in!Genius

I believe in the power of stories to create change.

But when I was asked to share my story, I was initially skeptical  that people would want to hear what I had to say. 

A wise person in my life likes to tell me that I will not be able to empower others if I don't first empower myself, so I began digging around in my life for a story worth telling, a story that might create change. 

On September 25th, a night of free thinkers and free stuff that we at the College of Charleston like to call "in!Genius," I had the incredible opportunity to share my story with a theatre full of students, faculty, community members, and my dearest friends. Now that it has been told, I'd like to pack it away for awhile and work on creating some new stories. But for those of you who missed it, here it is. Grab some popcorn and enjoy!

From India to America: Who Needs Feminism?

The end of any journey usually falls prey to the hectic, frenzied drive to do ALL the things. My last week in India, I was delirious with a fever (and telling myself jokes I didn't understand as I napped away precious hours), but I managed to revisit some of my favorite places, spend a little extra time with my host family, complete my final project for class (a collection of short stories about the women I met), and feel panicked about returning home. A month later, I'm a little more removed from my life there, and, as Sara Marie Chilson told me, CLS doesn't feel real anymore. The deep effects my two months in India have had on my life, however, feel very real. Every single day.

People ask me the questions: How was India? How's your Hindi now? Weren't you there on a mission trip? Do you want to go back? Your questions are all wrong. Take them back please.

I once asserted, in a casual conversation, that it would take 300 lifetimes to understand everything I experienced. How true that feels today...so I am working through piece by piece. And I want to start with a piece that is less-than-pleasant, but a piece that has been eerily relevant to me back here, at home in the brick sidewalks of the College of Charleston campus. It starts with this picture:

Here I stand, putting on my dupatta, which always gave my trouble, as I wait with three of my peers to go into Albert Hall on one of our Saturday excursions. The art exhibited inside was phenomenal, although I only took pictures of the pigeons that perched amid the gorgeous architecture. I gaped in fascination in the rooms of ancient weaponry and stroked my fingers along the glass cases that held calendar art. I made a friend in a pre-teen boy who was surprisingly unperplexed that I spoke Hindi and who kept bringing his friends to meet me. This is the truth of my day, but it is missing a very routine piece that shaped everyday life for me. Here's the bigger picture:

It's the same concept--me putting on my dupatta and talking with my friends. Now, though, observe why my back is turned. I didn't know about this picture, and I don't think the woman who took it was trying to make a statement, but there it is: the reality underlying many of my experiences, the small herd of men staring. Sometimes they had cameras. Sometimes they called out to us (I kept a record of some of the funnier comments I heard). Sometimes they approached us. Infrequently they would make a move on one of my friends. 

The euphemism used in India is "eve teasing," but let's call it what it is: sexual harassment. Foreign women face it everyday. So do Indian women. And don't get me wrong, for every herd of rude men, there were ten other men who averted their eyes--the respectable thing to do in Jaipur--and who were willing to shoo those men away from the rickshaw where we waited while the rickshawala asked directions. 

At first, I was afraid to walk alone, but I learned how to walk with purpose. No one bothered me if I gave off the vibe that I was not a stranger to those parts, that I knew where I was going. 

Then, I was enraged when my friends faced more overt harassment than the random catcalls. 

A few times, I was proud when my friends took action, calling the police, creating a scene, making the men delete pictures of us from their phones. 

Eventually, I grew accustomed to the situation, accepted that every time I would walk to my favorite coffee shop, I would be hassled or stared at. It was as habitual as brushing my teeth. I ignored it all. I lived my life as I wanted to, careful always but no longer afraid. 

A friend back home in the States messaged me one day telling me the story of how she had been sexually assaulted the weekend before...yes, in the States...while she was with her friends. And there I was in a major city in India, perfectly protected as far as I was concerned. Perhaps that should have prepared me for transition back into American society. It didn't.

The worst culture shock I have ever experienced in all my traveling was coming back to the United States after my two months in India. I burst into tears the first time I walked down Calhoun St. because 1) there were just so many women (most public spaces in Jaipur were male-dominated) and 2) I realized how much the day-to-day harassment had indeed impacted me. I walked with my eyes down, moving quickly. But there were no men paying me any attention at all. Oh no, the harassment of women here in America tends to be much more subtle, hiding in the subliminal messages of media and in the expectations of how we look, disguised in jokes (which, when I interrupt, are explained to be "just jokes, come on, Elizabeth!") and in the statistics (women continue to make 77 cents to every dollar a man makes...and this is 2013). The culture shock was so extreme, not because I realized how terrible of a place India was for women, but because I realized how similar Charleston, SC can be to Jaipur, India. That hurts me deeply.

I'll admit it. I'm a feminist. I was a feminist before I went to India, and guess what...I still think women's rights are important simply because they are not yet equal to men's rights. And the entire time I have been writing this, I have been thinking, Maybe this is too harsh. Maybe I should convey more optimism, less pain. This is my reality, has been my reality for a few months now. It has affected me, my relationships, my future plans. I'm okay with it changing me. I am not okay with sexual harassment continuing and I will interrupt it when I see it. 

I write this to maintain my integrity because I can talk all day about my time in India but it remains incomplete if I do not include this. I write this so that you can hear it and be aware that this happens in India and in America. I write this because it is part of my story and because I want to open doors to conversations about this not-so-pleasant but oh-so-real subject. 

Ask your questions. Challenge my words. Tell me your stories. 

They Don't Call It Barefoot College Because You Have to Take Your ShoesOff (Even Though You Do)

I have grown to dislike urban India--the blaring traffic, the excessive shopping, the lack of natural green spaces. This is a problem because I am living in Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan and an important city for history and culture. I know there are pros and cons. I know that urban India offers me European-style toilets, access to Oreos and coffee, (mostly) paved roads, a more progressive look at many relevant social issues... But I feel so much more alive when I escape the city streets and find myself in smaller towns and villages.

On Saturday, I field tripped it with the rest of the CLS students to Tilonia, by way of Pushkar. Tolonia is the most rural place I've visited here so far, but it is home to Barefoot College, a truly remarkable organization. We spent the day exploring the two campuses of Barefoot College, surrounded by fields, trees, mountains, and even a small concrete platform where three men were randomly working out. (The are always surprises.) Some of the other students were not so thrilled, made comments about "poverty tourism," or just grumbled about having to stomp through the rain and mud to get from building to building. At first, the cynic in me searched for problems with this organization, things that were not on the up and up or were damaging the community. But I managed to turn the cynical voice off and just be amazed by this inspirational place. I'm sure there are faults, there are better ways to do what they're doing, but I wasn't there to diagnose or change. I was there to learn and let myself be changed.

Barefoot College was started in this rural village as a place for people from rural communities as a place that provides basic services and sustainable solutions. It was founded by the "poor" and is fully run by the "poor." I didn't see a single foreigner there other than the other students and a few interns from NGOs nearby who were taking the week to learn from Barefoot College. Everyone there is from a rural village or community. 

Okay, so I lied a little. I did see foreigners, but not in the way one normally sees foreigners at an international NGO. Typically foreigners are there running programs and making decisions (usually to please foreign funders).  On the first campus we visited, there was a building where groups of women were learning to build solar powered lights. I first noticed the Tibetan prayer flags strung near the ceiling on one end of the long, rectangular room...then I realized the women were clearly not all Indian. Some were from Tibet, Myanmar, Panama (Yes! Spanish! Unfortunately all my Spanish is disappearing into my Hindi...), Sudan, and other places that escape me right now. According to one of the men who teaches there, these women come from their villages, stay at the College while they learn this skill, and then return home, bringing knowledge about solar powered lights back with them. In one of my cynical   moments, I scanned every face, searching for a sign that something was amiss, but I found nothing...

There was another room where people turned old materials into new useful products: journals, toys, bags. There was weaving happening in an old church left behind from British rule and clusters of mirrored ovens calibrated to follow the sun. At the other campus, we saw the women's development center the College runs, a building where women were making sanitary napkins (that aren't exported or sold but given to nearby hostels and clinics for use in educating women), and a health center complete with a "barefoot dentist," several acupuncturists, and a homeopathic pharmacy. The grand finale was a room lined with stringed instruments and an assortment of puppets. It was the communications department, naturally. Apparently theater has a huge influence when it comes to informing the public here, and so the people in the communications department use their creative skills to ensure that nearby villagers know about information, such as their right to a living wage. Our time in that room may have jumped the shark a bit when we sang a bilingual version of "We Shall Overcome." But still, it was a beautiful moment.

The entire tour was in Hindi, except for the man who works in the women's development center and who got a little carried away with English as he was talking with us. And much to my surprise, I actually understood almost everything, not because it was especially easy Hindi but because I was interested in what they were saying and managed to outsmart my ever-shortening attention span. I am completely inspired by how non-condescending their model is, the way people learn from one another and then go back and teach their villages. Barefoot College emphasizes the fact that formal education is not necessary for people to make a decent living, which is an idea that wouldn't stand up well in the States, but in Tolonia, it seems very effective, empowering, revolutionary. I left feeling so energized. It seemed like such a dignifying place, maintaining the Gandhian spirit of service...

The only thing I was left wanting was a conversation with someone other than the leaders we met. I would have loved to employ my Hindi skills and talk to one of the women sitting on a stool in the long room creating a panel for a solar powered light with tools I'd never seen before. I would have loved to hear their stories from them. But that's what I always want: Story.

In classic Alternative Break form, I feel it is necessary to ask, "Now what?" What do I do with this experience, this space, the inspiration? I don't know yet. I have a few thoughts...but they are very incomplete. As I am working on my proposal for a Fulbright research grant, I'm now seriously considering applying to research women's roles in NGO work. I talked with the man leading us around and he explained to me that about 40% of the fieldworkers are women, but very few women are actually in a leadership role. He says they are trying to raise up women leaders in the community, so that decisions about their development actually rests in their hands. 

Still thinking, hey, this girl is nuts...there's no way that place is making a real difference because it was started by uneducated people with no experience running an NGO...? Watch this TEDtalk and please suspend your cynicism and disbelief. Let yourself be inspired to act as I have been. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qqqVwM6bMM&sns=em