I promise to update soon with more stories and pictures I have been collecting along the way. I'm just finishing a time-sensitive project and have limited internet access!

Rajasthani Roadtrip

Last weekend, I took a roadtrip with some friends and colleagues to Jaipur, the pink city, in the beautiful state of Rajasthan. For this trip, we elected to travel by car, rather than train. This was the first time I had taken a road trip since arriving in India. The voyage was both exhilarating and frightening at times, but the destination was worth enduring the trudge through congested roadways filled with over-packed lorries.

Having control over the music made long stretches of dusty Indian desert enjoyable and drowned out the incessant honking. When we arrived in Jaipur, our guesthouse was impossible to find and when we finally got there, we were so exhausted, but pleased to find that our accommodation was both clean and affordable—a killer combo!

Hunger soon overpowered any urge to rest and we headed back to the heart of the city to have dinner at the revolving restaurant we had read about in the Lonely Planet. The food was decent and our waiter was comical, and as soon as our most urgent hunger pangs subsided, our conversation turned to evaluating a speculative scenario: How difficult it would be for CSI to process a crime scene in a revolving restaurant, especially if it involved recreating bullet trajectories.

On the way back home, we stopped for some roadside pan. Pan is an Indian digestive often consumed after meals. It is made from betel leaf packed with areca nut, lime paste and other ingredients such as cardamoms and cloves. I had never tried it before because its preparation always seemed hygienically suspect. That night, however, I tried some sweet pan. I really like it, and I didn’t get sick!

The next day, we toured the Amber Fort and the Jaipur Palace. These sites where so incredibly beautiful, especially the palace. As I walked through each room I tried to imagine a time when the rajput rulers and their wives walked these halls. I tried to picture servants scurrying about preparing meals, fanning royalty. I must admit; I had some help envisioning the past between the palace walls. Both Kama Sutra and Jodhaa Akbar, two films that captured my imagination, were filmed here.

While in Jaipur, I fell in love with Jaipuri blockprinted textiles. These are printed fabrics made by hand by stamping hand-carved wooden printing blocks on stretched cloth. The printed cloths are soaked in different dyes and then dried under the sun. Traditional designs usually involve delicate flowers, foliage, paisleys, and birds. I found the simple yet intricate designs the most beautiful.

Our voyage back to Delhi on Sunday was much more exciting than our ride to Jaipur on account of the fact that it was punctuated by quintessentially India traffic incidents. First, on a number of occasions, we almost hit people and cows who were really bad at calculating the best time to dash across a highway. Second, traffic was SO BAD! We were stuck in a tiny sedan for hours amidst towering, colourfully embellished lorries overflowing with anything from steel to hay to jerry cans to people. Some trucks were so packed that they resembled muffins on wheels. I wondered how they avoided tipping over, but then I realized that they don’t avoid tipping over. Along the way, we had to weave past at least 3 lorries who had their precious cargo spilled across parts of the road. This, of course caused an even greater traffic jam, and at points during the trip I imagined that molasses trickling up hill would beat us to Delhi. Amid these 16 and 18 wheelers, I felt there was no way we would get ahead. Might is right on India roadways, I was told. The bigger the car, the more you get to push other cars around. Fortunately for us, this idiom has a rarely exercised condition. Might is indeed right, unless you can distract the drivers of 2 ton chamions with a little wink and a smile from your western female passengers. Then you can squeeze through however you want. Third, as we approached Delhi, one side of the highway was closed for reconstruction, so, without even so much as a pylon, the police decided to redirect all oncoming traffic into our lane. Imagine our surprise as we saw a mansion on wheels hurtling towards us from a distance. Luckily, we had enough time to change lanes, but we had no idea what was doing on until was saw one lonesome man with a reflecting stick waving traffic into our lane a few kilometres ahead. Thankfully, we arrived in Delhi safe and sound that evening. Here are some more photos of the trip.

Easter with Tibetan Refugees- Reflection

The weekend I spent in Dharamsala opened my eyes to the desperation and sense of urgency that characterizes the Tibetan struggle for independence from China. My decision to spend Easter in Dharamsala perhaps heightened my perception that within this Tibetan community in exile there simultaneously exists hope and despair, suffering and triumph, death and new life. The existence of those in exile is often romanticized by onlookers—they are the wanderers, the poets, the shadows of the citizen, but the brutality and loneliness of refugeehood must not be overlooked. As I heard one Tibetan refugee explain, “a refugee is someone who does not belong where they stay and cannot return to where they belong”. This is an undenyably tragic status.

It seems strange for me to be intentionally celebrating the holiest of my religious holidays completely immersed in a different religious tradition. Tibetan Buddhism is the oxygen of Dharamsala. Deep-throat chants can be heard by processing monks in sapphire robes at all hours of the day. Almost each Tibetan carries prayer beads, or a flag, or both. Here, prayer and politics mingle comfortably and a communal spiritual effervescence thickens the air. For me, this community in exile embodies in many ways the anticipation of Holy Saturday—that mid-way point between death and life that requires immense patience. It is a dark day when, as a Christian I struggle to come to terms with the absurdity of Jesus’ cry: ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”—when God-become-man seems to have lost faith in Himself. It is a day of longing and anticipation and hope that with morning will come a resurrection that will bring new life. In Dharamsala, exilic longing continues. The rebirth of the Tibetan community here will never replace a true resurrection of a people in their own homeland. When will their morning come?

These past few weeks have seen an increase in the crackdown by Chinese government on Tibetans protesting for their freedom—the greatest protests since the 1980s. Hundreds if not thousands have been killed and even more continue to live under an oppressive regime that forbids a distinct Tibetan language, religion and culture. Temples continue to be destroyed and monks are dragged away to face the torture of the People’s army.

With the health of the aging Dalai Lama uncertain and the eyes of the world slowly, albeit reluctantly, turning on China in anticipation of the 2008 Beijing Olympics, many Tibetans feel this is their last chance to take a stand and reclaim their home before it is lost forever. In fact, these most recent protests have revealed a new radical element to the free Tibet movement that acts as a harbinger for things to come. The violence in Lhasa and elsewhere is not restricted to one side. People we met who have inside sources in Tibet recount stories of horrific violence visited on ethnic Tibetans as well as on the Han Chinese who have been relocated by the Chinese government in retaliation. These Chinese were mostly relocated to Tibet by the Chinese government in an effort to ‘depopulate’ Tibet of ethnic Tibetans, with the intention of eventually wiping them out completely—ethnic cleansing via repopulation. Many of these Han Chinese have been attacked during the recent protests. I am uncertain if any deaths have resulted. It is necessary for me to say at this point that this reality, of a double-sided, violent struggle does not in any way diminish my conviction that Tibet should be freed from China. The reason I believe in a free Tibet is not because of a romanticized vision I have of Tibetans as a non-violent, peace-loving people. There are people, like everyone else, who when pushed to the edge of sanity, with tyrany and oppression will respond in a varied number of ways including violent retaliation. The reality that there are violent Tibetans does not diminish the truth that Tibet was an autonomous country invaded and subjugated by China in 1949.

What this violence demonstrates is a departure from the traditional, non-violent, middle path of “mutually agreeable solutions” promoted by the Dalai Lama. During the protest I went to, the Dalai Lama instructed the Tibetans (via a pre-recorded news conference) to exercise patience and compassion, but as I looked around, distress was on the face of many protestors, especially the young. They are tired of waiting and are willing to resort to more radical measures as many of them realize that it is now or never. Many Tibetan organizations have given up on the Dalai Lama’s ability to effectively challenge the Chinese. He is however, valuable as a leader, if not a figurehead of a movement and a symbol of peace and justice. As such, the mere utterance of his name is still enough to rile the international conscience. But what will happen when he dies? The power vacuum that his death will create will certainly inflict a great blow to the unity of Tibet. With the Panchen Lama (a figure instrumental in the selection of the next Dalai Lama) imprisoned by the Chinese government, it is most certain that China will attempt to appoint their own puppet Lama to divide, disperse and destroy any movement for an independent Tibet. And how will the international community rally around a free Tibet if there is no longer a cute smiling man to symbolize all that is good about the cause?

These questions concern me as I continue to research these issues in India. Although it was incredible for me to spend Easter in the midst of such a community, I worry about the future and what can be done. I'm am comforted, however, by the realization that their communal gatherings were a celebration of solidarity and hope as much as a protest against brutality and suppression.

McLeod Ganj and Dharamsala- Tibet in Exile

This weekend, I took a trip up to the Himalayas, to the Indian state of Himachal Pradesh. A couple of interns and myself went up to Dharamsala/ McLeod Ganj. Apart from the incredible greenery and breathtaking mountains, this area is known for being the home of Tibetan refugees, the Tibetan governemet in exile and the Dalai Lama. It was incredible. What we witnessed were powerful protests and moving vigils against the brutal crackdown on recent protests in Lhasa, Tibet- the largest since the late 1980. The town was a frenzy of activity. Monks, nuns, laypersons, students, children all gathered to celebrate solidarity and hope as well as protest brutality and supression. Sadly, the international media was conspicuously absent. The experience was utterly overwhelming. Here are some photos I managed to take.

Unpleasant Experiences make me Stronger....????

Today is somewhere around two months since my arrival in India. I remember walking out of the plane, being ushered onto the tarmac, waiting for a shuttle bus and arriving at the terminal. The first thing that struck me was not the heat or the smell as some people had warned me, or the fact that there were more people contained in one building than I had ever seen in my life. It was the fact that they were overwhelmingly, predominantly male. As I walked through the airport to get my luggage, I struggled through a mass of people to get to the conveyor belt, and again was struck by the fact that there were so many men. There were a few women here and there but my experience during these past few weeks has confirmed my initial observations, that most of the people walking around the streets, in crowds, selling things and driving around are men. As well, most of them were smaller than me. At 5’10, I stand head and shoulders above most people I meet. I am used to being tall, but not taller than most men. Here I am taller than most men.

Sometimes, standing out as a woman has a plus side. In order to confirm our train tickets for our weekend Tiger Safari, another intern and myself walked through Old Delhi Train Station in search of an information counter. This took us longer than we had anticipated because the counter was signed in Hindi and it was covered by hordes of tired and agitated travelers. My jaw dropped when I we finally reached the line we would have to battle through in order to get our ticket information, but as I quickly learned there is special treatment for women. We inched our way up to the front of the line and as we did so, the sea of sweaty men parted. We got our information and went on our merry way. We were also spared from reciecing beatings from a long stick that were dolled out by angry train officials when the crowd got out of hand.

Unfortunately, I have also experience the flipside of female exceptionalism. There is the groping, the accidental bumping and the incessant staring, but more so, it is the feeling that my movement is restricted because I am a woman. The long solitary walks that I used to indulge in are on hiatus, as are trips by myself almost anywhere after sunset. It’s not just the unpleasantness of the experience, but the knowledge that it is symptomatic of a brand of sexism that often manifests itself in more sinister and violent forms such as female foeticide and infanticide. This sense of entitlement to women’s bodies is accompanied not just by anger, but by resentment towards female independence and assertiveness. Politely saying “no, thank you” to a drink offer from a 40 year old business man invites looks of disgust and the immediate adoption of body language that seems to proclaim “how dare you!!” Well, I dare because you’re nasty.

As much as I strongly desire to enjoy every aspect of this trip, as a single female traveler, I am constantly aware of and preoccupied with my safety. I try to be vigilant at all times. I’m slowly getting used to the limitations I have to put on myself but it took a long time for me to shake the feelings of imminent danger.

African Refugees in India

It may be surprising, but there are a number of African refugees in Delhi. What some of these refugees experience at the hands of organizations that have been mandated to help them is appalling. They have been insulted, belittled and forced to live in sub-human conditions. UN workers laugh in their faces as they reject their asylum claims and coldly tell them to find a way to survive with no money and no right to work. They are harassed by locals and threatened by the police. They struggle to live on pennies a day yet continue to tell their story to whoever would listen. As I take down their testimony, I have to fight to urge to cry that his growing from the pit of my stomach. I am so angry and so disappointed in this whole establishment designed to give the appearance of care.

Reflections Six Weeks In

Diplomacy is the art of letting someone have your way.
- Daniele Vare

I have spent the past month or so struggling to write a really dry legal framework chapter so I’ve been trying to spice it up. The most ironic thing about this experience is that the sources that are giving me the most insight and are allowing me to contribute in the most creative way to this chapter are the ones that I draw from the courses I loathed and cursed at Oxford. I find myself drawing from Shacknove, Nowak, Singer & Singer, Edwards, Hathaway—while the sources that I most enjoyed reading namely B.S. Chimni, are for the most part, not helpful. It could just be the nature of my topic, but I cannot but find this strange. I distinctly remember that when time came for course evaluations, I wrote for one course: “It could have been more applicable. I don’t think I will ever use this material again.” Well, here I am one year later, using that material again. Oxford know best, I guess. When I was in academia, all I wanted to do was get out and do work in the ‘real world’, as if an ‘unreal world’ was what I was living in. Barbara Harold-Bond once yelled at me for expressing this sentiment. I found this quite surprising as I always considered her a more ‘hands on’ type of person. I am slowing coming to the realization that well thought out and expressed ideas are equally as powerful as actions. There must be a balance of both theory and practice.

I think one of the most frustrating things about studying or working in international law is there are no real enforcement mechanisms for rogue states. No matter how argumentatively strong or morally virtuous your position is against torture or other human right violations or whatever, if a government does not see that it is in its best interest to abide by international regulations, it will not, and there is not much anyone can do about it. It’s not like you can charge a country and throw it to prison. Well, something can be done about it, but that would require intervention and States do not take this measure lightly. Also, there exists the threat of sanctions, but foreign governments are rarely willing to impose sanctions or take a strong position unless, again, it is in their interest. China, for example, is one of the world’s worst human rights violator as a country, yet US and Canada turn a blind eye to the violations of this economic goliath leviathan in exchange for a piece of its sweet sweet market.

There is, of course, diplomacy, but who does that anymore? Diplomacy, once an art practiced by skilled negotiators, smooth-talkers and experienced plenipotentiaries has been all but lost in our current international arena of ‘with us or against us’ politics. Gone are the practices of international flattery, the realization that enemies are constructed and the firm understanding that the only way to truly win is not to bomb others back to the Stone Age (this merely incites revenge), but to make them want what you want. Whatever happened to winning by using soft power? Maybe such a golden ages of pure diplomacy never really existed. But at least it was a school practiced by some leaders.

Human rights are also suffering globally because of a collapse of moral legitimacy among states. Most states have appalling track records and the current war on terrorism has unleashed a mindless global witch-hunt on par with the McCarthy purges of the Cold War, if not worse. Even the great traditional “defenders of democracy”: France, the Scandinavian countries, the UK, Australia, Canada and the US trample over human rights in deed and in word. We are dealing with our own human rights catastrophes in the West—arbitrary detention, warehousing of refugees, rendition, Guantanamo Bay—it seems hypocritical to ask other countries to respect the human rights of their people when we cannot do so ourselves. Immigrants are marginalized and ostracized through archaic legislation, a fear-mongering media and a race to the lowest common standard of treatment among states. The question is no longer “What can we do to secure and promote human rights?” The question is “What is the most we can get away with without setting off alarm bells?” Actually, there really is no question, because no one is thinking long and hard enough to formulate one. Take Australia, for example. Before being booted out of power, the Howard government decided that it would not be taking in any refugees from Africa. According to Immigration Minister Kevin Andrews, most Australian communities have enough African migrants and any more would cause integration problems.

So next time your human rights are being violated and you desperately need sanctuary, make sure you’re white.

I really wish we had better leaders. It is pointless to make excuses by stating that we live in a difficult and volatile world. This has always been the case, and the extent to which it is volatile depends on who you are and where you live rather than whether or not we are speaking of pre or post September 11. Somehow, there have always been leaders throughout the 20th century who have risen to the challenges of guiding their people and embodying change. I’m thinking of Aung San Suu Kyi, Martin Luther King, Gandhi. They went to jail for it, they were killed for it, they starved themselves for it. The quest for freedom and truth was a moral imperative that permeated every aspect of their lives and was not restricted to charity functions and Live8 concerts. The ideals that were projected through their public persona were present in their personal lives as well. How else could you get away with walking around in a loin cloth? They wer authentic. They were real. They spoke for the people who they were entrusted to represent whether or not they had a powerful lobby group. It is hard to find a leader today with that level of legitimacy. Where is the kind of conviction demonstrated through personal sacrifice? Moral legitimacy has been replaced by rampant hypocricy. I really wish our world had stronger leaders. That is on days when I’m patient. When I’m impatient, I just wish I were a dolphin.