[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.

[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]

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

As I read through the profiles and bios of the people I will soon be working alongside in Nepal, a surreal sense of admiration overwhelms me. As a student and advocate of human rights, I have a tendency to gravitate toward reading and watching material that showcases horrendous atrocities, civil strife, and the like; as such, I’m frequently baffled at the truly monstrous way in which some human beings inflict suffering on others. However, I live for the moments that shift that bafflement in the opposite direction – moments that leave me in awe at the level of strength and resilience that humans are capable of displaying, despite the most unimaginable circumstances of adversity. This is one of those moments.

The Dalit journalists with whom I’ll be working at the JMC have been through hell and back. Here’s just one example: a former teacher was brutally attacked – and nearly killed – merely for being a Dalit in an important professional role. After this terrifying experience, he decided to become a journalist and work to fight human rights abuses within the caste system, despite the risky and highly taxing nature of the work. In addition to suffering from economic marginalization and physical/violent abuses, Dalits are subjected to an acute level of humiliation, insult, and general dehumanization. Being forced to live a life of shame – when their only crime committed is being born into the wrong caste – is what I’d imagine to be the hardest aspect for outsiders to empathize with.

Discrimination, which can seem to be a universal human value in itself, has an unfortunately ubiquitous quality in the world (albeit with nuances in form and degree), but it is rare to find circumstances as extreme as Nepal’s in this day and age. This deeply entrenched oppression within the caste system has persisted for more than 800 years, yet Dalits continue to put up an unrelenting fight in the form of civil society activity. Given these onerous circumstances, my respect and awe of the tenacity in these individuals is inexplicable. I can only imagine how this distant admiration will solidify when I have the privilege of witnessing the JMC journalists’ courage and strength translate into action.

This trip will be my fourth major visit to a developing country, and my third to an area affected by armed conflict. By now I’ve learned to stop myself from having any expectations, or even a modicum of confidence in anticipating how life in the country will be – regardless of how much pre-departure preparation and frantic studying I do. One thing I am certain of, though, is the sensory upheaval (Kathmandu is notorious for its “sensory overload” factor) that will come in the form of new sounds, smells, tastes, sights, and in this case air pressure – as well as the brand-new perceptions, emotions, and reflections that I know the experience will bring.

I’m finding that the standard sense of feeling lost, small, insignificant, and generally awkward in a spanking-new location is growing on me. While I previously regarded this requisite initiation process as equal parts daunting and exciting, I now find that the latter outweighs the former by a long shot. The uniquely sobering and humbling effects that only fieldwork can yield have become oddly addicting – and I can’t wait to be thrown into the disorienting microcosm of this mysterious little country.