Denesh Harijan

A second-year bachelor’s degree student, Denesh Harijan works as a reporter in the news and human rights departments at Radio Jagaran. After having grown up in circumstances of extreme poverty, he is the only person in his entire village to pursue a college education. An affable polyglot, Denesh is fluent in Nepali, English, Hindi, and two local Terai languages.

Denesh developed an interest in human rights advocacy after witnessing firsthand, as a child, the range of problems facing Dalits in the Terai area: child marriages, little to no access to education, abject poverty, and severe abuses against the lower castes. As a Dalit, he was treated differently by teachers while in primary school. His teachers, traditional observers of “untouchability” practices, often would not let him touch desks or books, would instruct other students not to touch him, and would punish him severely if he intentionally or inadvertently disobeyed such draconian commands. Reflecting on the humiliation and pain caused by his experiences growing up, Denesh focuses much of his reporting on abuses against Dalit schoolchildren.

Denesh endeavors to reach out to communities whom are generally excluded from mainstream media due to language barriers. He conducts several of his programs in local (non-Nepali) Terai languages to ensure that all stakeholders are afforded the opportunity to be informed, and to participate in, discussions regarding urgent community issues. As a result of his noteworthy contributions to inclusiveness in media, Denesh’s radio programs tend to generate the highest numbers of listener responses at Radio Jagaran.

Earlier last week, JMC held its first-ever youth workshop on human rights, caste discrimination, and the use of media as a tool of advocacy–and after its fruitful results, we hope that it will not be the last.

Wanting to know what I do all day while they’re at home or in school, the children at the orphanage at which I live have been energetically bombarding me with questions about my work with JMC on an almost-daily basis. The more I’d explain to them about JMC’s overall goals and actions, the more enthralled the kids would become with Dalit issues and the concept of advocacy through media. Every day that I spend with the kids, I am astonished and inspired by their eagerness to learn, their sense of empathy and compassion toward each other, and their vivacity. I was wholly astounded, though, when I realized their genuine interest in learning about human rights issues. As the children are currently on holiday from school for a short time, I was searching for ways to ensure that this highly fortuitous opportunity to make something happen did not slip away. When ten-year-old Biru said to me, “Jessica, I want to come to work with you!”, I considered the idea for a moment and thought…why not?

When I approached Prakash and Rem about exploring possibilities of holding a youth workshop at the JMC office, they were kindly amenable to the idea. The JMC-ers who run various different programs within the organization–such as our radio show, our television series, our human rights monitoring department, etc.–additionally offered their generous support in educating orphaned and at-risk youth about human rights issues. Just a few days later, we found ourselves sitting in JMC’s downstairs conference room, surrounded by cookies and milky chiya, various JMC staff members, paper and pencils for a planned activity, a film projector, and eight curious children (ages ten to fourteen) plus two volunteers from the orphanage.

I’d been harboring a giddy nervousness about the workshop for a number of reasons: this was my first time planning/facilitating a workshop with youth (let alone a human rights-themed one), the first time JMC had ever had a group of kids in the office, AND the workshop was somehow going to be conducted in both English and Nepali. Needless to say, Murphy’s Law could have had a field day. We were all pleasantly surprised (and relieved!), however, by how smoothly the workshop panned out–not to mention amazed by the exhilarating levels of enthusiasm and intellect displayed by the children.

JMC Youth Workshop

A brief breakdown of our itinerary (not including, of course, intermittent snack and bathroom breaks):

I began the workshop by introducing the topics of human rights, advocacy, and civil society, speaking in English to the children which Prakash then translated. (The kids are all fluent in English, but I thought it would be best to address substantive, sensitive issues–such as caste discrimination–in our native languages in order to cultivate a more natural understanding of the concepts. Additionally, since these concepts are so new to the kids, I didn’t think it would hurt for them to hear an explanation of the ideas twice.) After going over what many of the rights outlined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights are (as well as the significance and origin of the document itself), I emphasized the fact that these rights are granted to one regardless of age, race, gender, religion, country of birth, or caste–most importantly, because one is simply a human being.

We then discussed how, realistically speaking, such rights are NOT adequately upheld for all populations in most societies–worldwide discrimination in myriad forms is distinct and irrefutable. As such, civil society organizations such as JMC are needed to advocate, monitor, and protect these rights. The children were then informed that they would be learning about how JMC specifically uses various media campaigns to advocate for Dalit human rights.

Purna (one of JMC’s managers, and head of Dalan series) and Dilip (JMC’s Secretary-General) spoke to the children about the founding of JMC, explaining the extent of caste discrimination and related abuses that had been witnessed and experienced throughout Nepal by its very first staff members. They also explained the deficiency of reliable, serious coverage of Dalit issues in Nepal’s mainstream media, and the need for an independent organization to produce such research and information.

The children were then introduced to JMC’s various media campaigns by staffers from each respective department:

- Katwal Radio Patrika: Katwal is a nationwide, thirty minute-long feature program that focuses on contemporary political and social issues facing Dalits. Through discussion sessions between Dalits and non-Dalits, Katwal advocates for proportional representation, political participation, inclusiveness, and restructuring of the state to best address Dalit issues.

- Dalan Series: One particularly innovative advocacy method devised by JMC is its production of a 25-episode soap opera series called Dalan, which chronicles three successive generations of a Dalit family in Nepal. Touching on virtually all forms of discrimination that afflict Dalits, Dalan has amassed laudatory ratings throughout the country–and notably, throughout Nepal’s different castes.

- Radio Jagaran: Radio Jagaran’s headquarters is located in Nepal’s western region, an area notorious for having the highest and most severe incidences of caste-based discrimination. While Nepal has more than 100 community radio stations, Radio Jagaran is one of the only that is exclusively dedicated to raising issues concerning Dalits and other marginalized communities. On broadcast for eighteen hours per day, Radio Jagaran runs more than 100 different news and discussion programs that reach the inhabitants of western Nepal. (Unlike Katwal, Radio Jagaran is more focused on local issues, and targets a specific stakeholder population in the western region.)

- Dalit Human Rights Monitoring: JMC’s field reporters, based in various districts throughout Nepal, collect data on a wide range of human rights abuses including beatings, rapes, murders, incidents of torture, forced expulsions from residences, and persecution of inter-caste couples. The data is then compiled into an annual human rights report, which is used for legal, advocacy, and educational purposes.

- Journalist Training: Though there are more than 5,000 journalists working throughout Nepal, less than 100 hail from the Dalit community. JMC aims to address this gaping disparity by training Dalits on the dynamics of Nepalese mass media, as well as writing techniques, photography, and interviewing. As a result of this program, several past Dalit participants are now active journalists in the mainstream media. JMC also provides training to non-Dalit journalists in order to enhance their familiarity with and sensitivity to issues facing Dalits.

We then watched an episode of Dalan which depicted an inter-caste marriage in a rural village, and the subsequent violent, humiliating expulsion from the community of a Brahmin (highest caste) man and Dalit woman. The kids all agreed that the couple were treated in a manifestly cruel and wanton manner, as the man and woman had clearly not hurt anybody; yet they understood that such events in Nepal are prevalent and habitually tolerated.

By this point, the kids were feeling quite engaged, and were beginning to candidly converse about how antiquated, destructive, and downright nefarious the system of caste discrimination is. It was prime time for our planned interactive activity at the end, whereby the kids broke up into small groups and brainstormed answers to a specific caste-related question. Their answers blew all of the adults in the room away with how well thought-out and earnest they were. It was truly edifying to see such a compassionate and intellectual side of the kids come out full-force, especially in a team environment. (The activity I’d planned was translated into Nepali on paper, and the kids initially answered in Nepali. After they stood up and explained their answers in Nepali, Prakash summed up their main points in English. Sounds awkward, but it actually worked out rather nicely!)

In the meantime, I am awaiting precise translation of their written answers in response to the interactive activity, which I plan to excerpt later in this blog. I can’t wait to share the children’s evocative insights. Stay tuned!

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  Workshop activity

[continued from Part 1]

Contrasting the luminous, lively eyes of the orphanage kids with the sunken, lifeless counterparts of Nepal’s less fortunate children, I shudder to think of what could have happened to the former, had the orphanage not interceded in their cases. The orphan problem in Nepal is dire, due to a variety of factors–the recent civil war, dangerous livelihoods, rampant disease, crippling poverty. While I certainly have no intention of asking the children with whom I live what castes they come from, all sociological indicators–which point to a disproportionate pattern of disease, hunger, and mortality among Nepal’s lowest caste–lead me to logically infer that a disproportionate pattern of orphanhood exists among Dalits.

Between eighty-five and ninety percent of Dalits live below the poverty line, and the majority lack access to clean drinking water–making such individuals more prone to waterborne diseases, gastrointestinal infections, and diarrhea-related deaths. Gynecological diseases–such as uterine prolapse–are especially common among Dalit women, and mothers often die due to childbirth-related causes. Dalit fathers are most likely to work hazardous jobs in unhygienic conditions, leaving them more vulnerable to deadly disease and injury. These factors, coupled with deeply-embedded marginalization in the areas of educational attainment and receipt of government services, beget a lethal combination–a prime breeding ground for high incidences of unexpected parental deaths in Dalit families, and correspondingly high numbers of Dalit orphans and street children.

Orphaned girls and young women, particularly Dalits, face an especially horrific threat: the danger of being whisked away by human traffickers. Due to their marginalization and lack of legal protection, Dalit women and girls are the most likely to be trafficked–primarily bought and sold into brothels in India’s major cities (such as Mumbai, which has the largest number of brothels in the world according to WomenNewsNetwork). Every year about 10,000 Nepalese girls–some as young as six years old, but most between the ages of nine and sixteen–are taken and sold to brothels in India, where hundreds of thousands of other young girls are already believed to be involved in coerced sex work (U.S. State Department Trafficking in Persons Report, 2009). I urge you to visit this link to familiarize yourself with the truly heartbreaking and harrowing story of Seema, a Nepali woman who became a trafficking victim at the age of twelve.

Some of the children in the orphanage at which I volunteer have already had firsthand experience with being bought and sold as a commodity. One girl, who is now nine, was found by a government social worker in a busy area of Kathmandu–covered in bruises and with her hands tightly bound by a rusty wire–forced to work as a domestic servant. She’s understandably had a difficult time opening up to the other children at the orphanage, and has not yet spoken in detail about what happened to her while she was held in servitude. However, she has expressed her love of attending school and passion for learning, which suggests that her agonizing past may not prevent her from pursuing a positive, productive life of her own after all. In fact, given the struggles and tumultuous experiences to which all the children in the orphanage have been subjected, I am astounded by how helpful, friendly, and loving they all are toward both the staff members and each other–like a large, but very content, family.

Since arriving in Nepal, I’ve been intrigued with the idea of staying with a local host family–rather than hopping from hostel to hostel as I’d been doing–in order to experience and immerse myself in “real” Nepali life. Relocating to this orphanage has allowed me to fulfill that desire in a delightfully unconventional way. We may not have running water or reliable electricity, but cohesion, compassion and fortitude run deep here. As spoken by the director of the orphanage to the kids: “You are no different from the other children at school. You work hard in your classes, eat dhaal-bhaat every day, and love to sing songs just as they do. The only difference is that your family is a little bit bigger than the other kids’ families.”

Enjoying some quality time with some of the orphanage kids.

All at once, the contradictory onslaught of fresh shock and numbing familiarity envelops me again. This familiar scene of emotions tugging in different directions has evolved into a programmed and predictable pattern: the idealist in me wants me to go up to them and hug them, take them out for a decent meal, spend time with them and get to know the human beings–the children–who they are. My common sense reminds me that they’re quite aggressive–and sometimes dangerous–as it replays scenes in which they’ve spit on me, cursed me out, and once even hung with their full weight from me as I walked nearly an entire block, clawing my forearm until blood was drawn (having no small bills on me at the time, I had refused their requests for money). I feel callous and cruel playing the role of another seemingly disaffected passerby as I struggle to hurry past the corner where they congregate and accost foreigners in Thamel. Ambiguity has never felt so conflicted or so pronounced, as I simultaneously grow increasingly disturbed and increasingly desensitized to the heartbreaking sight before me.

I rush past the notorious corner, trying not to make eye contact. It doesn’t matter this time, though; the familiar smell of Dendrite and the resounding crinkle of small, white plastic bags reveal why my walk down the block was a strangely uninterrupted one. Out of the corner of my eye I see tattered, soiled clothing covering gaunt, lifeless figures sprawled on their backs on the pavement. A deep, lengthy gasp escapes from one behind me; I turn around and make brief eye contact with a pair of abnormally wide, glazed-over spheres of vacant vision that are clearly on a different plane of consciousness than mine. The child lets out a feeble groan while he places the bag of glue he just inhaled on his belly, his trembling hand still clutching the source of his relief. He slowly descends backward, his head resting on a garbage heap on the filthy pavement. He is no older than eight years old.

“They”, of course, are the street children of Nepal–and in the tourist district of Thamel, are as unavoidable and conspicuous a sight as the wily rickshaw driver offering you an overpriced ride and the ubiquitous trekkers’ shop. Their painfully blatant presence begs the terribly simplistic yet timeless question: how could this happen? …To so many children? I’m paralyzed in a stupor of despondency as I witness the sight, unable to form a more developed sense of questioning and reasoning in my mind other than the most basic. I am unable to formulate specific policy-related inquiries or construct mock calculations of demographic indicators in attempt to consider the phenomenon from a scientific or academic perspective. No. Confronted by this very raw scene, I can only ask the most rudimentary questions of how and why. But it’s the simplest questions that are sometimes the hardest to address.

The unwelcome muddlement that has hit me as a consequence of not knowing what to do in this situation–short of resigning myself to futile rumination and lament of their plight–was part of why I decided to drastically change my living situation. I came across a small flier in a cafe one day, announcing a chance to live as a tenant in a family-run Kathmandu orphanage, whereby 100% of the rental fees would go toward the children’s meals and school fees. Thinking it sounded too good to be true, Morgan and I checked out the place the same day–and were greeted with ebullient warmth, lots of hugs, ceaseless smiles, and genuine hospitality from [all thirty-five of] the children and staff members at the orphanage. The large, converted house was a clean, well-kept haven filled with books, colorful posters, artwork made by the kids, photo collages, featured “awards” and stories about each child adorning the walls. It was evident that the children were healthy, energetic and well-taken care of, and the other orphanage volunteers (one of whom had returned for a second volunteering stint after a year) we met raved eagerly about their experiences. The questions in my mind–whether my living expenses should benefit these vibrant children or a tourist hostel in Thamel, whether I was to spend my evenings in a depressingly dim guesthouse room or surrounded by these infectious smiles, whether I was to keep handing small rupee denominations to street children or invest my money in a sustained effort to keep kids from ending up on the streets in the first place–were all no-brainers. Lucid certainty about this spontaneous and fortuitous opportunity led me to move into the orphanage that same week.

Some of the kids from the orphanage acting silly.

[continue to Part 2]

[continued from Part 1]

For Dalits in many areas, the liquid necessity has also been refashioned into a highly exclusive commodity to which they do not enjoy privileges. Think about how much water you use in the course of a single day for various perfunctory activities, such as bathing, cooking, drinking, and washing household items. Imagine how toilsome it must be to have to spend hours every day lugging extremely heavy jugs of water from a community pump back to your home – which is sometimes miles away and at the top of ominously steep and rugged terrain – in smoldering heat and stifling humidity, just so that you can struggle to make do with your limited supply for the day until repeating the arduous process the morning after.

Sound rough? Now imagine having to live in a similar situation of impeded water access and poverty…but to also face the threat of torture and possible death if another villager catches you using the local tap (a likely scenario, given that such taps often provide hydration for the inhabitants of entire communities), because your touching the pump will purportedly “contaminate” the full water supply. This truly outrageous manifestation of injustice is endured throughout Nepal on a daily basis, by Dalits merely seeking to fulfill the most basic human need of obtaining water. In fact, Dalits are violently persecuted for water-related events even if they don’t touch the pump at all. JMC’s 2008 human rights monitoring report cited several cases in which Dalits were beaten on the charge that their pigs had touched public water taps used by the higher castes, and so contaminated the water supply.

A community water pump in Kathmandu. Credit: Morten Svenningsen

A community water pump in Kathmandu. Credit: Morten Svenningsen

So, what can be done? Much ink has been spilled and bandwidth consumed with myriad suggestions for improving Nepal’s water situation. Millions of dollars have been spent attempting to purify the once-famed Bagmati River that used to be Kathmandu City’s centerpiece. The “too many cooks in the kitchen” argument comes up from time to time, suggesting that a superfluity of unsolicited assistance coming from outside parties has ultimately fragmented sanitation efforts and further complicated matters. The importance of indigenous self-determination in the extremely controversial and contentious realm of “development” is palpable throughout Nepal, and rightly so. As aptly articulated by Tibetan Buddhist teacher Gehlek Rinpoche: “If aid comes with strings attached, the recipient becomes a puppet who has to dance according to the pull of the puppeteers.”

At the center of the self-determination issue, however, is the importance of Dalit participation in all aspects of Nepali affairs. It’s possible that one of the primary reasons why nationwide water-related issues persist is that the populations most adversely affected – i.e., Dalits and other oppressed groups – have not been given an adequate say in addressing said issues. How will it be possible for Nepal to resolve its festering social and political dilemmas without the full participation of all affected individuals? The JMC has established itself as a force to be reckoned with in this crucial debate, pushing for the increased involvement of Dalits in all aspects of the political transition and peace process – particularly the drafting of the New Nepal’s constitution.

The pressing issues of health, water, sanitation and the like highlight the importance of the democratic participation of ALL societal groups, especially at such a pivotal time in the country’s history. The recent pro-Dalit budget initiatives announced by the Finance Minister (including free education for Dalit children up to the secondary level, benefits for inter-caste married couples, and more) are an excellent start to improving Dalits’ social, economic, and political inclusion. However, strong implementation measures must be enacted to ensure that Dalits are enjoying the fundamental human rights to which they are entitled, as well as their full involvement in the administration of vital social services and public goods.

Now that these concerns are finally being debated on a public scale, new windows of opportunity are opening – and it is becoming ever more irrefutable that a cleaner, safer, better Nepal for Dalits will translate into a better Nepal for all.

“Paani paryo, paani paryo (the rain, the rain)!” the pint-sized, light blue uniform-clad schoolboy beside me on the sidewalk giggled. The busy morning streets, predictably filled with people rushing off to school and work, were also filled with evidence that the monsoon season had arrived in full force: a river of opaque mahogany water – teeming with various floating adornments including food remnants, a kaleidoscopic dung rainbow comprising browns of assorted tints (from greenish to goldish to orangey), pieces of household trash and other debris – had flooded the alleyways and formed an encircling blanket that nearly came up to our knees.

Flooded Kathmandu streets.

Flooded Kathmandu streets.

Women lifted their saris up to their thighs and comfortably waded through, schoolchildren jumped and played in the water, and elderly Nepalis with canes bravely trekked along. All of a sudden, widespread laughter erupted among all of us – and not the superficially-friendly chuckles that sometimes arise between strangers due to an unusual random sight – but REAL, side-splitting, wholehearted belly laughter. The contagious fit of hysteria and sheer silliness that engulfed everyone on the streets that morning was, in retrospect, an incredibly surreal memory; it was one of those moments in which the improbable quality of a large number of complete strangers connecting in a single moment leaves the participant spellbound. It was also arguably the most fun I’ve ever had while walking to work.

When I finally arrived at the JMC office – completely soaked and absolutely filthy! – my cheeks still ached from all the laughing. The Western inculcation of antiseptic, germ-phobic paranoia that characterizes an American upbringing had not managed to seep into my consciousness in the midst of the morning commute-turned-swim. However, it was an eerie coincidence to then receive a Google Alert article detailing how the source of all that laughter had also proven to become a source of devastation among many in Nepal, manifesting in disturbingly high incidences of waterborne diseases (including fatal outbreaks of cholera and diarrhea), destruction of homes due to flooding, and widespread displacement that the monsoon season brings.

I’m generally not a fan of listing more than a handful of statistics at a time to illustrate a point, but I felt compelled to share the following in order to exemplify just how dire Nepal’s water/sanitation situation is:

* More than 2/3 of all people in Nepal don’t have access to a toilet (source: UNDP).

* 80% of diseases among Nepalis are contracted due to poor sanitation and unsafe water sources (News from Nepal).

* One third of all people in Nepal live in slum dwellings, and an additional 18,000+ people live in informal, illegal squatter settlements without any land rights (sdinet.org).

* While 40% of children in Nepal suffer from malnutrition and its related diseases, waterborne diseases alone kill one out of 10 children under five every year (sdinet.org).

* Despite the rampant water-related health problems, only about 15% of Nepalis have access to adequate healthcare services (UNDP).

Riverside slum area, Kathmandu. Credit: Travelblog.org

Riverside slum area, Kathmandu. Credit: Travelblog.org

Kathmandu riverbank area.

Kathmandu riverbank area.

As alarming as these figures are, however, it is important to note that Dalits face a far crueler version of the water and sanitation predicament. Out of all socially stratified groups in Nepal, Dalits are by far the most marginalized due to the age-old practice of untouchability; as such, they are condemned to suffer disproportionately in terms of mortality rates, landlessness, displacement, extreme poverty, and diseases. Due to discrimination in the community and a lack of land rights, Dalits are often forced to build their homes in the most squalid and hazardous areas, and tend to be the primary inhabitants of riverside slums. According to sdinet.org, the polluted riverside areas where Nepal’s poorest residents take shelter are typically the sites of profuse dumping of solid waste by the municipalities. Additionally, when severe rainstorms strike Nepal, riverside slum areas are most adversely affected in the event of flooding, consequent displacement, and heightened exposure to toxins.

[continue to Part 2]

It is not humanly possible to describe Kathmandu succinctly if one strives for accuracy. It is a city bursting with frenetic energy, vibrant colors, rich cultural history, devoted spirituality, and people of striking beauty. It is also a place of abject poverty, political tumult, and great uncertainty. I created this vlog with the intention of providing a video collage of many of the sights I encounter on a daily basis; it is meant to show only bits and pieces of a complex mosaic of fascinating characteristics (i.e., it is NOT an exhaustive description by any means!).

Notice the elegance and grace with which the Nepalese carry themselves. Smile at the unusual sight of a baby monkey nonchalantly riding on its mother’s back in the middle of a crowded sidewalk. Absorb the plight of a malnourished child living on the streets. Feel the beeping horn of a maniacal taxi driver reverberate through your ears.

Tapailai Kathmandu Ma Swagat Chha (welcome to Kathmandu)!

I also made the following video of a rickshaw ride, just for fun:

When I signed onto this fellowship in early April, I made a commitment to put my best effort forth to help tell a little-known story of severe disempowerment. I knew I was entering an environment encompassing an acute degree of complexity of which I had virtually no practical, concrete understanding. Even more so, I anticipated frequent instances of feeling at a loss for words after hearing firsthand accounts of great struggle, compassion, resilience, and vitality in the people with whom I’d interact. All of the above have been richly solidified.

However, the real loss for words hits me when I attempt to wrap my brain around the word “disempowerment” and relate it to the caste system in Nepal. At first I thought “dehumanization” to be a better descriptor of the repressive edifice I am only beginning to comprehend, but even now I harbor doubts that finding an adequately substantive label is even possible. How does one go about defining the blatant, systematic denial of an entire demographic group’s very humanity?

Sure, the legacy of human-against-human atrocity is nothing new to the world. As I mentioned in my initial blog entry, discrimination appears to be a timeless and universal human value. As an American, I am all too familiar with the remnants and consequences of my country’s own sordid past with racism and sexism that continue to hover. Even as my country celebrated its independence this weekend and the societal progress it has made thus far, most (I hope) of us remain disgruntled at the rampant divisiveness and institutional oppression that persist, deeply embedded in our social fabric. We may boast forward-looking steps in the likes of statistics, legislation, and fiscal policy; but what catalyzes true progress is a change in mindset, which we’ve had more trouble with. As long as we harbor harmful, demeaning prejudices (of which we are all undeniably guilty on some level, conscious or not) and add insult to injury, we indirectly contribute to the gravest forms of global disempowerment.

In Nepal, such disempowerment manifests itself in an unprecedented level of shame and insult inherent in the nature of abuses against Dalits. Atrocities against this vibrant community are not only committed to injure, weaken, or threaten; they are committed to humiliate and dehumanize. A young Dalit schoolboy was recently forced by his teacher to eat his own excrement as “punishment” for some unidentified classroom misdeed he allegedly committed. In many rural villages in Nepal (which cover around 80% of the country’s terrain), Dalit women are blamed for various random mishaps – such as a bad rainstorm or the death of a goat – and are then accused of witchcraft. In most instances of such accusation, a woman is brutally beaten, tortured to a deadly degree, and again forced to eat excrement until she admits to being a “witch”. Dalits in villages face violent consequences if they dare touch a water pump used by other castes. Countless stories such as these abound among Dalits – countless instances of being branded a witch, a contaminator, a slave…anything but a human being.

Coming to Nepal as a Westerner, I must take extra care in my words, actions, and mannerisms to distance myself as much as possible from inextricable links to imperialism and conquest. I tread lightly in a place where so much arrogance, negativity, and disgust is rightly associated even with Western volunteers. Cognizant of these links and the politics of identity, I feel especially grateful to be embraced and welcomed in this Dalit-run organization by such warm people who have suffered so under the hands of privilege and its many injustices. My gratitude is already at an astronomical level for the chance to live in Nepal this summer – but has increased tenfold as a result of the delicate congeniality and kindness I’ve received here.

Socially-constructed divisions may be universal, but perhaps they are not an eternal curse on the world. I like to believe that deep down, human beings are resilient, open-minded, inclined to evolve, and capable of reaching profound social and behavioral progress in our relations with one another. Perhaps the Dalits of Nepal are the best example of said resilience and propensity for achieving real social change.

Video Description: The Jagaran Media Center, based in Kathmandu, Nepal, works to eliminate caste discrimination through the use of media as a social advocacy tool. The JMC was established by journalists from the Dalit community, or those considered to be “untouchables” within the caste system. In this brief interview, JMC president Rem Biswokarma talks about the organization’s activities and goals, as well as what drew him personally to work on Dalit issues.

A new requirement of this year’s Peace Fellowship is the production of several vlogs, or video blogs. For our first vlog, we were asked to provide a short personal statement-type video of ourselves introducing the work that we’ll be doing, as well as our hopes for the summer.

Due to a plethora of technical difficulties, I’m now posting my “introductory” video five blogs later. My apologies! The incongruity of my timing is rivaled only by the painful awkwardness of having to watch myself on video. (You know the wince-inducing discomfort that commonly results from listening to a recording of your own voice? Video has the notable ability to take such clumsiness to the tenth power.)

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HXJTWU8