A car being burnt outside my window

Yesterday, someone in the crowd at one of the GJM's rallies was shot while protesting outside the house of a leader of the recently-deposed GNLF. That man's house and two cars were burned, and other GNLF-connected people also had their houses or stores damaged. I'm not clear on whose car I saw being burned. But, so far as I know, there were no people attacked.

A little visual meditation on the nature of the Indian state: Note the position of the police as the crowd rolls the car to where they are going to burn it.


Compared to what this area has been through in the past, this was really a pretty contained and limited episode of political violence. It was definitely obvious that (1) these guys were very knowledgeable about the safest and most effective way to burn a car. They had crowd control going and everything. And (2) the spectators were all quite calm -- there weren't even shouts of encouragement or solidarity, actually. They definitely seemed more like observers than participants.

And today things were very calm. The stores were open, the car removed from the road, the rallies back on.

Oof... I'll write something more complete about my take on the Gorkhaland movement later.

I actually only have 12 more days in India. I'm already supposing that I'll have to make a return trip, so I don't feel too panicked to finish things up. Nonetheless, it did sneak up on me.

As compelling a reason for a separate state as any

Darjeeling really isn't much like the rest of India. For one thing, its not flat, hot, or particularly crowded. And there is much less rice, lots more noodles. Also, they tend not to use milk in their tea. (There is also supposedly some stuff about separate cultural identities and unique historical civilizations or blah blah whatever that my interviewees are always going on about.) But a REALLY important difference, and one that I am uniquely well-qualified to measure, is the region's surprisingly advanced cuteness technology.

This was first evident in the glorious array of umbrellas on daily display.


Then there is the broad deployment of pint-sized uniforms.

And, for another thing, the better weather and quieter streets mean that people walk their kids about in public quite a bit. There are even pony rides! Another impact of the weather seems to be that the town's indigenous cuteness production is oriented toward knitting children's clothing (note the pink striped sweater on the left in the pony-ride picture and the blue cap in the shot below).

Finally, many people keep pet dogs here, and those are pretty rare in the rest of India. Doma is the puppy who lives at my guest house. (Up close, she kind of has the face of the dog who guards the Labyrinth, from the David Bowie movie).

You may recall that in an earlier post I put forward a rough unified field theory of the commercial-availability of cuteness. In which the critical explanatory variable for high levels of cuteness technology was low birth rates. WELL: as previously hypothesized, Darjeeling is, in fact, near the replacement rate with total fertility of 2.1 children per woman, based on the 2001 census. This is well below the rate for the state (2.6) and far below India's national fertility rate of 3.2 children/woman, which, as we have seen, dooms much of plains India to its shocking lack of appreciation of stuffed penguins.

Albert has voted that we remain in Darjeeling for the balance of the trip.

The Indian Idol ripple effects continue

When last I was in Darjeeling (November 2007), the Gorkha Janmurti Morcha (GJM), led by a firm supporter of Indian Idol winner and ethnic Gorkha Pradan Tamang, was trying to unseat the incumbent Gorkha National Liberation Front (GNLF), led by an old-timey guy who probably secretly misses the days of radio.

Fast-forward to July 2008, and the GNLF and its unhip leader have been forced to step off the political scene. And the GJM is now leading the charge for the creation of a Gorkha state. Technically, Darjeeling is in the midst of an "indefinite" strike, but this week is a "relaxation" of the strike, so things can go along as before. (What, you feel like that's fundamentally a contradiction of the concept of a strike? Well, mister, there is no place for your Western-centric purist notion of political tactics here in India. You probably think that a "relay" fast-unto-"death" doesn't make any sense, either.)

The GJM flag is up everywhere now, and there have been rallies held regularly to keep people focused on the cause.

The GJM presents a certain normative tension, something that strikes me when I read about many different mass movements. It is clear that many, probably most, people here are passionately in favor of the GJM and its cause. But despite and even because of that genunine popularity, there is clearly a lot of pressure to conform. There is a wing of the GJM for almost any identity you can think of: women, youth, students, truck drivers, private school teachers, hotel owners-- even a wing for non-Gorkhas. Other political parties are essentially non-existent, and anti-GJM posters are immediately torn down. The group is starting to enforce social reforms, like cracking down on alcohol use. The GJM is quite tactically focused on strikes and road blockades, so it issues all kinds of directives about when people can and can't work and travel.

It's probably true that if these measures were put to a vote they'd prove overwhelmingly popular. But it's also true these measures are being unilaterally announced by a small group of people who've never even run in an election. From one point of view, this all looks like a cynical strategy by the GJM leadership to remove any potential opposition, and from another point of view it is a spontaneous, grassroots development that is essentially democratic.

Today's illustration: the private school students' march!

Schools are actually on summer break, but about 500 students turned out this morning - running the gamut from age 9ish to 16ish. They were all in their uniforms and organized in pairs, the girls first, then the boys, lined up in the town square by school. Then a GJM leader said a few words and they proceeded on a little march through town.

My first thought was that this was the most adorable political protest I'd ever seen. It was a veritable sea of pigtails and pleated skirts. And, maybe I'm just getting pervy as I get older, but I think I would have had quite a bit more trouble concentrating in middle school if all the boys had been required to wear those cute ties, not to mention properly tailored pants. They looked so dapper!

There was nothing particularly menacing about the gathering, either. For one thing, it looked like a good way to correct one of the problems of summer, which is that you don't necessarily have all your friends together in one place as often as you might like. Second, attrition from the march-through-town was already starting within the first few blocks--I'm not sure they could have kept things going much beyond the first internet cafe they passed. Third, the kids were supremely undisciplined with the call-and-response they were supposed to be doing as they marched. I've seen a number of these GJM marches now, and about every 40 people or so there is supposed to be someone who shouts things like "We want Gorkhaland!" and then the crowd around answers "Gorkhaland! Gorkhaland!". And variations ensue. There are always some people walking fairly far away from any "caller" who aren't really shouting. And if one of the callers is uninspiring or stops shouting, that can result in a gap of about 40-50 people in the line who are just strolling along.

Well, with the kids, a few teachers had selected the right kid for the "call" part of the job -- someone popular but also loud. But most of the students put in the "call" role were blushing and muttering instead of shouting out their lines. And, I'm sorry to say it, but there was not a single girl in a "call" role who was doing an adequate job, and most were very giggly. Perhaps the neckties do have excessive swoon inducing properties.

So, this morning I was thinking the whole thing was pretty amusing and harmless, not too National Socialist Party Youth or anything, despite the uniforms. But then in the paper today there is a story about a teacher getting fired because his students told that parents that he had criticized the idea of Gorkhaland in class.

Young people engaged with the democratic process or totalitarians in knee socks? Can anyone really know?

Also, I think my book of Sudoko puzzles is a give away

Hello from Siliguri! Crossroads of Northeast India and jumping-off point for Darjeeling, if they ever stop with their strikes

I’m going to write more about this town in a future post. It is a challenging place to describe. But I wanted to mention something super exciting: BOTH of my first two contacts here mentioned that I might be put under surveillance by the government while I am here!! Because this is a border area and the strikes are still on in Darjeeling (north of here) and they try to keep tabs on all foreigners in the area. Plus, it wouldn’t be too hard to follow me – I am the only white person in town, my residence is registered at the police station, and rickshaws trail me on the street as it is, hoping I’ll change my mind about walking.

Still, I believe that when certain facts inevitably come to public view, they will give me away as someone who is definitely not an international woman of mystery.
1. I have a really lame phone. Seriously, the Vodaphone guys were shocked by it – they didn’t say this to me directly but I know “purana” means “old” in Hindi.
2. I’ve been reading the Bourne Identity. I figure real cloak-and-dagger types probably get annoyed by all the inaccuracies in popular culture depictions of deep cover operations.
3. I checked my luggage on the flight here. Not conducive to quick get-aways.
4. I have a blog.

In limbo

Harrumph! I'm stuck in Kolkata, again. Last fall I got stuck here for a day when I missed my flight because of general strikes against the West Bengal government (http://tinyurl.com/2rrnph); a week or so ago I had an unplanned two-day reprieve from research when the West Bengal government called a general strike against the central government and then the opposition called an "us too" general strike against the central government for the following day (http://tinyurl.com/5aavry); and now I'm stuck here because I missed my flight to Darjeeling. Because the Darjeeling-statehood party called a general strike and asked all tourists to evacuate, then relaxed their stance a bit, at which point the anti-Darjeeling-statehood party called a counter-strike (http://tiny.cc/ODl92).

I feel West Bengal is like a little bit of Latin America in India. Full of anachronistic leftism, overzealous civil disobedience, and totally loony, paranoid anti-Americanism. (I don't mind anti-Americanism, as long as it isn't too UFOs-and-second-gunman-esque. Saturday's interview was all about the Darjeeling agitation is a US plot meant to destroy the otherwise vibrant Indian communist movement and slow the global revolution of the proletariat. I think my Indian Idol theory is better).

The increased urgency of the Darjeeling statehood movement over these past few weeks is generally good for my dissertation -- more to observe. And I really appreciate that everyone here is working hard to make my topic policy-relevant. But it raises problems for me when they get over-enthusiastic and limit my ability to do my research. The general strike is not -- I don't think -- all that dangerous. But, while it's still being strictly observed, it isn't possible to rent a room in Darjeeling, move around, get food, etc. And, the reporters I've been conferring with me tell me, political leaders are keeping a low profile and won't give interviews during the strike.

Actually, that is something I didn't realize: the political parties are technically supposed to be inactive during general strikes, too. If a political party uses cars or keeps its office open during their own general strike, an accusatory article appears in the paper. This is surprising to me because, in my mind, (a) general strikes are inherently political - the one thing they are definitely not is a day off from politics and (b) general strikes are supposed to pressure the government by causing economic losses and inconveniences. But since political parties don't make anything or facilitate anything, what's so intimidating about them not working? The opposition strikes fear into the heart of the government by taking a day off?

The rest of India thinks Bengalis are lazy. I think they've probably just been enervated by sixty years of excessive general strikes.

Hello? Hello?

I have often wondered why I decided I would do fieldwork, knowing that I don’t particularly like talking to strangers. But, now that I’m in West Bengal, trying to interview people in a place where I don’t have many contacts, I am realizing that there is an aspect to fieldwork I dislike even more than talking to strangers: talking to people on the phone.

My best college friend, Michelle from LA, could tell you about how little I like the phone. About how, when we were in college, I would go weeks without checking my voicemail. And about how I still sometimes do that. And about my tendency to not return calls for a long time even after I listen to my messages. And how my phone goes unanswered a suspiciously large percentage of the time. Large enough that, if you didn’t know me, you might start to suspect I was sitting by the phone and letting calls go to voicemail, just because I didn’t want to use the phone. But, since Michelle does know me, she is certain that is what I’m doing.

Now, I’m stuck here making tens of phone calls per day trying to get interviews. I just hate it.

First, there are all kinds of technical oddities with Indian phones—I can’t possibly get into it here, seeing as how the capacity of the internet is finite, but in India you have to dial the numbers differently for cell phones, land lines, long distance land lines, and long distance cell phones. And it has taken ages to master that. And, for whatever reasons, even properly dialed calls get dropped about 25% of the time.

Oh, also, West Bengal has no government phone directly. Full stop. There literally isn’t one, in print or online. In fact, the government of West Bengal website does not list even a single phone number. And, also, so far as I can tell, if you do call the West Bengal seat of government, there is no operator to help you if you don’t know somebody’s extension. The one time I’d like to speak to a person!

When I finally get someone on the line… Well, the next thing I hate is that nobody identifies their office when they pick up the phone. As in “Hello, this is the office of Mr. Singh.” Instead, they just say “Hello” or “Namaskar” or sometimes just “Ji?”—which is a polite form of “yes?” but still seems terribly abrupt to me. I mostly have the rhythm of asking whether I am speaking to such and such an office down, but initially it really threw me. And it is still bad when I’m being transferred. As in:

Me: “May I speak to Mr. Singh?”

Unidentified Voice #1: “Just a moment”

Unidentified Voice #2: “Hello?”

Now, at this point: how am I supposed to know if I’m speaking to Mr. Singh’s secretary or to the man himself? Because, it has gone both ways on me. Which means I’ve talked to secretaries and inappropriately used the second person and to politicians and inappropriately used the third person. I wouldn’t be quite as self-conscious about this were it not for the low quality phone connections. Which mean that when I get someone on the line I antagonize them for the first minute by shouting back and forth about whether we can hear each other. And then I antagonize them by not really having any idea who I’m speaking to. And I go on to antagonize them by not being able to understand about 40% of what they are saying. It doesn’t make me feel confident about asking for favors.

I get two kinds of “no’s” and I’m not sure which one I dislike more. People who have actually said “no” have been, frankly, kind of mean about it. I particularly dislike when someone posts their direct number online and then has this whole “how dare you waste my time?” attitude when I call that number. Because, listen buddy: I know you’re important. I don’t expect you to take your own phone calls. But how am I supposed to know that you’re using some perverse logic wherein your listed numbers are the ones you don’t want people to call?

The other kind of “no” is the handle-my-call-like-a-hot-potato between assistants. With transferring and retransferring, and “why don’t you call back” at this time or on this date. And I don’t really expect people to call me when they say they will, although I can’t help being a little hopeful when they give an actual time and date when they are going to call. Why do people have to embellish when they blow me off? It’s just mean.

What is totally mysterious to me, though, is trying to figure out when “yes” means “no”. In particular, the people who promise to get me meetings with or phone numbers of important people and then disappear. I think it is pretty common to have someone make a promise he does not intend to keep in order to avoid saying “no.” But why would you promise things above and beyond what I even requested? I guess it is about wanting to appear cool. Like telling the other 10^th graders that you have a girlfriend from summer camp...

Which reminds me: once, when I was in 6^th grade, I hung up the phone on someone who had called to ask if I wanted to go out with his friend, Carson. I thought it was a prank and they were making fun of me. It was only in the last few years that it occurred to me that they might have been serious and that, in that case, I may have been a wee bit harsh in my rejection. I believe that my current troubles probably relate to the bad karma I accrued from that early phone misadventure.

When I get back, I think I will get a Blackberry. Then I can enjoy the illusion that I don’t own a phone at all. Evil, evil machines.

The new baby!

I have a nephew! Nathan Robert Thornburg was born June 4. His pictures are up at:

www.thethornfield.blogspot.com

Hurray!