “wearing of 5K’s”. Table 6: Hindu and Sikh organisation responses to unfair treatment from public sector employing organisations Pulic sector Employers
Some experience
Frequent
Occasional
Total response
18
5
13
22
24
6
18
31
16 23
5 5
11 18
22 30
Policies Hindu Sikh
12 18
5 3
7 15
20 28
Practices Hindu Sikh
13 24
4 5
9 19
19 30
Managers Hindu Sikh Colleagues Hindu Sikh
Table 7: Hindu and Sikh organisation responses on unfair treatment in voluntary sector employing organisations. Voluntary sector Employers
Some experience
Frequent
Occasional
Total response
Managers Hindu Sikh
11 13
1 1
10 12
19 22
Colleagues Hindu Sikh
9 11
0 1
9 10
18 20
Policies Hindu Sikh
9 12
1 1
8 12
17 21
Practices Hindu Sikh
10 12
1 1
9 11
16 21
479
Survey Findings on Job Centres and Employment Agencies Examples of unfair treatment from Job Centres given by respondents to the postal survey included: lack of respect and ignorance towards religious customs (Hindus), recruitment and application practices (Sikhs), and working on religious days and holidays (Sikhs). Specific quotations from Hindu respondents included reference to: “indirect racism” and “white supremacy in good jobs“ and from Sikh respondents to: “application forms state colour and religion”. Examples of unfair treatment from private employment agencies given by Sikh respondents to the postal survey included dress, whilst specific quotes from Hindu respondents included reference to: “indirect racism” and from Sikh respondents to: “language difficulties” and “discriminate beard/turban”. Table 8: Hindu and Sikh organisations reporting unfair treatment from Job Centres Job Centres
Some experience
Frequent
Occasional
Total response
Staff Hindu Sikh
11 10
2 2
9 8
18 19
Policies Hindu Sikh
9 12
1 2
8 10
16 21
Practices Hindu Sikh
9 11
2 2
7 9
14 20
Local Interviews on Employment Interviews and meetings included human resources and equalities officers in public institutions; representatives of business development organisations; and individual employees from religious communities/groups. Interviewees stated that wearing traditional or religious dress to interviews was a source of great concern. A Sikh woman, who worked in a medium sized bakery, related the following story through her son: “For 8 years, it was never a problem. Then, for one and a half years they picked on this (Sikh) woman for wearing her bangle. Finally, they moved her to a different part of the [organisation]. They said she must take it off, but she said no. Representatives from the Sikh temple had a meeting with Personnel to explain, but they said no because it was classed as jewellery.”
480
Table 9: Hindu and Sikh organisation responses on unfair treatment from private employment agencies Private employment agencies
Some experience
Frequent
Occasional
Total response
Staff Hindu Sikh
9 13
4 4
5 9
16 21
Policies Hindu Sikh
8 10
2 4
6 6
14 20
Practices Hindu Sikh
8 12
3 3
5 9
14 18
Other interviewees mentioned that tests were done to see if there were any bacteria in the bangle, and that these came out negative. They also made the point that her apron sleeves covered the bangle. This controversy had important knock-on effects for other Sikh women who came forward in support of this woman to state that they themselves also wore bangles, and who then also became subject to harassment by other employees as well as by the management. The woman lost her case at a tribunal, but after years of fighting a special sleeve was developed, and the management and staff were required to attend diversity training. Others who commented on this case believed that it represented clear-cut discrimination, especially as religious community made a very persuasive and clear argument representatives and other employees were wearing wedding rings. However, a white, male, employment tribunal representative (and who was not associated with the case) commented: “...knowing how diverse society is, sometimes situations are just unfair. People will have to be aware of say, hygiene regulations, and if they have to wear a bangle, they may have to do something else either within the organisation or as a job. You have to find a balance...the average employer couldn’t really care less about religion unless it affects the running of her or his business which usually can be covered by race protections.”
481
Hindus, Sikhs and the Media General Survey Findings This section of the questionnaire asked about the experiences of the organisation itself and the religious community to which it belonged, rather than about the experience of its membership. In response to questions on the media, it is noticeable that relatively more organisations (including Hindu and Sikh ones) said the unfairness was “frequent” as opposed to “occasional”. Most traditions, including Hindus and Sikhs, were more likely to report unfair treatment from the national media than the local, and from television and newspapers as opposed to radio. Examples of unfair treatment from national newspapers given by respondents to the postal survey included: coverage of own religion (Hindus, Sikhs), misrepresentation (Sikhs) and newspapers publish negative aspects of religion (Sikhs). Specific quotations from Hindu respondents included reference to: “misrepresentation” and from Sikh respondents to: “festivals and events” and “no promotion of religion”. Examples of unfair treatment from local newspapers and magazines given by respondents to the postal survey included: coverage of festivals and events (Hindus), coverage of own religion (Hindus); misrepresentation (Hindus); religion excluded (Sikhs). Specific quotes from Hindu respondents included reference to: “marginalisation” and “coverage of festivals and events”. Examples of unfair treatment from television given by respondents included: coverage of own religion (Sikhs), misrepresentation (Sikhs), offensive material and coverage (Hindus), religion excluded (Hindus). Specific quotes from Hindus included reference to: “cost of advertising”, “marginalisation” and “coverage of festivals and events” and from Sikhs to “coverage of festivals and events” and “no programme to promote religion”. Fewer organisations answered questions about the coverage of their own organisations, reflecting less experience in this area. Those which had enough experience to answer this question were less likely to report unfair coverage of their own organisation in the media than unfair coverage of their religion in general, or unfairness in the attitudes and behaviour of journalists. Local Interviews and the Media Although the media were not a central feature of the local interviews, individuals and representatives of religious organisations fairly fre-
482
Table 10: Hindu and Sikh organisation responses on unfair treatment from national newspapers and magazines Some experience
Frequent
Occasional
Number of organisations
Journalists Hindu Sikh
19 24
8 8
11 16
25 28
Coverage of organisation Hindu Sikh
17 18
9 4
8 18
24 24
Cover of religion Hindu Sikh
16 28
8 7
8 21
24 30
Table 11: Hindu and Sikh organisation responses on unfair treatment from local newspapers and magazines Local newspaper/ Some magazine experience
Frequent
Occasional
Total response
Journalists Hindu Sikh
16 19
6 3
10 16
25 29
Coverage of organisation Hindu Sikh
15 12
8 6
7 6
23 25
Cover of religion Hindu Sikh
16 20
8 7
8 13
25 28
quently made reference to the pervasive role of the media and to its power to contribute to a negative perception of their religious traditions and communities. References were also made to the media’s potential for positive public education where media representatives were prepared to work positively and consult with religious communities and organisations. A member of the Hindu community believed that the media “take extremes and generalise to all Hindus”. As a result, he reported that children then question parents asking, “why don’t we do that?”. He felt that
483
Table 12: Hindu and Sikh organisation responses on unfair treatment from television Television
Some experience
Frequent
Occasional
Total response
Journalists Hindu Sikh
18 20
9 9
9 11
25 27
Coverage of organisation Hindu Sikh
18 10
9 3
9 7
25 20
Cover of religion Hindu Sikh
17 18
8 8
9 10
24 25
Table 13: Hindu and Sikh organisation responses on unfair treatment from national radio National radio
Some experience
Frequent
Occasional
Total response
Journalists Hindu Sikh
16 16
8 2
8 14
24 23
Coverage of organisation Hindu Sikh
15 8
8 2
7 6
23 18
Cover of religion Hindu Sikh
16 12
7 2
9 10
23 20
reports are often based on “arbitrarily writing without any information, facts, or knowledge”. Another Hindu recalled an instance in which the Sai Baba community was included in an article about cults, noting that the journalist’s only source had been the Internet. He stated that, whilst he welcomes criticism, journalists should visit and talk to the people concerned, in order to see for themselves. A Sikh representative reported that although Sikhs have given substantial money to relief in Kosovo, they have not received media recognition of this: “If Oxfam makes a contribution it’s reported. If the Sikh community makes a contribution, it never gets covered in the media.”
484
Table 14: Hindu and Sikh organisation responses on unfair treatment from local radio Local radio
Some experience
Frequent
Occasional
Total response
Journalists Hindu Sikh
15 12
6 3
9 9
24 23
Coverage of organisation Hindu Sikh
13 6
6 2
7 4
24 19
13 125
6 5
7 10
25 24
Cover of religion Hindu Sikh
The Wider General Experience of Hindus and Sikhs In addition to experiences of unfair treatment within specific sectors of society, the research also asked about any other experiences of religious discrimination from the general public. People who were the recipients of offensive comments often found it hard to know whether the ignorance and lack of common sense that was demonstrated came from a lack of interest or from a deep-seated hostility. A number of interviewees felt that others assumed that, in following their religious beliefs and practices, they were just “being awkward” or were troublemakers. In respect of treatment from other religious traditions, a number of interviewees thought that evangelical/conversion-based religions can seem aggressive and cause members of other religions to feel alienated and defensive. A Hindu representative thought the implicit message of such traditions was that their religion is superior. This, he felt, was not only offensive, but also violated the basic Hindu tenet requiring tolerance of all religions. Although they did not necessarily agree with a law against blasphemy, Hindu interviewees felt there should be some protection from the harm done when, in order to gain conversions, another religion is denounced. Specific quotes from Hindu respondents to the postal questionnaire survey questions on unfair treatment from other religions included reference to: “abusive telephone calls”, and “denial of access to use of hall because of smell of incense”. From Sikh respondents, it included reference to: “the representation of Sikhs as Hindus”, “lack of guidance for non-halal food”, “women not being allowed to sing”, “violent attacks at school by Muslim pupils” and “arson attacks on buildings”.
485
Hindus, Sikhs and Religious and Ethnic Identities The relationships between religion and ethnicity are highly complex and the project’s field research explored the multi-layered complexity of the issues involved. Respondents from religious organisations were asked to say how far they thought, in respect of their own religion in England and Wales, ethnic or racial grounds formed part of the reason for unfair treatment on the basis of religion. In general, the project’s findings were that people who experience unfair treatment do not always find it easy to pigeonhole discrimination into one category or the other, and may sometimes come up with contradictory views. Interviewees, including Hindus and Sikhs, who were also members of minority ethnic groups, often felt that in practice religious and racial discrimination are not separable. The views of Hindu and Sikh organisation respondents on the relationships between religion and ethnicity in respect of their experience of unfair treatment, are set out below. As can be seen, all Sikh and a large majority of Hindu respondents felt that ethnicity played at least some role in such treatment. In both groups, around twice as many of these evaluated ethnicity as being “a large part of the reason” or “the main reason” as compared with those who saw it as being “a small part of the reason.” Table 15: Hindu and Sikh perceptions of the part played by ethnicity in unfair treatment on the basis of religion Not part of A small the reason part
A large part
The main reason
Don’t Know
Total
Hindu
4
9
8
8
3
32
Sikh
0
9
12
10
3
34
Specific quotes from Hindu respondents to the postal survey on this issue included reference to: “ignorance and assumptions are made on racial grounds”, “religion is used as social and political tool for unfair treatment”, “no tolerance from other religious groups” and “unfair treatment is felt but can’t be proved”. From Sikh respondents, specific quotes on this issue referred to: “[prohibited from] wearing the Kirpan at airports”, “dress”, “beard and turban” and “ridicule of children due to long hair and police racism”. Among participants in the field research, it was made clear that “visible difference” may lead to an intensification of unfair treatment.
486
Many of those interviewed referred to their appearance when describing some aspect of religious discrimination. The ethnic, cultural and religious aspects of individuals’ identities are often closely related and visibly apparent. The response to this ‘visible difference’ may lead to an intensification of unfair treatment: “If you’re a Hindu, you have problems. If you’re a Hindu with a dot, you have more problems.” In addition, the multiple layering of discriminatory experience based on religion, ethnicity and gender was often, in the field research, reported to be particularly complex for women. But despite the problems incurred as a result of the responses to visible markers of difference, a Sikh educationalist observed that: “You have to let people know; you have to be strong enough not to conform – like cut your hair in order to be accepted.” He recalled applying for a job over the telephone, and when he showed up for interview, the woman interviewer was: ‘gob smacked – she was so surprised that people could look so different but have the same speech’. He felt that: “... positive action is needed so people are encouraged to be accepted. Despite looking different, they have the same core values.” It was beyond the scope of this research to find out whether those responsible for hostility, abuse or overt discrimination interpret markers of “visible difference” in a religious or racial sense. However, religions with large numbers of visible minorities (including Hindus and Sikhs) recorded the most unfair treatment overall, and comments made in response to the postal survey and in interviews frequently referred to unfair treatment as a form of racism. Where religious identities, beliefs and practices are closely linked to an individual’s cultural, ethnic and national background, negative responses and unfair treatment based upon these identities and traditions may also be related to expressions of racism and xenophobia. This suggests that whilst some discrimination is purely racial, and some purely religious, there is an area of overlap where those responsible for discrimination and those who experience it might both have difficulty coming down on the side of one “explanation” or the other. Some interviewees felt that attempts to draw a rigid and artificial distinction – for example between religion and culture – could in themselves lead to unfair treatment. The example was given of local authority funding arrangements, where religious groups sometimes had to present or reinvent themselves as cultural groups in order to obtain funding for the services they provide. It was pointed out that, whilst many religious people regard reli-
487
gion as an intrinsic part of their identity, the rest of society tends to think of it as optional. Religiously observant individuals discover that others treat their strongly held beliefs and religious requirements as if they were negotiable. This is something that would not be expected in respect of race and would not generally be regarded as acceptable in respect of ethnicity. Whether or not individuals and groups feel that religion is an issue or the key issue that needs to be addressed, a problem remains with regard to the perceptions of the wider society in which, unlike “race”, religion is often not seen to be intrinsic to identity. In a predominantly secular society it is almost expected that one must be prepared to “negotiate” one’s religious identity – that it can somehow be bargained or traded off, or that people can choose to live without it.
Reflections on Challenging Religious Discrimination The first major section of the chapter contextualised the overall nature and composition of the Hindu and Sikh populations of the UK. The previous section highlighted some of the key empirical evidence from the Religious Discrimination in England and Wales Research Project findings with respect to Hindu and Sikh experience of unfair treatment on the basis of religion. This final section of the chapter proceeds within an analytical framework developed by the project’s Interim Report. It includes reference to the findings of the Religious Discrimination in England and Wales Research Project on Hindu and Sikh views about a range of identified26 policy options for tackling unfair treatment and discrimi26 The use of the word “identified” should be noted. It was beyond the remit of the project as laid down by the Home Office to make policy recommendations arising from the research. The project’s Interim Report (pp. 59-89) did, however, identify and discuss a range of possible policy options. Subsequently to the publication of the Interim Report, the Home Office commissioned a separate report specifically to examine the legal options. This was published on 23rd February 2001: Bob Hepple, QC and Tufyal Choudhury (2001). Home Office Research Study 221, Tackling religious discrimination: practical implications for policy makers and legislators, London: Research Development and Statistics Directorate of the Home Office. This report and its summary are also available electronically through the Research Development and Statistics Directorate’s section of the Home Office web site at http://www.homeoffice.gov.uk/ rds/pdfs/hors221.pdf or in printed copy from the Research, Development and Statistics Directorate Information and Publications Group at [email protected]. In the Religious Discrimination project’s empirical report, the chap-
488
nation on the basis of religion. But the predominant mode of this section of the chapter is that of the author’s personal and professional reflections rather than that of the chapter’s historically descriptive first section or the second section’s report on empirical findings. The Nature of Religious Discrimination A group of Hindus and Jains who were interviewed together explained the difficulty and anguish that suspicion of their reported experience can cause for those who seek to articulate it to a wider audience. As they expressed this, such a response can compound the pain of the original experience: “Discrimination is difficult to prove. It can always be said that it was an individual’s attitude rather than an inadequate or discriminatory policy; as a result, you can’t get action taken. People are laughing in your face: discrimination is an experience, the experience of a slap in the face.” The project’s Interim Report pointed out that the term “religious discrimination” is an umbrella term. Overall it is perhaps best understood as “shorthand” terminology for “discrimination on the basis of religion”. In other words, the term is used to describe those attitudes, actions, circumstances and dynamics in which, in relation to factors concerned with religion, an individual or group is treated less favourably than another individual or group either of a different religion, or of no religion. The project’s questionnaire survey deliberately referred to “unfair treatment” in order to be as inclusive as possible and to capture any sort of grievance. In this understanding, the notion of “fairness” is important, in the sense that what is deficient is not an impossible to achieve abstract position of mathematical equality, but a sense of basic and achievable “equity”. As can be seen from responses to the survey, and from the local interviews, this lack of equity can range from a chance remark that unwittingly conveys a pre-conceived idea or stereotype through to a violent assault. In addition, unfair treatment does not have to be deliberate, or even detected by the victim, to constitute discrimination. On the other hand, even a deliberate act that is perceived by others as unfair does not necessarily constitute discrimination. However, the status of violence, verbal abuse and ters dealing with each area within which religious discrimination is explored each have subsections entitled “Finding Solutions”. Readers of this paper are referred to these sections of the project’s final report for balancing material about the possibilities, tensions, issues and dilemmas involved that have been identified in trying appropriately to respond to religious discrimination.
489
criminal damage as forms of “unfair treatment” and discriminatory behaviour cannot be in any doubt. As in relation to the categories of race and ethnicity, so also with regard to religion, it is important to distinguish between different dimensions of unfair treatment as well as to consider how these dimensions might relate to one another. Such differentiation is important in order that possible responses are appropriate to the nature of the issues involved. As suggested in the Interim Report, when examining the reported experiences and perceptions that are often colloquially grouped together under the term “religious discrimination” it can be illuminating to consider the parallel terminological, definitional and policy debates that have taken place in respect of “race” and “ethnicity”. In respect of the agendas set by “race” and “ethnicity”, it has proved important to distinguish between “racial prejudice”, “racial hatred”, “racial disadvantage”, “racial discrimination” (including “direct” and “indirect” racial discrimination), and “institutional racism”. Discrimination on the basis of religion may be rooted in the prejudicial attitudes of ignorance and indifference towards religion that were of widespread concern to research participants in both the local interviews and the postal survey. Ignorance and indifference do not, of course, in themselves constitute direct discrimination, although it was clear from examples given by interviewees that they cause much pain on a person-to-person basis. However, in organisational settings they can contribute to an environment in which discrimination of all kinds (including “unwitting” and institutional discrimination) is able to thrive. Although lack of interest or curiosity sound like one of the mildest possible forms of unfair treatment, the context is important. They could be harmful in a teacher, police officer or local government planner, for example. In other contexts, however, religious individuals can come close to claiming that others are discriminating against them because they do not happen to share the same values. Attitudes of “religious prejudice” then (and also in the more intensified forms of “religious hatred”) may lead to treating someone less favourably because of their religious belief, identity or practice (direct discrimination). They may also lead to disadvantaging a whole group of people because unnecessary rules or conditions are imposed that can be met by more people from one religion than another (indirect discrimination). They could, additionally, result in the collective failure of an organisation to provide an appropriate and professional service to people because of their religion (institutional discrimination).
490
This might also include failing to make the kind of “reasonable accommodation” that would enable someone from a religious minority to take up a job or make use of a service. When considering religion, there is also a further dimension that the Interim Report for the research project termed “religious disadvantage”. This refers to certain historical privileges afforded to the Church of England which are not available to non-Established religions and which can be seen, for example, in the provisions made for religious chaplaincy services in public institutions such as the National Health Service and the Prison Service. Dealing with Religious Discrimination It is beyond the scope of the present chapter to analyse and evaluate the full possible range of policy options for dealing with religious discrimination. However, respondents to the Religious Discrimination in England and Wales project questionnaire were asked for their personal views about which approaches they thought most appropriate for tackling issues of religious discrimination. As will be seen from the table of results below, in broad terms,27 voluntary codes of practice were one of the least favoured options among respondents of all religions. The option of no new action received very little support from any quarter. More teaching of comparative religion in schools was the first or second most favoured option for Hindu and Sikh respondents, suggesting an understanding of the nature of religious discrimination as being rooted in prejudicial attitudes and beliefs. However, change to the law was the single most popular option among Sikh respondents, although they were also more likely than respondents from other religions to favour policy reviews. The degree of Sikh support expressed for change in the law is particularly interesting given the different position of Sikhs (and Jews) compared with other religious groups with regard to protection by law. Legislation on religious discrimination does not, at the time of
27 The people completing questionnaires on behalf of religious organisations were asked for their personal views about the measures that should be considered in order to combat unfair treatment. Each respondent was asked to tick up to three items from a list of six (to which they could also add their own suggestions) or to indicate that they did not think any new measures were necessary. In practice, some people ticked up to six measures from the list and the average number varied between religious groups. This means that comparisons between traditions need to be treated with caution.
491
Table 17: Hindu and Sikh respondents’ support for measures to tackle religious discrimination Possible measures No new action
Total Hindu responses
Total Sikh responses
0
2
More teaching of comparative religion in schools
33
47
Policy reviews to promote equal treatment
16
40
Better training of staff/employees
26
41
Public education programmes
20
45
Voluntary codes of practice
10
17
Changes in the law/introduce new law
18
49
1
5
124
246
35
67
Other Total number of responses Total number organisations Responding
writing, exist in relation to the whole of the UK.28 Sikhs, however, do have protection under the Race Relations Act, 1976 which deals with discrimination on “racial grounds”, defined as referring only to matters of colour, race, nationality or ethnic or national origins. The Race Relations Act is characterised by three factors. Firstly, its remedies are based in civil, rather than criminal law. Secondly, the legislation provides a framework within which claimants of racial discrimination may proceed against other individual as well as state actors. Thirdly, discrimination based on religion is not, in itself, prohibited. Therefore, this current legislation accommodates only those 28 The exception to this is in the jurisdiction of Northern Ireland, under the terms of the Northern Ireland Act, 1998 which prohibits discrimination by Government or public bodies on grounds of religious belief or political opinion, and also the Fair Employment and Treatment (Northern Ireland) Order, 1998 that covers religious discrimination in employment and extends protection to cover the provision of goods, services and facilities. In the UK as a whole, the incorporation into law of the European Convention on Human Rights through the Human Rights Act, 1998, upholds the unqualified right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion, together with the qualified right, either alone or in community with others, in public or in private, to manifest one’s religion or belief.
492
religious groups which, in legal terms, and frequently also in their own self-understanding, can be understood as “religio-ethnic groups”. In the 1983 case of Mandla v. Dowell Lee, the House of Lords held that a school’s refusal to admit a Sikh boy on the grounds that wearing a turban would make him unable to comply with the school’s dress code amounted to “indirect discrimination”. This was because, in practice, fewer Sikhs would be able to comply with this condition than would non-Sikhs. In this context Sikhs were, for the purposes of the Act, identified as an “ethnic group”.29 Hindus as such, however, do not fall within the terms of the Act. The research project did not itself identify reasons for its findings in respect of the measure of Sikh support for change to the law. But what is interesting, in this instance, is that since Sikhs themselves already have some measure of legal protection and recourse, their response is unlikely to be motivated primarily by self-interest. It may therefore be rooted in a sense of equity that other groups ought also to have available the protection that is currently available to Sikhs. Alternatively or additionally, based upon Sikh experience of race relations legislation, it may represent a positive evaluation of the role that the law can play in combating discrimination. Among interviewees in the Religious Discrimination in England and Wales Research Project who supported the introduction of legislation relating to religious discrimination, many felt that the introduction of legal measures would be significant as a means of expressing social recognition for the existence of such discrimination. They also felt the law could create a sense of public obligation to avoid such discrimination and also have the potential for leading to the development of a wider supportive infrastructure that could help individuals and groups positively to challenge and overcome it. There was also a considerable consensus among individuals, organisations and groups from across all religious traditions that a more inclusive policy approach is needed. This would, at all levels and in all sectors of society, entail a recognition of the distinctiveness of religious identity and its relationship with other key dimensions of personal and social life. The findings of the Religious Discrimination in England and 29 In 1980, under an Employment Appeal Tribunal ruling Jews (in Seide v. Gillette Industries Ltd). and, in 1989, gypsies (in Commission for Racial Equality v. Dutton) were also brought within the scope of the Race Relations Act.
493
Wales Research Project indicate that, although often characterised as “occasional” and “quite serious” rather than “frequent” and “very serious”, Hindus and Sikhs in England and Wales do nevertheless experience a significant degree of unfair treatment on the basis of religion. At the time of writing, the Government has not yet brought forward comprehensive or integrated policy initiatives to tackle religious discrimination, although the Independent Review of the Enforcement of U.K. Anti-Discrimination Legislation has drafted an Equality Bill,30 the purpose of which would be to consolidate anti-discrimination legislation, including on the grounds of religion, into a single framework of law and of enforcement. The Human Rights Act, 1998, brought the provisions of the European Convention on Human Rights into force within domestic law, including those articles of the Convention that deal with freedom of religion, conscience and belief. Furthermore, in the context of the UK’s membership of the European Union, under the Council’s Directive on discrimination in employment, there will be an obligation upon the Government to comply with the Directive by 2nd December 2003. The Directive specifically includes the requirement for equal treatment within employment in relation to the grounds of religion and belief. This means that the Government will be obliged to act at least in relation to the area of discrimination in employment which the research highlighted as one of the three key identified areas of concern. At the time of writing, the Government is consulting on such messages. The findings of the Religious Discrimination in England and Wales Research Project suggest that, if it is not tackled in a vigorous and coherent way, then religious discrimination will continue to constrain the full participation of Hindus and Sikhs, as well as of other religious minorities, in the social, political, economic and cultural life of the country and deprive the wider society of the full potential of the contribution that religious communities, organisations and individuals can make to its stability and well-being. It is also at least arguable that, if not vigorously addressed, the storing up of injustices and resentments could ultimately break out in ways destructive both of cohesion of the wider community and of the groups that experience such unfair treatment and discrimination. 30 Independent Review of the Enforcement of U.K Anti-Discrimination Legislation (2002). Equality Bill. Cambridge: University of Cambridge Faculty of Law, 10th July 2002.
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Bibliography Ahsan, M.M. & Kidwai, A.R. (eds.) (1991). Sacrilege Versus Civility: Muslim Perspectives on the Salman Rushdie Affair. Leicester: Islamic Foundation. Allen, C and Nielsen, J. (2002). Summary Report on Islamophobia in the EU after 11 September 2001. Vienna: European Monitoring Centre on Racism and Xenophobia. Appignanesi, L and Maitland, S. (eds.), (1989). The Rushdie File. London: Fourth Estate, London. Bacal, A. (1991). Ethnicity in the Social Sciences: A View and Review of the Literature on Ethnicity Reprint Paper on Ethnic Relations, No.3. Coventry: Centre for Research in Ethnic Relations, University of Warwick. Ballard, R. (ed.) (1994). Desh Pardesh: The South Asian Presence in Britain. London: C. Hurst and Co. —. (1994). “Differentiation and Disjunction Among the Sikhs.” In Ballard, R (ed.). Desh Pardesh: The South Asian Presence in Britain. London: C. Hurst and Co. 88-116. —. (2000). “The Growth and Changing Character of the Sikh Presence in Britain.” In Coward, H., Hinnells, J. Williams, R. The South Asian Religious Diaspora in Britain, Canada and the United States. Albany: State University of New York Press, 127-144. Barot, R. (ed.) (1993). Religion and Ethnicity: Minorities and Social Change in the Metropolis. Kampen: Kok Pharos, Kampen. Beetham, D. (1970). Transport and Turbans: A Comparative Study in Local Politics. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Bhachu, P. (1985). Twice Migrants: East African Sikh Settlers in Britain. London: Tavistock. Bowen, D. G. (ed.) (1986). Hinduism in England. Bradford: Faculty of Contemporary Studies, Bradford College. Burghart, R. (ed.) (1987), Hinduism in Great Britain: The Perpetuation of Religion in an Alien Cultural Milieu. London: Tavistock. Carey, S. (1983). “The Hare Krishna movement and Hindus in Britain.” In New Community. Volume X, Spring, 477-486. Cole, W. O. (1973). A Sikh Family in Britain. Oxford: Religious Education Press. —. (1989). “Sikhs in Britain.” In Badham, P (ed.). Religion, State and Society in Modern Britain. Lampeter: Edwin Mellen Press, 259-276. —. and Sambhi, P Singh (1995). The Sikhs: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (2nd edition), London: Sussex Academic Press. Coward, H., Hinnells, J., and Williams, R. (2000). The South Asian Religious Diaspora in Britain, Canada and the United States. Albany: State University of New York Press. de Souza, A. (1986). The Sikhs in Britain, London: Batsford. Dwyer, R. (1994). “Caste, Religion and Sect in Gujarat: Followers of Vallab-
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hacharya and Swaminarayan”. In Ballard, R (ed.), Desh Pardesh: The South Asian Presence in Britain. London: Hurst and Co., 165-190. Firth, S. (1991). “Changing Patterns in Hindu Death Rituals in Britain”. In Killingley, D. Menski, W. and Firth, S., Hindu Ritual and Society. Newcastle-upon-Tyne: S.Y. Killingley. —. (1997). Death, Dying and Bereavement in a British Hindu Community. Kampen: Kok Pharos. Hanspal, H. (1989). Namdharis Before and After Independence. New Delhi: Punjabi Press. Helweg, A. W. (1986). Sikhs in England: The Development of a Migrant Community (2nd edition). Delhi: Oxford University Press. Henley, A. (1983). Caring for Hindus and Their Families: Religious Aspects of Care. Cambridge: National Extension College. —. (1983). Caring for Sikhs and Their Families: Religious Aspects of Care. Cambridge: National Extension College. Hepple, B. and Choudhury, T. (2001). Tackling Religious Discrimination: Practical Implications for Policy-Makers and Legislators. Home Office Research Study 221. London: The Home Office. Electronically published at: http://www.homeoffice.gov.uk/rds/pdfs/hors221.pdf Independent Review of the Enforcement of U.K. Anti-Discrimination Legislation (2002). Equality Bill. Cambridge: University of Cambridge Faculty of Law. Jackson, R. (1976). “Holi in North India and in an English city: some adaptations and anomalies”. New Community, Volume V, 203-209. —. and E. Nesbitt (1993). Hindu Children in Britain. Stoke-on-Trent: Trentham Books. James, A. (1974). Sikh Children in Britain. London: Oxford University Press. Kalra, S. S. (1990). Daughters of Tradition: Adolescent Sikh Girls and their Accommodation to Life in British Society. Birmingham: Diane Balbir Publications. Kalsi, S. Singh (1992). The Evolution of a Sikh Community in Britain, Community Religions Project. Leeds: University of Leeds. Kaur, B. (1999). The Namdhari Sikhs. London: Namdhari Sangat, UK. King, U. (1984). A Report on Hinduism in Britain. Community Religions Project Research Papers, No 2. Leeds: University of Leeds Department of Theology and Religious Studies. Knott, K. (1986, reprinted 1994). Hinduism in Leeds: A Study of Religious Practice in the Indian Hindu Community and in Hindu-Related Groups. Community Religions Project Monograph. Leeds: University of Leeds. —. (1986). My Sweet Lord: The Hare Krishna Movement. Wellingborough: Aquarian Press. —. (1989). “Hindu Communities in Britain”. In Badham, P. (ed.), Religion, State and Society in Modern Britain. Lampeter: Edwin Mellen Press, 243257. —. (1994), “The Gujarati Mochis in Leeds: From Leather Stockings to Sur-
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The Growth of Religious Diversity: Britain from 1945,Volume I: Traditions. London: Routledge, 173-204. —. (1993). “Old Allies, New Neighbours: Sikhs in Britain”. In Parsons, G. (ed.), The Growth of Religious Diversity: Britain from 1945, Volume I: Traditions. London: Routledge, 205-241. UK Action Committee on Islamic Affairs (1993). Muslims and the Law in Multi-Faith Britain: The Need for Reform. London: UK Action Committee on Islamic Affairs. Vertovec, S. (ed.) (1991). Aspects of the South AsianDiaspora. Delhi: Oxford University Press. —. (1992). “Community and congregation in London Hindu Temples: divergent trends”. New Community, Volume XVIII, 251-264. —. (1994). “Caught in an Ethnic Quandary: Indo-Caribbean Hindus in London”. In Ballard, R, (ed.), Desh Pardesh: The South Asian Presence in Britain. London: C. Hurst and Co, 272-290. Virat Hindu Sammelan (1999). Virat Hindu Samaj. Milton Keynes: Virat Hindu Sammelan. Warrier, S. (1994). “Gujarati Prajapatis in London: Family Roles and Sociability Networks”. In Ballard, R. (ed.), Desh Pardesh: The South Asian Presence in Britain. London: C. Hurst and Co, 91-212. Weller, P., Feldman, A. and Purdam, K. et al (2001). Religious Discrimination in England and Wales. Home Office Research Study 220. London: Research Development and Statistics Directorate of the Home Office. Electronically published at http://www.homeoffice.gov.uk/rds/pdfs/hors220.pdf. Weller, P. and Purdam, K. et al (2000). Religious Discrimination in England and Wales, Interim Report, January 2000. Derby: University of Derby. Electronically published at, http://www.multifaithnet.org/projects/religdiscrim/ reports.htm. Weller, P. (ed.). Religions in the UK: Directory, 2001-3. Derby: Multi-Faith Centre at the University of Derby. Williams, R. B., A New Face of Hinduism: The Swaminarayan Religion, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1984.
FUTURE PROSPECTS KNUT A. JACOBSEN AND P. PRATAP KUMAR
In the last decade, in the social sciences, cultural studies and in religious studies as well, the diaspora emphasis has become quite pronounced. This has resulted in a number of studies on the South Asian diaspora communities. The issues of colonialism, post-colonialism, migration, change, identity, multiculturalism, hybridity, alienation, readjustments, nationalism, transnationalism, globalisation, and so on have been discussed. The earliest studies of the South Asian diaspora focused mostly on the economic situation. However, even though migration beyond the shores of South Asia in the context of colonialism, and also in the postcolonial period, occurred as an economic phenomenon, cultural and other aspects of life also became affected, and hence the emphasis in many recent studies on cultural and religious aspects. This volume has attempted to deal with the religious aspects in a very direct way. In many of the South Asian diaspora communities, religion seems to have gone through a process of increased influence. Numerous religious organizations have been founded and a remarkable number of sacred buildings worldwide have been consecrated, indicating the increasing importance of religion both as practice and as a marker of identity. The book has addressed this increased religious awareness and activity in the diaspora communities. One of the important issues with migration and hence with the diaspora is that these diaspora communities often reinvent traditions to express their lives in the new lands, be that in the cultural aspects or in other social aspects. These new ways of doing things and making adjustments has to do with the fact that they define everything around the dominant local social group within which they function. Therefore, by default and by necessity they are forced to define themselves vis à vis the dominant group. The acquisition of this new identity is then made sense of against the background of where they originally came from, that is, their original cultural, social and historical background. How groups and individuals in the diaspora context make sense of these identities is something that needs further more focused research by comparing examples from a variety of locations
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of the diaspora. Since each diaspora community’s history is different and unique it would be important to do comparisons to arrive at some meaningful generalities that would give us a broad understanding of processes involved in identity constructions. A second issue that needs further and more sustained investigation with greater comparisons is the issue around the distinction between internal migration and external migration. For instance, in Bhojpuri folk songs a distinction is often made between three categories of migrations. First, the Bidesia migrant, who leaves to a distant land as in the case of colonial migrations beyond the shores of India, never returns and loses all ties with his original homeland. Some may rediscover their roots after the second or third generation. But still their alienation from the original homeland persists. A second type of migrant is Paradesi, who leaves his native place (usually not too far from home) for livelihood and continues to maintain contact with his family. The third type is the Batohia, who leaves home and returns as a traveller and maintains communications with his family. The future diaspora studies need to look at different types of migration and diaspora South Asians in these various situations. This would enable us to develop a comparative perspective on diaspora issues. The content of these various types of migration and diaspora is probably quite different. Religions are always part of cultural traditions and social realities. A third issue is the comparison of different religious identities within single diaspora communities. Religious identity does not overlap with ethnic and national identity. Tamils from Sri Lanka may be Hindus, Christians or Muslims. Gujaratis may be Hindus, Muslims or Christians and so on. Regional cultural traditions often contain religious elements that are not exclusive but shared by many, without regard to religious identity. For example, the Mahabharata is not only Hindu but is part of the South Asian cultural tradition enjoyed also by many South Asian Christians and Muslims in the diaspora. A few persons may attend the religious festivals of other South Asian religions than their own since the festivals are not only religious but also South Asian cultural events. A fourth issue that needs further discussion in future diaspora studies is to look at the methodological and theoretical understanding of religion in South Asia in the light of all the materials that are beginning to be available on South Asian religions from the diaspora context. For too long, our understanding of religion in South Asia has
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been based on textual materials, which provided us with a reified partial understanding. For instance, we tend to take for granted that what we see in the texts, such as the Rig Veda Samhita, the Upanishads, the Puranas and the Bhagavadgita is what we can call Hinduism, or that what we see in the Pali Canon is what we can call Theravada Buddhism. However, the materials from the diaspora context are expanding that understanding and forcing us to incorporate new materials from the oral traditions and the new materials that continually emerge from the diaspora context as well. It would be meaningful, therefore, in the light of the diaspora materials to critically review and debate the methods for the study of religion, the theories, and the sources on which they are based.
CONTRIBUTORS . BSc(Econ), 1993, London; MSocSc, 1994, Birmingham; PhD, 2001, Warwick. ESRC Research Fellow, 1998-1999, University of Central England Business School. Project Director, 19992001, Race Equality West Midlands. Associate Fellow, 2001-2004, Centre for Research in Ethnic Relations, University of Warwick. Publications in the fields of South Asians in education – in Race Ethnicity and Education, British Journal of Sociology of Education, Oxford Review of Education and Cambridge Journal of Education, and ethnic entrepreneurship – in Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, Work Employment and Society and International Journal of Urban and Regional Research. is Professor of the History of Religions at the University of Lucerne in Switzerland and Research Fellow at the University of Hannover in Germany. His teaching and current research include diaspora studies, Buddhism in the West, and Hindu traditions in Europe and the Carribean. He is the author of Diaspora: Hindus und Trinidad (2003) and Migration, Religion, Integration (2000). He has co-edited Westward Dharma: Buddhism Beyond Asia (2002) and Religions of the World: A Comprehensive Encyclopaedia of Beliefs and Practices (2002). is a research student at the University of Wolverhampton Religious Studies department. He is currently conducting his doctoral thesis on ‘The role of exorcism in north Indian religious traditions and its adaptation amongst the south Asian diaspora in Wolverhampton.’ His article ‘The religious dimension in the struggle for Khalistan and its roots in Sikh history’ was published in the International Journal of Punjab Studies. A further article ‘The exorcist: personification of human wickedness or upholder of religious duties?’ is forthcoming in Hamilton, R. (ed.), This Thing of Darkness: Perspectives on Evil and Human Wickedness (New York: Rodopi). . . is a professor of Islamic studies in the School of Religion and Culture at the University of Durban-Westville, South Africa. He has published books and scholarly papers on Islam and Globalisation, Fundamentalism and Palestine. He regularly contributes to newspapers and radio talk shows on Islamic issues.
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teaches at Bath Spa University College, Bath, United Kingdom. He is the co-editor of Pali Buddhism (Curzon Press, 1996) and Book Review editor for Buddhism in South and Southeast Asia for H-Buddhism. He serves as a committee member of UKABS. His research interests are Buddhist Preaching, Mahayana Movement in Sri Lanka, Ascetic Practices in Japan and Violence in Sri Lanka. His teaching interests focus on Buddhism, Ethics, Japanese Religions and Methodological Issues in the Study of Religions. is Senior Lecturer in Indian Studies and Chair of the Centre of South Asian Studies at SOAS, University of London. She is the author of Gujarati (London: Hodder and Stoughton Educational, 1995); All You Want is Money, All You Need is Love: Sex and Romance in Modern India (London: Cassell/New York: Continuum, 2000); The Poetics of Devotion: The Gujarati Lyrics of Dayaram (London: Curzon, 2001); and (with Divia Patel) Cinema India: The Visual Culture of the Hindi Film (London, 2002): and editor (with C. Pinney ) of Pleasure and the Nation: The History and Politics of Public Culture in India (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2000). . , Professor of Religious Studies at Connecticut College, is the author of The Goddesses’ Henchmen: Gender in Indian Hero Worship (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003) and Religion and Rajput Women (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992). With Paul Courtright she edited the volume From The Margins of Hindu Marriage (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995). She is currently working on a book, tentatively entitled Last Impressions, and also writing on Hinduism in Trinidad. She holds a Ph.D. from Harvard University. lectures part-time and is research assistant at the Department of Studies in Religion at the University of Sydney. His main work is in the area of new religious movements in the Confucian-sphere of Asia, particularly Vietnam, and he has written extensively on Caodaism, Vietnam’s largest indigenous faith. Chris is also vitally concerned with the role religion and community play in the process of multiculturalism and the development of the modern city. Through bus tours for students and the public and his work in journalism, Chris maintains contact with most of the nonChristian religious communities in Sydney.
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. is Research Professor in Comparative Study of Religion, Liverpool Hope University College. He has held professorships at the University of Manchester and the School of Oriental and African Studies London University. He is a Senior Member of Robinson College and Life Member of Clare Hall Cambridge. He has written or edited 21 books and over 60 academic articles mostly on Zoroastrianism, the Parsis and Roman Mithraism. He has served for three years as President of the national body in Britain for Theology and Religious Studies, on the Councils of the Royal Asiatic Society and the Society for South Asian Studies, and on the research panel of the British Academy. He has made numerous research visits to Zoroastrian communities in Iran, India, Pakistan, Hong Kong, France, Germany, Canada, the United States of America, Canada, Australia and has close relations with many Zoroastrians in Britain. . is Professor in the Department of the History of Religions, University of Bergen, Norway. His research interests include Samkhya and Yoga traditions, Hindu pilgrimage traditions, religion and nature in South Asia, and the South Asian diaspora. He is the author of Prakrti in Samkhya-Yoga: Material Principle, Religious Experience, Ethical Implications (New York: Peter Lang, 1999), and several books on Hinduism, Buddhism, and religions in diaspora in Norway, published in Norwegian. He holds a Ph.D. from University of California, Santa Barbara. .. specialises in South Asian postcolonial literature and has published articles on topics such as women’s literature and religion, and nation and literature. She is an Assistant Professor in the Department of English at the University of Calgary in Canada. . holds a Ph.D. in Linguistics from the University of Texas. She teaches philosophy, religions, and literature of India at the University of Minnesota. Her publications are in the field of linguistics, literature and religion. To her credit are: Marathi Tadbhava Phonology, Topics in Pali Phonology, and a poetry collection, The Poetry Pond. She has translated Phanishvar Nath Renu’s Hindi epic-novel, Maila Anchal (’The Soiled Border’), Subhadra Kumari Chauhan’s Hindi short story collection, Bikhare Moti (’Scattered Pearls’), and S. N. Navre’s Marathi play, Sur Rahu De (’Let the Tune Go On’).
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. is a professor of Eastern Religions and director of the School of Religion and Culture at the University of DurbanWestville, South Africa. His other books include The Goddess Lakshmi: The Divine Consort in South Indian Vaishnava Tradition (1997) and South African Hindus: Their Traditions and Beliefs (2000). He has published over 30 scholarly articles on various topics including the diaspora Indians. is currently a visiting scholar in the History Department at the University of Pennsylvania, where she teaches modern South Asian history and gender studies. Her dissertation, Experience and Identity: A Historical Account of Class, Caste, and Gender among the Cashew Workers of Kerala, 1930–2000, was published in 2001 by Lund University in Sweden. Her research concerns are gender issues in modern India and marriage patterns among Indians in the American diaspora. is lecturer in the Department of Comparative Religion, University of Bremen, Germany. She is a trained historian of religion and social anthropologist working on forms of Hindu religion in North India and Germany. She is co-editor of Tempel und Tamilen in zweiter Heimat. Hindus aus Sri Lanka im deutschsprachigen und skandinavischen Raum (2003). is completing her Ph.D. in the Department of Religion at Columbia University and will take up the position of Assistant Professor of Sikh Studies at the University of Michigan in 2004. Her dissertation examines the role of material objects and sacred sites related to the Sikh Gurus in the construction of Sikh historiography from the 18th century to the present, in India and the Sikh Diaspora. Murphy has worked for a number of museums and cultural institutions – including the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Japanese American National Museum–and is a former New York City Public School teacher. was born in India to a Gujarati father and German American mother. She is Professor of Anthropology and Languages and Cultures of Asia at the University of Wisconsin – Madison. She is the author of Storytellers, Saints and Scoundrels: Folk Narrative in Hindu Religious Teaching (1989), Mondays on the Dark Night of the Moon: Himalayan
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Foothill Folktales (with Urmila Devi Sood, 1997) and Love Stars and All That (1994), a novel. is a Professor of Philosophy and Religion in the School of Community and Liberal Studies at Sheridan College (Davis Campus) and Wilfrid Laurier University (Waterloo) Ontario, Canada. His research specializes in religion, multiculturalism and transnational identity formation, with a focus on the Jaina community of Canada and the United States. Publications include the articles “Sallekhana, Ahimsa, and the Western Paradox, Role Models of Jaina Citizenship in the Western World”, and “A Jaina Consecration Ceremony in Toronto: Ascendancy of a Community Vision”. is currently a postdoctoral fellow in the department of Religion at Concordia University. Her Ph.D. degree in anthropology from the University of Toronto was based on ethnographic research among a Jain mendicant community in Rajasthan. She was recipient of a Rockfeller Postdoctoral Fellowship for her research on the Jain diaspora in Canada. She is the author of Guardians of the Transcendent: An Ethnography of a Jain Ascetic Community (2002). .. studied Indology at Utrecht University, The Netherlands, with Prof. Jan Gonda. Since the 1970s, when he lived in South India for some years of research, he is frequently visiting India. He is teaching religions (and their languages) of South Asia and the Diaspora at the Vrije Universiteit at Amsterdam, The Netherlands. is Professor of Inter-Religious Relations and Commercial Research Manager in the School of Education, Health and Sciences at the University of Derby. He is editor of Religions in the UK: Directory 2001-3 (Multi-Faith Centre at the University of Derby, Derby, 2001) and was project Director of the British Government Home Office commissioned Religious Discrimination in England and Wales Research Project. He is co-author (Weller, P. and Purdam, K., et al) of Religious Discrimination in England and Wales: Interim Report (University of Derby, Derby, 2000) and of the project’s final report, Weller, P. Feldman, A. and Purdam, K., Religious Discrimination in England and Wales (Home Office Research Study 220, Research, Development and Statistics Directorate, Home Office, London, 2001).
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.. is Senior Lecturer in Sociology at the Nottingham Trent University. He has published widely in the area of nonheterosexual Christian identity and relationship. He is the author of Gay Male Christian Couples: Life Stories (Praeger, 1997), as well as articles in journals such as the British Journal of Sociology, Sociology of Religion, and Sociology. He is currently involved in two research projects, on non-heterosexual Muslims and non-heterosexual ageing, funded by the (English) Economic and Social Research Council.
INDEX
abhakshyas (‘foods not to be eaten’), 10, 14-17, 30 acculturation, 93, 233 Adi Granth, 356, 403, 412, 460 Afghanistan, 118 ahimsa. See non-violence Amar Chitra Katha, 427, 428 apartheid, 252 Arya Dewaker, 100 Arya Samaj, 100, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 181, 382 ascetics, 5, 10-12, 18, 45, 99, 102, 181, 188, 189, 401 assimilation, 85, 86, 90, 233, 380 Australia, x, xiii, 138, 151, 313, 314, 319, 323, 324, 327, 329, 333, 435451 authorities, religious, 80, 99, 155, 156, 303, 304, 320, 330 Avesta, 321, 331, 334
BJP, 24 blasphemy, 229, 230, 484 Bochasanwasi Akshar Purushottam Sanstha (BAPS), 189, 190, 193, 194 bodhipuja, 61 Bollywood, 168, 172, 174, 175, 176, 419 Bombay. See Mumbai boundaries, caste, 99, 100 boundaries, religious, 411, 412 Brahmanic priestly hegemony, 99-100, 102, 107 Brahmo Samaj, 181 British Hinduism, dominant form of, 180 Buddhism, ix, xvii, xix, 52-73, 136, 472, 500 Burma, x, 39, 53
Baba Balak Nath, 398, 403, 406, 410 Baba Kangar wala, 405, 406 Baba Subash Chander Kapur, 402, 405-407, 409, 410 Baba Tarlochan Singh Bhoparai, 402405, 409, 411 babas (holy men), 393-412 Babri Masjid, 350, 398 Ballard, Catherine, 394, 397, 411 Ballard, Roger, 394, 397, 408, 411 Bangladesh, ix, 283, 346 Bangladeshis, 269-289, 295, 296, 299 Barelvi, 254, 259, 274 Barthes, Roland, 3, 7 belief systems, 42, 322 Bengalis, 378, 379 ‘between two cultures’ thesis, 404 Bhabha, Homi K., 204, 220, 221, 229, 232, 236 Bhagavadgita, 155, 156, 183, 187, 342, 500 Bhaji at the Beach, 170 bhakti, 41, 77, 184, 186, 397, 401, 404, 408 Bhangra dancing, 166 Bharat Natyam, 161, 162, 163, 164, 166, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 175 Bhutan, ix Birmingham, 269-289, 345, 347, 351354, 457, 461
California, 205, 313, 321, 323, 326, 329, 330, 420 Canada, xi, 6, 23-51, 138, 151, 313, 314, 318, 320, 321, 322, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 333, 345, 430, 439 caste, 5, 6, 14, 83, 99, 100, 102, 150, 157, 181, 189, 191, 195, 208, 213, 227, 228, 232, 236, 354, 375, 379, 380, 381, 383, 399, 458, 459 Cey-Nor, 136, 137 chain migration, 272, 273, 295 Chennai, 129, 354 children, 24-28, 45, 64, 65-66, 69, 80, 87, 119, 145, 213, 215, 249, 255, 269-289, 295, 322, 323, 327, 329, 333, 355, 395, 404, 405, 417, 420, 421, 422, 424-425, 428, 430, 438 China, 315, 319 Christianity, Christians, ix, xvii, xxi, 62, 87, 88, 92, 118, 136, 146, 182, 203-236, 299, 305, 317, 322, 363, 383, 381, 382, 446, 447, 448, 472 Christian Malayalees, 203-216 church, 84, 88, 215, 442, 443, 450 civic rights, 244, 358, 362 civil war, x, xiii, 65, 136, 137, 146 colonial discourse, 382 compartmentalisation, 301, 302, 306 congregational worship, 181, 192, 341, 446 consumption, 4, 7, 9, 11, 12, 20
508
critique of traditions, 302, 307 cultural centres, 57 cultural conflicts, 89 cultural critique, 79, 162, 171, 174, 225, 294 cultural defence, 306 cultural heritage, 59, 84, 137, 246, 428 cultural organisations, 136 darbar, 393 Darbar Sahib (Hari Mandir, Golden Temple), 342, 351, 352, 353, 398, 455, 463 Dayananda Sarasvati, 100, 110 Delhi, 354 Denmark, 126, 135 Deobandi, 254, 259 Devale, shrine dedicated to gods of the Sinhala Buddhist pantheon, 67-68 dharma, 101, 102, 110, 228, 408, 409, 411 Dharmapala, Anagarika, 53, 54-56 dialogue, 109, 110, 304, 323 diaspora and the nation, 365 diaspora, dilemma of, 86-87 diaspora, theories and meaning of, xiv, xv-xviii, 44-45, 78-81, 89, 140-142, 345, 393-394, 395-396, 397-398, 398-399 diaspora South Asians, three categories of, x-xii, 138-140 diasporic identity, 415, 416 diasporic prosess, 220 diasporic subjectivity, 431 dietary discourse, 3-22 difference, 79, 81, 93, 134, 221, 231, 287, 333, 363, 380, 415, 438, 443, 448, 486 Digambara, 5, 6, 28, 29-32, 41, 42, 43 discrimination, xi, xxiv, 33, 83, 269, 296, 328, 329, 448, 454-456, 463493 dislocation, 23 displacement, 140, 141, 416 dissent, 265 divali, 92, 155, 161-179, 252 diversity, xii, xiii, xiv, xvi, 223, 394 doctrinal standardisation, 87, 88, 100 domestic shrines, 118 Douglas, Mary, 20 dowry (stridhana), 207, 208, 209, 212 Draupadi-amman, 382 Durga, 143, 144, 154, 165, 406 Dutch Hindu Council, 109, 113 East Africa, x, xi, 23, 65, 135, 138, 150, 180, 191, 192, 193, 345, 295,
313, 314, 317, 320, 323, 325, 326, 327, 329, 335, 345, 348, 349, 457, 459 Eck, Diana, 142-143 ecumenicalism, 399 education, 6, 17, 25-28, 39, 41, 64, 6566, 69, 86, 87, 90, 109, 111, 182, 249, 251, 254, 269-289, 313, 318, 322, 323, 326, 327, 328, 331, 363, 364, 395, 416, 428, 440, 441, 462, 463, 471, 472-476 educational underachievement, 269289 emigration. See immigration and emigration history emplacement, 416 employment, 476-480 England, 5, 16, 39, 43, 52-73, 135, 136, 138, 139, 180-197, 209, 264, 269-289, 294-308, 313, 314, 315, 317, 320, 326, 333, 335, 345, 347, 348, 393-412, 416, 437, 439, 454493 ethnic ideology, 106 ethnic religion, 158 ethnicity, ix, xvi, xv, xvii, 13, 32, 97, 103, 104, 105, 106, 111, 112, 117, 135, 140, 141, 146, 157, 203-216, 273, 276, 277, 296, 306, 324, 379, 395, 397, 430, 454, 470, 468, 485 ethnicity, secular, 327 ethnoscape, 196, 197 exorcism, 393, 397, 402, 407, 408, 409, 410, 411, 412 family, 12, 13, 34, 38, 99, 415-431 family stories, 415-431 fasting, 10, 16, 18, 19, 25, 28, 31, 41 Federation of Zoroastrian Association of North America (FEZANA), 321 female immigration, 206 female oppression, 205 festivals, 121-123, 131, 143, 161-179, 180, 264, 322, 324, 399, 436, 442, 499 Fiji, x, xi, 138, 345, 455, 457 first generation, 30, 44, 71, 82, 287, 324 first modern Zoroastrian diaspora, 315320, 326 folklore, 415, 417, 419, 423, 430 food, 3-22, 25, 26, 27, 28, 30, 31, 3639, 45, 64, 66, 69, 167, 177, 191, 192, 322, 341, 345, 379, 380, 423, 427, 444 formalisation, 399, 411 four stage migration process, 394-395
fourfold categorisation of South African Indians, 378-380 fourth generation, 397 France, 126 fundamentalism, xvii, 150 Gandhi, Mahatma, 256, 376, 377, 386, 387 Ganesha, 120, 125, 127, 143, 144, 154, 155, 183, 426, 427, 448 Gathas, 321 Geaves, Ron, 395, 397 gender, 225, 306, 328, 329, 454 generational shift, 82 generational transfer, 24-29, 65-66, 80, 87 ‘Gentoo,’ 381, 382 Germany, 116-132 ghat (steps descending into a river or lake), 145 Ghosh, Amitav, 24, 45, 416 Gitagovinda, 167 global Hinduism, 135 global Muslim Community, 253 globalisation, xvi, xvii, 110, 259, 498 goddess, 120, 121, 123, 124, 125, 126, 128, 130, 132, 142, 154, 155, 165, 168, 227, 382, 403, 406, 410, 412 Golden Temple, Amritsar. See Darbar Sahib great and little tradition, 149-150, 156, 158 green card, 212 group formation, 381 Gujarat, Gujaratis, 19, 180-197, 295, 314, 325, 327, 332, 347, 350, 355, 378, 380, 381, 415, 458 Gujarati (language), 15, 43, 181, 188, 191, 247, 295, 324, 328, 382 Gujarati traditions, 5, 6, 13, 14, 15, 40, 41, 42, 99, 135, 138, 180-197, 247, 347 gurdwara, xiii, 93, 344, 346, 350, 353, 355, 356, 360, 393, 394, 395, 402, 403, 437, 438, 442-445, 459, 462, 463, 479 Gurdwara Reform Act, 353 guru, 41, 85, 135, 142, 155, 186, 191, 341, 342, 344, 357, 396, 406, 428, 436, 460 Guru Granth Sahib. See Adi Granth Guru Nanak Nishkam Sevak Jatha (GNNSJ), 351-354 Guyana, x, 99, 103, 138, 151, 346 Hadith, 297, 303, 304
509
healing, 393, 397, 402, 403, 407, 408, 409, 412 heresy, 229 Hindi language, 42, 43, 85, 91, 157, 167, 179, 295, 380, 382 Hindis, 379, 380 ‘Hindoos,’ 438 Hindu schools, 90 Hindu youth movement, 90 Hinduism, Hindus, ix, xvi, xviii, xixxxi, 5, 6, 11, 15, 19, 41, 42, 62, 67, 77-219, 226, 233, 246, 250, 261, 296, 363, 364, 365, 378, 381, 385, 386, 393, 396, 397, 398, 400, 405, 411, 425, 437, 438, 439-442, 445,-451, 454-459, 460-461 Hinduisation, 42, 331 Hindustani community, 97-113 hindutva, 112, 364 homogeneous, homogenisation, ix, xiv, 150, 157, 400, 444 ‘homeland,’ 23, 24, 28, 339, 345, 349, 415, 462 homosexuality, 294-308 honesty, 300 Hong Kong, 40, 316, 324, 326, 329, 335 Huguenot diasporas, 93 human rights, 366 hybrid, hybridity, 79, 204, 212, 216, 220-236, 306, 365, 416 Id al-Fitr, 92 identity, xii, xiv, xv, 7, 13, 18, 19, 23, 24, 45, 79, 80, 83, 93, 104, 105106, 221, 223, 297, 306, 307, 308, 322, 328, 329, 380, 384, 388, 389, 395, 397, 415, 418, 439, 498-499 identity, class, 383 identity, cultural, 30, 134, 216, 254, 287 identity, ethnic, ix, xiv, 13, 18, 78, 101, 105-106, 141, 157, 158, 196, 197, 203-216, 233, 243-266, 273, 299, 307, 375-390, 485-487 identity, hybrid, 212, 216 identity, linguistic, ix, 382, 383 identity, national, 93, 138-140, 141 identity, political, 196 identity, religious, ix, xiv, 4, 5, 6, 7, 11, 13, 14, 15, 18, 30, 45, 93, 100, 105, 134, 138-140, 152, 157, 158, 197, 203-216, 243-266, 273, 287, 296, 307, 322, 329, 335, 375-390, 400, 412, 451, 475, 485-487, Imam, 84, 246, 249, 304, 469, immigration and emigration history, 5-
510
6, 32-36, 39-40, 83-92, 98-101, 103–104, 117-118, 135-138, 151153, 204-207, 270-275, 295-296, 314-328, 345-349, 375-384, 394396, 417-418, 437-439, 456-458 immigration laws, 32-33, 82, 152, 205, 222, 271, 295, 346, 395, 417-418, 435 in-between space, 233 inclusivism, 111 indenture Indians, 376-378, 383 indenture system, 387 indentured labour, x, xi, xii, 82, 83, 98, 243, 245, 248, 259, 376, 426, 437 India, Indians, ix, 10, 11, 12, 13, 15, 24, 27, 28, 29, 30, 35, 36, 37, 39, 42, 44, 45, 77, 79, 82, 83, 84, 85, 87, 88, 90, 97, 99, 100, 102, 103, 104, 110, 112, 118, 125, 127, 138, 139, 140, 142, 150, 157, 165, 166, 168, 170, 173, 174, 175, 191, 192, 196, 204, 208, 230, 234, 245, 248, 249, 271, 313, 314, 317, 319, 322, 323, 324, 326, 330, 331, 332, 333, 335, 337, 339, 347, 348, 349, 350, 352, 353, 355, 359, 363, 376, 377, 379, 383, 385, 394, 402, 415, 416, 419, 420, 421, 422, 423, 428, 438 indiginization, 314 interfaith activities, 333, 334 integration, 77-93, 100, 104, 113, 232, 233, 236, 296, 380, 389 intermarriage, 322, 323, 328, 329 international philanthropy, 338 internet, 193, 194, 294, 313, 323, 483 intolerance, 265, 443, 451 Iran, 313, 314, 323, 325, 326, 332, 333 ISCKON, 109, 111, 152, 181, 436, 458, 460 Islam, ix, xi, xvii, 62, 106, 234, 243308, 363, 397, 398 islamisation, 273, 315 Islamophopia, 299 Jackson, Robert, 80 Jaffna, 123, 136, 440 Jainism, Jains, ix, xviii-xix, 3-51, 154, 157, 196 Judaism, 140, 141, 146 Kali, 154 kali yuga, 405 Kamadchi (goddess), 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130 Kamadchi Ampal Temple. See Sri Kamadchi Ampal Temple
kar seva, 349-354, 362, 363 Karachi, 316, 317, 323, 335 Kartikeya. See Murugan Kashmir, xi, 272, 358 Kashmiris, 274 Kerala, 203, 207, 209 Keralites. See Malayalees Khalistan, 338, 349, 357, 364, 365, 462 Khalistan movement, 337, 339, 363 Khalsa, 342 Krishna, 153, 154, 155, 167, 181, 182, 183, 185, 186, 191, 195 Kolkata (Calcutta), 375 Koran, 283, 297, 303, 304, 306, 420 langar, 341, 344 language, ix, xi, 3, 6, 18, 43, 63, 65, 80, 83, 87, 98, 137, 156, 157, 179, 182, 194, 222, 228, 229, 247, 264, 269, 270, 281-283, 322, 323, 375, 378-379, 399, 401, 421, 437, 438, 444, 458-460, 461 leaders, leadership, 80, 330, 349, 396, 400 life-cycle rituals, 119, 155, 192, 255, 402 localisation, xvii, 313, 349 London, 52-73, 316, 457 London Buddhist Vihara, 54-56 long distance nationalism, 112 LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam), 117 Madrassas (Islamic school), 243, 248, 249, 255, 283 Maha Bodhi Society, 53, 54, 55 Mahabharata, 154, 155, 427, 428, 499 majoritarian paradigm, 243, 244 majority, 234 Malayalee ethnic identity, 203-216 marginalisation, 23, 86, 233, 265, 269, 270, 286, 289 Mariamman, 382 marriage, 207-216, 260, 297, 327, 379, 380, 384, 385, 404-405, arranged, 207-216 Mauritius, x, 138, 245 media, 116, 130, 131, 152, 193, 250, 256, 280, 334, 355, 359, 360, 481485 merit transference, 62, 70 Middle East, x, xi, migrant workers, 243 migration history. See immigration history migration, internal and external, 499 migration patterns, 34
Minnesota, 149-158 minority, 18, 19, 103, 104, 105, 106, 134, 141, 157, 231, 232, 243, 254, 269, 273, 276, 277, 296, 315, 328, 365, 455, 462, 470, 486, 490 ‘minorityness,’ 244 ‘model minority, the,’ 206 modernisation, 209 modernity, 166, 308 mosque, xiii, 84, 91, 93, 243, 246, 247, 248, 249, 274, 296, 346, 450 multicultural, multiculturalism, 4, 204, 221, 223, 232, 234, 236, 270, 320, 328, 430, 442, 443, 444, 451 multi-ethnic society, 158 multi-faith religious education curriculum, 262 multinationalism, xvi Mumbai (Bombay), 177, 196, 314, 315, 316, 321, 323, 325, 327, 329, 331, 385 murti (statue of a god), 6, 24, 26, 126, 128, 129, 130, 145, 154, 403, 440, 462 Murugan/Murukan, 119, 121, 122, 125, 127, 143, 144, 145, 153, 154, 157, 382, 436, 440 Muslim Personal Law, 243, 259 Muslims, xi, xxi-xxii, 11, 84, 87, 88, 89, 92, 98, 104, 106, 113, 122, 192, 196, 197, 216, 226, 233, 243308, 323, 334, 338, 341, 346, 350, 358, 359, 360, 361, 381, 382, 383, 385, 386, 396, 397, 400, 411, 425, 438, 454, 455, 468 mythology, 415, 417, 419, 423 Namdharis, 460 narratives, xxiv, 13, 142, 145, 295, 342, 348, 415-431 Natal, 245, 247, 248, 249, 250, 376 Natal Indian Congress, 256, 257 National Council of Hindu Temples, 400, 460 national origin, 33 nationalism, xvii, 136, 365 nazar (evil eye), 408 Neasden Swaminarayan Mandir, 193, 196, 458, 462 neo-Hinduism, 100, 103, 109, 110, 123, 153, 382 Nepal, ix, 142, 143 Nepali, 166 Nesbitt, Eleanor, 80, 404, 412, Netherlands, the, 98-113, 126, 135, 138 Network of Sikh Organisations, 461
511
neutral Christianity, the impossibility of, 235 new generation, 305, 307, 308 New York, 35, 151, 172-176, 319, 323, 330, 337, 345, 347, 358 next generation, xiv, xv, 80, 84, 86 NGO organisations, 46, 194 Nishkam Sikh Welfare Council, 354 non-violence, 4, 6, 8-21, 27, 35, 38, 44, 45, 366 North America, x, xi, 3-51, 322, 333 Norway, 118, 134-146 nostalgia, 216 NRIs (‘Non-Resident Indians’), 339 ‘one and a half generation,’ 30, 43, 44 Other, the, 220 overevaluation of things India, 112 ‘over-integration,’ 301 Pakistan, Pakistanis, ix, 251, 253, 269289, 284, 304, 295, 296, 299, 303, 313, 315, 325, 326, 328, 329, 347, 360, 383, 416, 419, 420, 421, 424 Pandit, 84, 107, 108, 113, 462 paritta recitation, 61, 62 Parsis, xxii, 313-335, 378, 379 Parvati, 426 passenger Indians, 376-378, 383 Pathshala (jaina religious education), 6, 17, 25-28, 39, 41 philanthropy, 354-358, 362, 363, 364, 366. See also seva pilgrimage, xii, 41, 143, 149, 183, 191, 195, 196, 332, 333, 406, 455 pir, 400, 402, 405, 406, 407, 410, 412 pluralism, xvii, 131, 182 political repression, xi politicisation of ethnic minorities, 271 postcolonialism, xvii prayashcitta (rites of atonement after overseas travel), 191, 195 priest, 330, 331, 444, 446 privatisation, 113 Protestant Buddhism, 64 public dialogue groups, 139 public space, 116, 121, 122, 130-132 puja, 29, 30, 41, 42, 67, 119, 125, 126, 144, 157, 406 pujari, 40, 42, 43 Punjab, Punjabis, 204, 205, 272, 282, 295, 337, 339, 347, 348, 349, 353, 354, 355, 356, 365, 378, 393-412, 437, 457, 458 Punjabi language, 463, 473, 474 Punjabi religion, 393-412
512
Punjabi traditions, xxiii, 14, 138, 346, 347, 394 Pushtimarg, 181, 185, 186, 187, 190, 191, 195, 458 qadi, 246 racism, 265, 269, 296, 320, 329, 330, 366, 435-451, 478, 479, 489 racism, institutional, 276, 288 racism, teacher, 276-289 Rajendram, Antony, 136-137 Rama, 153, 154, 155, 165, 185, 350, 365, 398, 425 Ramakrishna Math and Mission, 111, 382, 439 Ramayana, 425, 426, 427 rathotsava (chariot festival), 143regional ethnicity, 203 regional religious beliefs, practises and traditions, 400 re-interpretation, 302 religion, as a preserver of culture, 134, 137 religion, as a set of beliefs, 322 religion, as a way of life, 322 religion, function of in diaspora, 137 religioscape, 196, 197 religious nationalism, 426, 430 religious organisations, need of, 395 religious rights, 362 renunciation, 4, 7-21 resistance, 227 ritual space, 142-146 rituals, xiv, xvi, 15, 185, 319, 341, 402 rituals, Buddhist, 61-65. 67-71 rituals, Christian, 225, 226 rituals, Hindu, 80, 83, 87, 99, 100, 108, 116-132, 137, 142-146, 153156, 181, 191, 192, 228, 331, 382 rituals, Jaina, 28, 29, 30, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 55 sacred geography, 142-146 sacred language, 182 sadhu, 396 Sahajanand Swami. See Swaminarayan Said, Edward, 23 Sanatana Dharma, 107, 108, 109, 111, 150, 154 Sanskrit, 156, 157, 187, 193 Sanskritic practices, 156, 193, 195 Sanskritisation, 150 sants, 397, 400, 401, 406, 463 Sathya Sai Baba, 91, 92, 93, 111, 382, 401, 409 second generation, 30, 43, 71, 82, 84,
203, 215, 216, 273, 305, 307, 308, 393, 397, 398, 415-431, 459, 499 second migrants. See twice migrants second modern Zoroastrian diaspora, 320-327 separation, 233 seva, 337-367 Sharia (Islamic law), 297, 303 Shiva, 162, 163, 164, 183, 382, 406, 426, 427, 448 Shvetambara, 5, 6, 28, 29, 31, 40, 41 Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC), 350, 353, 460, 463 Sikhism, Sikhs, ix, xi, xxii-xxiii, 5, 37, 140, 167, 205, 233, 296, 327-367, 393, 394, 395, 396, 397, 398, 400, 401, 402, 405, 410, 411, 417, 425, 428, 437, 438, 442-445, 454-458, 459-460, 461-462 Singapore, 345 Sinhala Buddhist nationalism. See Srilankan nationalism Sivasubramanyar Alayam, 138, 143146 slavery, abolition of, 98 slaves, 243, 245, 246 social activism, 44, 46 social boundaries, 20 social reforms, 188 social relief, 256 social service, 66, 106, 112, 188, 194, 243, 441. See also seva social welfare programs, 66, 70, 250, 255 socialization, 281 South Africa, x, xi, xvi, xxiii, 138, 243266, 317, 375-390 space, 140, 141, 150, 365 Sri Kamadchi Ampal Temple, 116, 120, 121, 123-132 Sri Lanka, ix, x, xi, xiii, 52-73, 125, 131, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 142, 143, 144, 146, 439, 499 Sri Lankan Buddhist diaspora, 52-73 Sri Lankan Tamil diaspora, 116-132, 135-146 Sri Paskaran, 123, 124, 126, 127, 128, 129 Srilankan nationalism, xvii, 136 Sri Saddhatissa International Buddhist Centre, 56-71, St. Thomas, 226, 227 St. Thomas Christians. See SyroMalabar Christians St. Thomas Syro-Malabar Catholic Diocese of Chicago, 223, 225
sub-identities, 380 Sufi Islam, 263, 400, 408 sufi-shrines, 397, 405 Surinam, x, xi, 97-113, 138, 151 Syrian Christians, 207, 210-216 Syro-Malabar Christians, 220-236 Swaminarayan, 180-183, 186, 187, 191, 458 Swaminarayan Hindu Mission, 180 Swaminarayan Movement, 180-197, 458 Switzerland, 135 Sydney, 435-451 Tamil, x, xi Tamils, xi, xiii, xvii, 116-132, 134-146, 378, 380, 382, 439, 499 Tamil Hindus, 116-132, 134-146 Telugu, Telugus, 378, 380, 382 temple, xiii, 443 temple, Buddhist, 57-70, temple, Hindu, 6, 41-42, 77-78, 82, 84, 85, 88, 91, 93, 108, 112, 116132, 136, 137, 153-156, 158, 165, 176, 180, 190, 192, 195, 204, 215, 350, 393, 436, 437, 439-442, 445451, 462, temple, Jaina, 6, 14, 24, 25, 41, 42, 43, 44, temple, Zoroastrian, 318, 319, 331, 332, 333, 445 temple chariot, 122 temple tower (gopura), 124, 127, 130, 131 temporary places of worship, 119 The World Zoroastrian Organization, 313 third generation, 43, 82, 216, 273, 324, 393, 397, 459, 499 third space, 231, 236 ‘Timeless India,’ fantasies about, 165 tirtha, 143 tirthotsava (festival of sacred bathing place), 143-146 tolerance, 21, 62, 106, 111, 476, 484 Toronto, 6, 14, 19, 24-32, 34-46 Toronto Jaina Centre, 41-42 translation, 229, 230 transnational Christian Malayalees, 216 transnational communities, 4, 42, 365 transnational diaspora, xi, 339, 340, 348, 349, 362 transnational Gujarati Hinduism, 181 transnational Hinduism, 195 transnational network, xii transnational religious identity, 24, 44, 45, 112
513
Trinidad,x, xi, 77-96, 99, 138, 161, 162, 346, 457 Trinidadian temple, 78, 88, 151 twice migrants, 30, 98, 104, 294 underachievement, 276, 277 underachievement, educational. See educational underachievement underemployment, 271 United Kingdom Buddhist Day, 5961 United States, xi, 6, 32, 34, 43, 138, 139, 149-158, 161-179, 203-236, 264, 313, 314, 315, 320, 322, 326, 327, 329, 330, 337-367, 415-431 universalisation, 80, 397 Urdu, 282, 295, 383 values, 389 Veda, 100, 183, 187, 193 Vedanta, 155, 183, 184, 185 vegetarianism, 3-22, 30-31, 35, 38, 39, 44, 45, 152 Vertovec, Steven, x, 84, 112, 151, 399, 400 VHP, 111, 112, 350, 460 violence, 9-10, 30, 255, 261, 330, 364, 411, 470, 484, 489 Vishnu, 185, 382, 448 Vivekananda, 111, 151 voluntary service, 121 vows, 122 Wales, 454-493 welfare institutions, 105, 108 Werbner, P., 365, 366 ‘Westoxication’, 297 Wolverhampton, 394, 396, 402-407, 409 women, 64, 80, 92-93, 119, 203-216, 384-389, 390; as symbols of tradition, 204 World Buddhist Foundation, 58-65 World Jain Mission, 36 World Parliament of Religions 1893, 35, 54, 151 World Parliament of Religions 1993, 334 World Zoroastrian Organization (WZO), 325, 326 yoga, 157, 461 Zoroastrianism, Zoroastrians, ix, xxii, 62, 313-335, 386, 436, 445
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Figure 1 Figure 2 Figure 3 Figure 4 Figure Figure Figure Figure Figure Figure Figure
5 6 7 8 9 10 11
Figure 12 Figure 13 Figure 14 Figure 15
The end of the Paryushana Parva festivities. Arti ceremony in a Mahavira puja at a home shrine. The icon of Mahavira in the Sanatan Mandir/Gujarati Cultural Centre. The newly created Shree Jain Mandir community in Toronto. The Act of Transferring Merit on Founders’ Day. Buddhist Sunday School at SSIBC. Hindu Trinidadian Temple. Interior of an urban Trinidadian temple. Gopuja in a park in Rijswijk, near The Hague. Radha Krishna Mandir in Amsterdam-Osdorp. The Hindu Sri Kamadchi Ampal temple in HammUentrop. The head priest Sri Paskaran dressing the stone image of the goddess Kamadchi. Festival statues of the gods at the tirthotsava in Oslo. Priest giving a murti of Murugan sacred bath. Ravidas temple in Queens, New York.
Figure 1. The end of the Paryushana Parva festivities are marked by a special youth pathshala in the garbha griha honouring Mahavira, the lives of the Tirthankaras, the message of ahimsa, and the community’s tapasvis. (Photo: Mikal A. Radford)
Figure 2. Passing on the tradition as three generations perform the closing arti ceremony in a Mahavira puja at a home shrine. Each year various members of Toronto Jaina community volunteer their homes as temporary pilgrimage sites to commemorate both Paryushana Parva and Dashalakshana. (Photo: Mikal A. Radford)
Figure 3. The icon of Mahavira (second from the left) is just one of many in the Sanatan Mandir/Gujarati Cultural Centre. Although positioned between Ganesha and Krishna, he is not considered a god in the temple’s pantheon, but rather, a great guru and spiritual teacher. (Photo: Mikal A. Radford)
Figure 4. The newly created Shree Jain Mandir community in Toronto is the first Digambara group in Canada to employ a professional pujari from Delhi. He is shown here preparing for the morning puja by performing the initial abhisheka ceremony (the bathing or anointing ceremony). Note the Hindi (Nagari) script of the Namaskar-mantra in the foreground of the picture. Those who left the larger, predominately Gujarati speaking community, considered the use of Hindi in temple signage an important issue. However, they still participate as active members in the Jain Society of Toronto. (Photo: Mikal A. Radford)
Figure 5. The Act of Transferring Merit on the Founders’ Day. Venerable Piyadassi and Venerable Atthadassi pouring water as a symbolical expression of transferring merit to the departed. (Photo: Mahinda Deegalle)
Figure 6. Buddhist Sunday School at SSIBC. Children are sitting in front of the main Buddha statue at SSIBC. (Photo: Mahinda Deegalle)
Figure 7. Typical Hindu Trinidadian temple in mid-West Trinidad. The spacious assembly hall has at its top end a dome. Under this dome the Hindu deities reside. (Photo: Martin Baumann, 1996).
Figure 8. Interior of an urban Trinidadian temple. The hall is filled with regular rows of benches. At the hall’s end is a raised area with the main deities. St. James temple in Trinidad’s capital Port of Spain. (Photo: Martin Baumann, 1996)
Figure 9. Gopuja in a park in Rijswijk, near The Hague, 1992. (Photo: Freek L. Bakker)
Figure 10. Radha Krishna Mandir in Amsterdam-Osdorp, consecrated in 2001. (Photo: Freek L. Bakker)
Figure 11. The Hindu Sri Kamadchi Ampal Temple in the industrial area of Hamm-Uentrop (Germany) shortly before its inauguration in July 2002. (Photo: Brigitte Luchesi)
Figure 12. The head priest Sri Paskaran dressing the stone image of the goddess Kamadchi after its installation in the main shrine of the new Hindu temple in Hamm-Uentrop (Germany). (Photo: Brigitte Luchesi)
Figure 13. Festival statues of the gods are carried through the forest on their way to the lake at the tirthotsava (‘festival of sacred bathing place’) in Oslo, August 2002. (Photo: Knut A. Jacobsen)
Figure 14. The priest and his assistants giving a murti of Murugan sacred bath at the tirthotsava (‘festival of sacred bathing place’) in Oslo, August 2002. (Photo: Knut A. Jacobsen)
Figure 15. Followers of Ravidas, a saint whose writings are included in the Adi Granth (the canonical Sikh scripture), are usually of a similar caste-background as the saint; he was a chamar or leather-worker. Although caste is not given credence in Sikh theology, in social life and practice it retains significance. Some followers of Ravidas self-identify as Sikh; others maintain a distinct identity. Although this institution is called a “Temple,” the head priest self-identifies as a Sikh and, as these signs indicate, members of the congregation identified with Sikhs after September 11, 2001. (Many maintain long hair and the other external symbols of Khalsa Sikh identity.) Queens, NY. (Photo: Anne Murphy)
