#sakhinyc
By Sahana Mehta
For South Asian organizers and activists today, self and community care are vital to our survival and resistance. I emphasize community care because capitalist structures constantly force us to push it to the wayside, in favor of toxic individualism. In discussing community care in South Asian organizing, I will touch on the following topics: intergenerational networks of solidarity, emotional labor and cultivating the margins, and harnessing collective power and care to sustain our work.
Intergenerational Networks of Solidarity:
I put this point first because I believe that locating ourselves within histories of South Asian resistance grounds us in the work in a way that ties us to our pasts, presents, and futures. In order to do this locating work, we must engage in the ongoing process of excavating our histories. Because of constructions like the model minority myth, many South Asians living in the U.S. struggle to connect themselves with stories of resistance. However, over the past few years, I have learnt that resistance is found where you might least expect it. In my own process, I have talked to my family members about issues ranging from their experiences in pre-Independence India, to their struggles to gain education, to the racism they experienced upon arrival in the U.S., to mental health stigma, to South Asian American women’s activism in the early 2000s, and so on. During this continuous work, one can also enter spaces dedicated to South Asian resistance. For young people (~18-24), programs like Bay Area Solidarity Summer, Los Angeles Summer Solidarity Initiative, Chicago Desi Youth Rising, East Coast Solidarity Summer, and South Asian Americans Leading Together’s Young Leaders Institute create communities of South Asians committed to dismantling systems of oppression. In these communities, I have found mentors, friends, and above all, comrades in the struggle for justice.
Emotional Labor and Cultivating the Margins:
In order to cultivate practices of community care, we must recognize the emotional labor that goes into creating community and organizing spaces, as well as the people who are doing that labor. More often than not, South Asian femmes will perform the labor of creating and sustaining our communities. Furthermore, those whose narratives are constantly erased in South Asian spaces are often called upon or forced to do the labor necessary to make that space habitable for themselves and for others who share their identities. For example, because Indians and Hindus dominate most South Asian spaces, those who are neither Indian nor Hindu often have to expend their energy to remind others that they are not Indian/Hindu, and therefore cannot identify with whatever is being said or done. In order to create strong and lasting South Asian community spaces, those who come from dominant identities must do the work of unpacking their privileges, and learning about other histories and experiences, coming to recognize the deep and perplexing complexities of the region we call “South Asia,” as well as its diaspora.
Harnessing Collective Power and Care to Sustain Our Work:
In order to do transformative justice work, our organizing communities must take the time to create methods of community care that are sustainable for the group, as well as the individual. Furthermore, we must understand and work to heal our traumas. In her article, Reckoning with Trauma 16 Years After, Deepa Iyer, founder of South Asian Americans Leading Together, author of We Too Sing America, and incredible South Asian activist, writes “If our movements, campaigns, and organizations are expected to succeed in post 9/11 America and beyond, we need cultural, systemic and institutional changes that respond to the emotional toll of collective, individual, and historic trauma” (Iyer). Like Deepa, I believe that we will have to do organizing work to dismantle the structures that prevent us from pursuing collective care. And though we must do this work, it is important to remember that our movements cannot embody justice if they replicate capitalist and oppressive strategies.
In times of intense violence and fascism against our and other communities, we must learn to recognize our intersectional identities in their totality, and from there, pursue this labor of love.
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Sahana Mehta is a rising second year at Scripps College majoring in Feminist Gender Sexuality Studies and International Intercultural Studies. She is also a former Sakhi Development Intern. Sahana is involved in a lot of organizing work on her campus and is committed to cultivating radical South Asian spaces wherever she can.
By Ananya Gurumurthy
This summer, I had the honor of being selected as a US Youth Ambassador for the international TechGirls Exchange Program. The TechGirls program is sponsored by the US Department of State and connects young women from countries in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA nations) with young women from the US. The program is a ten day immersion program in computer science with coding sessions taught by professors from the Virginia Tech Computer Science Department. On the third day of class, I met a remarkable teaching assistant, Ms. Kay, a PhD student in computer science. Ms. Kay shared her inspiring journey from western Kenya to the United States.
Ms. Kay hails from a small village in Kenya, where young women are not allowed to pursue higher education. The moment Ms. Kay asked her parents about her aspirations to pursue a college degree in computer science after high school, she was told that the place for a young woman was not in college, but in a home with a husband and children. Thankfully, Ms. Kay did not allow her journey to be deterred by archaic values that had limited so many women before her; she began looking for universities abroad. She tirelessly searched for scholarship opportunities and other ways in which she could make college a reality for herself. After years of hard work and persistence, Ms. Kay arrived at Virginia Tech, now a PhD student and researcher. She has gained much recognition for her research and inspiring personal story.
I was also in an environment in which many young women hailed from countries in MENA nations, eager to overcome obstacles often built by their societies. These girls worked far past the designated “class time” and came up with creative games and projects. More importantly, all of them went back to their respective countries motivated to teach other young women in their nations how to code and become digitally literate. Some even earned scholarships to their countries’ top universities to study computer science and software engineering as a result of their tireless efforts.
The stories of the MENA TechGirls and Ms. Kay are stories of perseverance and overcoming challenging odds. Furthermore, these stories are proof of the empowering effect of women immersing themselves in technology.
Technology represents a disruptive force in our economy and more women must begin participating in its tremendous growth trajectory. In pursuing digital literacy skills, women across the world can help empower themselves, their children, and others. The current salary for the average programmer is nearly $80,000 making it a great avenue for financial empowerment, independence, and self-sufficiency. Increasingly, more companies are looking to diversify their workforce by including more women. Tech companies like Google, Apple, Facebook, Dropbox, WhatsApp, etc want to enhance gender equity in the workplace and are enabling many new learning tools and platforms. For this reason, learning to code and develop has become increasingly available and affordable. With free online sources such as Coursera, edX, Udemy, and MIT Open Courseware, learning the skills necessary to program is easier. Digital literacy can be a great vehicle to support women and their families move towards greater stability and better opportunities.
Ananya Gurumurthy, 15, is an aspiring activist from Scarsdale, NY. She has recently gotten involved with Sakhi, and hopes to continue contributing in the future! Recently, she began the local Digital Literacy Initiative in her local district with her State Senator to help ensure the inclusion and participation of underserved girls in computer science and engineering fields. Her interest in the inclusion of women in computer science was further extended when she was selected as a US Youth Ambassador for the US TechGirls Exchange Program and spent nearly two weeks with young women from the Middle East and North Africa learning about empowering women in the aforementioned communities. She hopes to continue her journey in working with digital literacy to propel equity and empowerment for women around the country!
By Saleha Irfan
Earlier last year, Azealia Banks stirred controversy by calling Zayn Malik a “curry scented bit*h” during a Twitter feud. The global South Asian community responded with hilarious and cutting comebacks, ridiculing her for stereotyping South Asians. My social media feeds were flooded with impassioned proclamations. How dare she reduce us to curries and bindis? And yet, something about the reaction bothered me immensely. This was a convenient opportunity to celebrate our heritage by posting pictures of ourselves in saris and shalwar kameez but when it came to showing a more nuanced perspective of South Asia, we were sadly lacking. I had never seen these people talk about South Asian issues in any other capacity.
When I first flew to Dartmouth College from Lahore, Pakistan two years ago, I didn’t quite know what to expect. There were a lot of things going through my mind: moving to another country, being away from my friends and family for most of the year, and of course, starting fresh at a new college. Until that point, I had never had to evaluate the way I was presenting my culture to the world; after all, there weren’t many people around me I had to explain my culture to. My thoughts were essentially limited to hoping that I wouldn’t be ‘randomly’ selected during immigration and the idea that I would always have to speak English.
I quickly signed up to join the South Asian student group on campus at the activities fair. I wanted to meet other South Asians, not only so we could get together to watch Bollywood movies or have brunch at the single Indian restaurant in town but also to continue the conversations I had begun at home with other young people about the issues within our communities that moved or disturbed us. The taboo around sexual assault, rampant social inequality, and persistent jingoism were just some of the things I wanted to dive into.
The student group, like other cultural groups on campus, held regular events in which I participated, but after the third mango lassi social I had begun to grow weary. How much longer were we going to keep this up? When I brought up ideas for discussion such as colorism or manufactured nationalism, I was met with a strange mix of defensiveness and ignorance. I was told that I shouldn’t talk about such sensitive issues because it was better not to rock the boat or that I was sadly mistaken and certain problems such as the caste system simply did not exist anymore. It seemed like ownership of a desi identity
Not much thought went into the planning of the events hosted; the assumption was that we had to keep it fun and somewhat “relatable” so that the rest of the student body would be encouraged to attend our events. This resulted in the regurgitation of the same themes time and time again – the focus would essentially be on North India, featuring Bollywood music, the few items popular on the menu at the nearest Indian restaurant and all of us wearing that one outfit we had packed for such events. No one was entirely blameless, whether it was the freshmen and upperclassmen who were part of the organization (me included) or the ones who willfully refused to be part of the association saying that it was “too American” for their taste.
Frustrated, I posted on Facebook groups consisting of South Asian students in colleges across the US, asking them whether they felt the same annoyance at the lack of engagement with the deeper issues found within our communities. Across the board, the responses were remarkably similar. Many felt that not only were other countries such as Bangladesh, Nepal and Bhutan (to name a few) left out of the narrative, but even topics requiring deeper reflection in well represented countries such as India and Pakistan, were usually not spoken about. People presented a range of opinions as to why this was the case. Some felt that they had little exposure to the more nuanced aspects of their culture growing up in the US and so were less equipped to ensure that South Asian culture(s) was not seen as a monolith. Others pointed out the fact that certain social and ethnic groups were more likely to be wealthier and thus attend college, leading to a slanted demographic within the student body of colleges such as Dartmouth.
During discussions with my peers I learned that many of them were hesitant to approach controversial topics such as the caste system, Kashmir, and sectarian violence for fear of tensions rising between different groups on campus, including the faculty and administration. Another major complication was an unwillingness to identify as ‘one of those’ South Asians - the ones who smelt like curry and always had oil in their hair. Many students preferred to assimilate as much as possible, especially since they had faced bullying in school for not presenting themselves as ‘American enough’. I was soon starting to understand why some of the South Asians, especially the ones who still lived in the region, preferred to stay away from such student bodies; there was a multitude of obstacles surrounding an honest and productive discussion along with the absence of representative demographic in the student body.
I could no longer roll my eyes every time someone asked me if I spoke ‘Pakistani’ or when the South Asian Student Association would screen a Shahrukh Khan blockbuster yet again. Granted, I had no duty to act as a walking-talking encyclopedia on the numerous political, cultural and social problems of more than 1.7 billion people spread across an entire subcontinent. However, it felt ultimately lazy and dishonest to complain about the silence we ourselves had upheld. How could we, when we had done nothing to change it?
As I enter into my junior year, these thoughts take on a greater urgency. I hope to see some sustainable change in this narrative. This is not a problem limited to my college, nor is it one that can be fixed by simply screening a documentary. If we are so quick to get riled up so we can tweet pictures of ourselves at weddings when Azaelia Banks calls us “curry scented b*tches” or engage in a fierce debate about biryani, why can’t we expend the same energy on paying attention to problems that affect us and the generations to come? This has become all the more relevant in light of the current discussions of identity that are taking place across college campuses, and the world in general. As the new academic year approaches, with fresh students joining our communities, I hope to make others more mindful of the ways in which we choose to shape our story.
Saleha Irfan is a student at Dartmouth College and a Sakhi summer 2017 intern.
East Coast Solidarity Summer (ECSS) is a leadership and empowerment program for youth of South Asian and Indo-Caribbean heritage who are passionate about social justice. Each year, the organization holds a summer program for South Asian youth from ages 15-24. Their summer program provides a radical and inclusive space to examine key social justice issues and take action. It also works to engage participants in critical reflection, community building, activism, and organizing.
Just last month, I had the privilege of attending ECSS 2017. This was my first time going out of state by myself, let alone go to New Jersey to live with strangers for five days. Needless to say, I was very nervous going in. However, as soon as I arrived, those fears dissipated. ECSS instantly became the most loving, welcoming, and accommodating environment I’ve ever been in. In just five days, I shared more of myself with my fellow ECSS participants and organizers than I do with most friends that I’ve known for years. Through the workshops, ranging from topics such as mental health to capitalism to queer and trans liberation, I not only learned a great deal about issues plaguing the South Asian diasporic community, but also grew as a person.
While ECSS provided an incredible space for radical South Asian youth to grow, reflect, and connect, there was something missing. At ECSS, as in many South Asian and Indo-Caribbean organizing spaces, there is a lack of representation of marginalized groups within our diaspora. The majority of participants and organizers at ECSS were Hindu, upper-middle class, upper-caste Indian Americans. For spaces that work to educate about the nuances and diversity within the South Asian diaspora, there is a consistent absence of Dalit, Muslim, Indo-Caribbean, indigenous, and working class voices in South Asian activism. As Dalit activist Thenmozhi Soundararajan states in her article Caste Privilege 101 - A Primer for the Privileged, “To create safe spaces for discussions of casteism in our organizing circles requires self-reflection and action. It is simply not a progressive, anti-communal, and revolutionary space, if all the leadership is upper-caste. Period.” Thus, spaces such as ECSS often raise the question - how can we call ourselves radical activists if we are unable to reach the most marginalized?
One of the best ways to remedy this issue within South Asian activist spaces is to spread the word. Radical South Asian and Indo-Caribbean spaces are extremely important, and it is vital to make these spaces accessible to as many people as possible. I can say with complete honesty that ECSS was one of the most amazing and transformative experiences of my life, and I truly hope that as many members of the South Asian diasporic community as possible also have the ability to experience it. Because ECSS makes all of its money through crowdfunding, the responsibility of donating to keep ECSS alive falls on the privileged members of our community. So, I am calling upon those who fall into that category to help provide marginalized groups within the diaspora with the opportunity to partake in this incredible experience. You can donate via Venmo: @eastcoastsolidaritysummer or PayPal: MelissaKapadiaBodi.
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Sabrina Rich is a rising third year at Macaulay Honors at Hunter College studying Sociology and Political Science with a minor in Asian American Studies. She also organizes on campus with the Coalition to Revitalize Asian American Studies at Hunter (CRAASH), a student organization that fights for an Asian American Studies major and department. In addition, she is the co-founder of Pads for the People, an organization that hosts menstrual product drives to support homeless people on their periods. If you want to learn more about these orgs or connect with her, you can find her on Facebook!
From July 19th to 21st, I attended the South Asian Americans Leading Together (SAALT) Young Leaders Institute in the Washington D.C. area. This year, YLI’s theme is Combatting Islamophobia. YLI brings young people ages 17 to 24 together for a convening, followed by a year-long fellowship focused on cultivating projects to create justice in our own communities.
During my time at YLI, I came to realize that many of us are struggling with the same issue: apolitical South Asian communities on our college campuses.
Over the past few decades, many of the country’s colleges and universities have established groups and organizations for their South Asian populations. From Club Zamana at Columbia and Barnard, to Ekta at the Claremont Colleges, to the South Asian Students’ Association at UChicago, South Asian affinity groups have taken shape within several unique campus environments. It seems that, for years now, South Asian communities at many colleges and universities have seen a common shift that centers around the question: should this be a space for South Asian people to feel connected to their culture through parties and other social events? or, should this be a space for South Asian-identifying folks to engage in reflection about their positionalities and identities, and take action against injustice?
During YLI, our cohort shared dinner with Deepa Iyer, founder of South Asian Americans Leading Together and author of We Too Sing America. In talking about South Asian organizations on our college campuses, many of us asked Deepa about her experience with her South Asian Students’ Association in college at Vanderbilt University. She told us that she had experienced many of the same struggles with regard to an apolitical SASA organization, but also noted that since she left Vanderbilt, the club has maintained political programming. Deepa advised each of us to mentor the next generation of South Asian college students, in order to sustain the efforts of radical South Asians on campus. Later in the evening, I asked Deepa what to do when my SASA has repeatedly used my labor and drained my energy, without becoming self-critical enough to genuinely take up the work of dismantling anti-Black racism, sexism, transphobia, queerphobia, classism, Indo and Hindu-centrism, and so on. Deepa told me that in this pivotal political moment, we must invest our energies in people and spaces that are willing to do the hard work of resistance.
Deepa also told us about the history of SAALT. Originally, SAALT was focused on Indian American leadership. However, after 9/11, Deepa and others made a conscious decision to make it a truly South Asian organization. At this point, the organization lost several of its Indian-identifying board members, demonstrating the Indo-centrism that pervades many South Asian spaces. From then on, SAALT has been the primary advocate for the civil rights of South Asian Americans on a policy level.
As South Asian American young people, we must engage deeply with our own communities, and build unwavering solidarities with other marginalized communities. We must remember the resistance and resilience of South Asian people and mobilize against injustice in these tumultuous times.
To find out more about SAALT’s Young Leaders Institute, please click the link below:
http://saalt.org/programs/young-leaders-institute/
Sahana Mehta is a rising second year at Scripps College majoring in Feminist Gender Sexuality Studies and International Intercultural Studies. She is currently a Development Intern at Sakhi. Sahana is involved in a lot of organizing work on her campus and is committed to cultivating radical South Asian spaces wherever she can. If you want to connect with her, feel free to message her on Facebook!
Shriya Samavai is a photographer and poet of Indian descent living in New York City and a featured artist in Sakhi’s upcoming show, “Gender Justice + The Arts: An Asian American Showcase” at Bowery Poetry Club on 7/31! She works to empower people of color and gender non-conforming people through her photographs and poems. She has written and photographed for publications including Vice, Rookie Mag, and The Huffington Post. In March 2017 she published her first chapbook ‘Somewhere Between Silver & Gold’, a collection of poetry on gender, religion, and dissociation. Find her on Instagram at @shriyasamavai.
Can you describe your art / poetry / writing / music and your artistic process?
Photography is my primary art form, and I use it as a way to document moments that feel worthy of being remembered. Sometime the images are impactful to others, sometimes only to me. I love how making a good photo can make me feel like a superstar. When I photograph a subject and they see their true self in the image, it’s a confidence boost for them and for me too. Having a good photo of anything - whether it’s yourself or something important to you - can be so positively impactful and it feels really special to be a part of that. I’ve been writing poetry since grade school but only now am I figuring out my style, which is somewhere between free verse and prose. I write poems as a way to work through my thoughts and find patterns between events and ideas. More often than not, if I have a question at the onset of a poem, I’ve answered it by the end.
What does gender justice mean to you and how does your work explore themes related to gender and social justice?
A lot of my work is driven by empowering marginalized identities, with a focus on women of color and gender non-conforming people (of color or otherwise). There’s a lack of diverse representation in the industry and I’m motivated to help fix it. There needs to be more POC and GNC artists, writers, models, musicians, creators of any type represented in media. The process of documentation–whether I’m writing about my own identity or photographing POC and GNCP–is a step on the path towards increasing visibility in media and self-actualization.
Who is an Asian artist / writer / performer that inspires you and why?
I am infinitely inspired by Durga Chew-Bose, a writer from Montreal who loves the color purple and a young Al Pacino. It’s so easy to get lost in her musings on details that are overlooked by most.
What can Sakhi supporters look forward to seeing from you at Bowery on 7/31?
I’ll be performing a selection from my chapbook Somewhere Between Silver & Gold, a collection of poetry I wrote in New York City and India between 2013-2017. The pieces I’ll be reading pertain to navigating gender identity as a South Asian.
What’s your favorite thing about summer in New York?
I love that the sun doesn’t set until late, that you can stumble across friends on the street because everyone is out wandering.
Ashni is a singer, songwriter, living-room-dancer, and a featured artist in Sakhi’s upcoming show, “Gender Justice + The Arts: An Asian American Showcase” at Bowery Poetry Club on 7/31! She is inspired by how individuals learn to build relationships to the self, to others, and to communities. With soulful melodies, powerful lyrics and rhythmic current, heavy with jazz and R&B influence, she gracefully envelops listeners in a reflective, cathartic dimension. She is currently teaching, creating and performing in New York City. Her performance credits include Rockwood Music Hall, Music Hall of Williamsburg, The Greene Space, Rough Trade, and more. Her music has been featured on Spotify’s Women of Jazz playlist, Bitch Media’s Podcast: Growing Up Immigrant, and the acclaimed web series Brown Girls. More at www.ashnimusic.com
Ashni just released a new song, “Weave” – take a listen on Spotify, Website, BandCamp, and iTunes!
A bit about the song: “Weave” is a downtempo song with both acoustic and electronic elements. Ashni writes about the interactions between people and the systems they are brought up in. The first tune she completed after last year’s election, she sings about frustration, processing hate, attempts to understand and connect, hope, and healing.
Can you describe your art / poetry / writing / music and your artistic process?
Music is an outlet for me, and a space to play, heal, and grow. My process can vary for every project, but I often start at the piano, continue writing lyrics away from the piano, and then start fitting everything together. Sometimes the harmony, melody, and lyrics come all at once and I continue to adjust it.
What does gender justice mean to you and how does your work explore themes related to gender and social justice?
Gender justice means the equal value and opportunity for all people, regardless of gender ascription or perception.I think about the role of gender justice in my art in many ways. I am conscious of that way I choose to dress, sometimes more femme, and sometimes less. I am conscious of the amount of hair on my legs. I lead my band, conscious of the perceptions of a female singer songwriter, striving to create and perform strong work - musically and lyrically - that will connect with people, and combat and surpass stereotypes, and to inspire higher level thought and discussion amongst audience members.
Who is an Asian American artist / writer / performer that inspires you and why?
Fatimah Asghar is a super talented writer and creator, who works together with other artists to better everybody’s work and visibility. Shana Bhattacharya is also my favorite painter of wardrobes and birthday cards.
What can Sakhi supporters look forward to seeing from you at Bowery on 7/31?
I’ll be playing some songs off of my last live session release, some newer ones - including one I just released on July 22, called “Weave”.
What’s your favorite thing about summer in New York?
All of the music festivals!!! My favorites are Rumsey Playfield in Central Park and Prospect Park, you can hear quite well on both for an outdoor stage, and they bring incredible artists.
Shubha is an Indo-Canadian-New Yorker, and can be found complaining when it’s hot and when it’s cold. She’s also a featured artist in Sakhi’s upcoming show, “Gender Justice + The Arts: An Asian American Showcase” at Bowery Poetry Club on 7/31! She’s an engineer, works in criminal justice reform, and is a creator of stories and arts & crafts. She founded Kalyani Magazine, has published prose, poetry and visual art in various magazines including Off the Coast and A Common Thread, has performed original work in the Vagina Monologues, Yoni Ki Raat 2016, Six Word Memoirs, and more, and is a Voices Of Our Nation (VONA) graphic novel alum. She co-directed Yoni Ki Raat 2017. Learn more at http://www.sbartist.org/.
Can you describe your art / poetry / writing / music and your artistic process?
I don’t have one main style of art – I dabble in poetry, crafts (lately paper engineering), illustrations and comics – but my recent performances have been autobiographical story-telling. In terms of story-telling, my artistic process could be defined as an unorganized temper tantrum. I tend to start my creation from an inspired spark - usually an epiphany about different threads in my life that make me especially angry, or a feeling that I have never been able to put into words. I work on a story to give voice to the experience, or, rather, I unsuccessfully try to squish about 10 different stories together. After countless edits, additions, and feedback from my trusted friends, the next phase is where I get frustrated, hate everyone, and decide I’m a horrible writer. When I’m lucky enough to have a deadline looming, I reluctantly continue to edit, and then hopefully, kill my darlings (or set them aside for next time), and end up with an arc to follow. This year, I have been working on moving past the words and embracing the emotional arc, trusting my body to do what it needs to on stage. Music has been an essential part of helping this happen.
What does gender justice mean to you and how does your work explore themes related to gender and social justice?
This question is daunting because gender justice means so many things, and yet in its essence, I suppose, it means that women, and gender non-conforming people, get to live, and live fully.
The piece I’ll be performing at the Sakhi event is about how our bodies are claimed and controlled when it comes to reproduction. This reality, which I was always somewhat aware of, really slapped me in the face when my body was finally “deemed ready for reproduction” (ie, married to a cis-man). For example, information on monthly changes in cervical fluid, body temperature, etc, and how that correlates to the cycle the inside of our body follows is information that is really passed onto us in great detail when we’re given books and apps on how to get pregnant. Had I known this information when I was a teenager, I would have actually like I owned my own body (a feeling I revel in now even though I’m no longer trying to get pregnant). It is incredibly empowering knowledge – so it’s not a surprise that it’s kept from us. So although my story is very narrowly focused on a few specific anecdotes, it’s actually about the way I, as a human being, have been controlled. In fact, the spark of anger that started this story wasn’t about pregnancy at all, it was getting married and how that tiny legal act seemed to come with a complete redefinition of me, against my will, as a wife. In either case – getting married or reproductive control - what I’m not allowed to do is live my life, fully.
Who is an Asian American artist / writer / performer that inspires you and why?
Alok Vaid-Menon. I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing the Dark Matter duo, but I finally saw Alok at last year’s Sakhi Gender Justice and the Arts event and I was blown away. They are an incredible artist, performer, and poet, and that alone is inspiring. I scribbled down quotes from the evening, and one that has given me strength this past year was “I don’t believe you have to have hope to keep trying”. I follow them on Instagram now and even their Instagram feed inspires me! @alokvmenon
What can Sakhi supporters look forward to seeing from you at Bowery on 7/31?
I am a non-singer. Just a couple of years ago I didn’t even sing to myself in the shower, I only sang in muttered breathe under really loud music because I had way too much shame. I pushed myself on a whim. I felt like a hypocrite as a champion and supporter of all people having a voice, muzzling my own voice. Somehow (through a long, terrifying journey), I’ve now sung in front of a total of 390 people! So you can look forward to a terrified, bad singer, pushing herself on stage, and my gratitude to you being part of my journey.
What’s your favorite thing about summer in New York?
Fireflies in abandoned lots.
Riti Sachdeva is a theatre maker, dancer, cultural worker, and a featured artist in Sakhi’s upcoming show, “Gender Justice + The Arts: An Asian American Showcase” at Bowery Poetry Club on 7/31! She has been creating art in some shape, form, or rhythm for twenty five years, incorporating text, installation, and dance into her work. Born in India, she is deeply influenced by the vast land, history, mythology and people of her origins. Raised in the U.S., her work is marked by the social and political climate of the Americas.
Can you describe your art / poetry / writing / music and your artistic process?
This particular piece, an excerpt from a full length “solo” show I’m developing, is a mash up of cabaret, memoir, and mysticism.
Each process is different. In the process for this excerpt, I’ve written a rough draft after weeks of dreaming on it. Now I’ll be in the rehearsal room with director Rebecca Martinez and musician Sweet Lee Odom to manifest it from page to stage.
In the rehearsal process, the script will most likely go through changes: throwing out what’s too much explanation, bringing in what needs more information, seeing where movement and embodiment can replace text, exploring how the clarinet will underscore, accent, mimic, negate attitudes and actions in the text… lots of work to do these next few weeks.
What does gender justice mean to you and how does your work explore themes related to gender and social justice?
Gender justice spans and delves into almost every aspect of my life. It means parity and opportunity, and also, aesthetic, content, process, voice.
I specifically sought out a female musician and director for this piece. For their visibility, for their particular talents, perspectives, skills, communication styles… and the possibility of collaborating in a an honest and generous way.
I’m looking at gender and social justice in the personal, political, and spiritual which are all ultimately intertwined.
Who is an Asian American artist / writer / performer that inspires you and why?
So many!
The singer Susheela Raman - so sensual, deep, diasporic, and funny! Listening a lot to Karvika, lately, too - powerful blend of east and west. Pianist Kieko Matsui - love writing with her music playing - both melancholy and faithful. Playwrights Mashuq Deen and Susan Soon He Stanton for their persistence and daring. Recently was introduced to performance artist Maya Krishna Rao - totally wild and smart.
What can Sakhi supporters look forward to seeing from you at Bowery on 7/31?
They can look forward to experiencing a spell of sorts. Sweet Lee is a dedicated, disciplined, soulful horn player and Rebecca Martinez is a thoughtful, no nonsense, adventurous director. The three of us are brewing some majik.
What’s your favorite thing about summer in New York?
Free concerts in the parks!!!!!
Bex Kwan is a queer/trans chinese-singaporean multimedia artist who works in words, food, and performance, and a featured artist in Sakhi’s upcoming show, “Gender Justice + The Arts: An Asian American Showcase” at Bowery Poetry Club on 7/31! Their creative practice asks questions about family, faith, domestic labor, race, migration, and tenderness. Bex has been invited to present at theaters/galleries/ universities in Singapore and the US, including La MaMa and Brooklyn Arts Exchange, and was a part of EMERGENYC—the Hemispheric New York Emerging Performers Program. More at www.bexkwan.com
Can you describe your art / poetry / writing / music and your artistic process?
I’m a performer, cook and organizer. I mostly write the poems I perform on the C train, in the “notes” app on my phone when I run out of downloaded podcasts. I’ve never really written to process, I guess, but I think about performing as a way for me to puzzle through questions that I haven’t figured out yet. Like maybe someone who’s listening is trying to think through the same thing and we’re having a brainstorm session. I’m drawn to creating gentle moments where people direct their energy inward and take a second to be still. Maybe it’s a meal that you can’t scroll through Facebook while eating it because it demands your undivided attention. Or a string of sounds that makes you rack your brain trying to remember which 90s song you heard it sampled in. It’s all about the audience for me, you know that moment when you feel the whole room levitate with you. It’s my favorite.
What does gender justice mean to you and how does your work explore themes related to gender and social justice?
My art making stems from a need to make mirrors for my communities to see ourselves, to know that the ghosts we struggle with are big and real, and to build the power in all difficult and magnificent parts of our being. I think about my creative practice and my organizing practice as one in the same, except with different materials. One involves text, voice, food. Another involves people, money, land. Both come from the understanding that the relationship that queer/trans asian-ed bodies have to a white gender narrative is inherently connected to the way the U.S. has and continues to amass wealth and power as an empire. Both are ways that I work through and to bring more free.
Who is an Asian American artist / writer / performer that inspires you and why?
I’m gonna cheat and list a couple: I think the work that Equality Labs does is awesome. I’m looking forward to Janani Balasubramanian’s speculative fiction novel. Mia Katigbak is a power house producer and breathtaking to watch onstage. They all do hard work with tenderness, and that sits right with me.
What can Sakhi supporters look forward to seeing from you at Bowery on 7/31?
A couple of poems and maybe a cute outfit.
What’s your favorite thing about summer in New York?
My dog looks 100% happier in the summer because it’s hot so their mouth hangs open. Picture below:
Dee Mandiyan is a queer South Asian writer and performer and featured artist in Sakhi’s upcoming show, “Gender Justice + The Arts: An Asian American Showcase” at Bowery Poetry Club on 7/31! Their passion lies in expanding models of gender, racial, and sexual identity and promoting more complex narratives of those intersections. Much of their time is spent advocating and agitating for racial and queer justice through literature, education and social media. In their free time, they write fiction, tell amazing dad jokes, fight dragons, and obey the whims of neighborhood cats. Catch Dee at our show this month and on Instagram @deemn716.
Can you describe your art / poetry / writing / music and your artistic process?
My writing has a pretty wide range—I started and have done the most formal training in poetry, but have been writing fiction for years and years. Most recently, I’ve gotten into the “creative non-fiction” type of work—reflecting on my own experiences and building a thematic tapestry from them. Process-wise, I’m what some folks call an “immersive” writer, which means I basically hole up in a quiet place and put myself into the exact mood of the piece I’m writing and then bang out words for hours and hours and hours. I’m not methodical about it—it’s something that happens when inspiration and will co-conspire.
What does gender justice mean to you and how does your work explore themes related to gender and social justice?
Gender justice is foundational to my creative process; I define who I’m writing about and what processes they experience internally and externally based on the dynamics of representation and oppression I experience and learn about within my communities. My introduction to social justice was through gender—the constant punishment of how I was performing or not performing gender, the culture clash and the never-ending sense of being neither this nor that but having no other options visible to me. I’m hoping to take my work in the direction of representing more of the gender options available to black and brown people in all their complexities.
Who is an Asian American artist / writer / performer that inspires you and why?
To be honest—I don’t know! There are folks who I’ve seen as similar enough to me for their work to be meaningful, but it isn’t until really recently that I’ve felt a sense of recognition from and community with APIDA performers who have also been figuring out body and gender and survival and struggle and—most importantly for me—solidarity with other people of color. Ayqa Khan, Paul Tran, folks like them ignite me. My partner will say that she’s not an artist or performer but the work she does in justice education, accountability and advocacy is just immense and ever-expanding. What I find really inspirational about how she operates is that she brings everyone around her with her as she learns—so when we talk about accountability as a call to “gather your people,” she’s already there. She’s already brought her whole family with her.
What can Sakhi supporters look forward to seeing from you at Bowery on 7/31?
Folks can look forward to me offering a challenge: how deeply can we grapple with the violence of colonialism as we ourselves perpetuate it upon one body… one body with perfect eyebrows (shoutout to my mama).
What’s your favorite thing about summer in New York?
Summer in New York means all my queer and trans people of color come out of hibernation and treat the train platform like a runway and it’s honestly the most beautiful thing. Queer melanin everywhere. It’s perfection.
NYC-based artist and writer Smrita Jain’s forthcoming book, “Fat Free Samosa”, is a thoughtful exploration of the author’s move to the United States, navigation of beauty and gender, understanding her sexuality, relationship with her parents, and more. Learn more about & pre-order the book here!
Tell us about the inspiration and process behind your forthcoming book, “Fat Free Samosa”.
I realized while looking for a partner that most men don’t have these things on their wish list: education, talent, being both family and career oriented, and being of good and sound character. It simply is not enough for them.
I was made to feel that having everything in life, I am still a beggar with nothing to offer. I have been overweight my whole life – I struggle to keep up the skinny ideal that the world is currently craving. People are judged based on how they look, even before someone gets to know them. There are so many issues of race, caste, and creed in our society that I felt a strong need to tell my story.
Buying a fat free salad dressing is not enough to keep yourself fat free. There is fat and grime (racism, sexism, discrimination based on caste and class, rich/poor comparison, fat shaming, body shaming and many other issues) in our minds and souls that needs to be eradicated.
Your book deals explicitly with issues of sexism and sexuality in Indian culture. Have you been able to discuss these issues with your family, in particular your parents? What has that been like?
My book is yet to be released. My parents are not aware of many of the details that I have shared in this book and will not know until the book is released.
I find art and writing to be my language, not just a medium. I tell my story with colours, drawings, typography and by creating original visuals. I stood in the middle of Grand Central Station dressed as bride with a beggar’s bowl. I wanted to show how overweight women are treated in their own communities, no matter where they live.
My parents, like many others, grew up in a conservative environment. It is very important for me to find a balanced path, a middle ground. I hope to speak to them without hurting their traditional beliefs and losing their respect.
They are at a stage where changing their beliefs and values suffocates them. As much as I respect my liberty, I respect their traditional beliefs as well. That’s why I feel that, art, writing, photography—all of these—are nothing more than transitional motifs. They can help communicate ideas, thoughts, prayers, hope, liberty, respect and much more. Change is never an overnight process, but the start of the process is a change in itself.
What do you hope your book can do for other South Asians?
I hope my book can help other South Asians understand that being a single woman (all your life) is not the end of the world.
It is hard to digest this. It is hard for me to believe in it as well. But every day when I wake up (even though I miss having a sweetie to give me morning kisses) my world does not end there — it begins there.
We are brought up with preconceived ideas of a perfect fairyland. In this ideal place, a daughter performs duties toward her parents. When she grows up, she is sent out to a home where she is supposed to build a family. Her primary duty is to produce babies, keep her husband and in-laws happy, and do what they ask. It is written in our history books. And history repeats.
No matter how much we deny it, the value of success, deep down in our culture, is still measured by the amount of material possessions one has.
Women that I am surrounded with, in my own family, in my own community, are falling back. Their goals are to find the richest guy around and settle down. They are valuing themselves with materialistic things.
When I was 15, I was taught to dream the same way. I was told “this is what girls should do. If you succeed, you will never have to work in an office because your husband will get you what you want.”
Yes, I was made to believe that this is the definition of a successful daughter and her parents. And even today this pratha (custom) is practiced by both men and women.
There are millions of definitions of what success means to different people. But these definitions should never disrespect womanhood. Women are more than mere performance based machines.
I am 33, have never been married, and I am often lectured by men and women. They tell me that having a husband is the answer to everything and that I should settle down.
You are an artist working in a variety of mediums. How did your artistic work influence your book?
While I was writing my book, I had no idea how I was going to treat this book and the cover of the book.
I was not sure whether I should do an illustration, a painting, or a simple typographic design. In one of the chapters of the book, I wrote about moments when I was made to feel like a beggar. It struck me that I could express feelings, emotions and everything else, through photography.
More than Times Square or the Statue of Liberty, I feel Grand Central Terminal has the real vibe, thrust and poise of New York.
The terminal has it all: from rich to poor, tourists to busy professionals, outrageously priced food to people’s ignorance towards someone else. It is my story, my family, my experiences, my mistakes and the lessons that I learned. Even though I could have hired a model, I decided to make this experience mine.
I faced all the embarrassment on my own, standing at the terminal like a freak.
Much of your work in the book is about reclaiming your body and rejecting dominant ideas of South Asian femininity. How did you begin that transformation for yourself, and find the space to be you, even if that’s different than what you felt was dictated by culture?
My first bit of transformation began the day I boarded my flight to New York. I came to the city to get my master’s degree at Pratt Institute. I quickly became homesick and continued to feel that way for months, then years.
In 2009, I started a relationship that resulted in 5 years of pure torture. Those were the years that I experienced the process of transformation myself.
In that time, I came to terms with the virtue of acceptance. I accepted that some people are meant to live their life alone. The biggest gift that you can give yourself is self-love and embracing your true self. I now spend time in introspection and observation, assessing myself and the things around me. I have learned to accept what I’m good at and what I can get better at.
By Alfe Azad
A common refrain I have heard throughout my childhood from the many women in my life, my mother, aunts, older female cousins, was for me to ‘stay indoors’ since I was ‘already too dark’. When my mother was born she was the pride and joy of my grandfather because the doctors told him that they had never seen an infant as pink as my mother. My father chose to marry my mother because, as darker pigmented man himself, he wanted to give his future children a head start by marrying someone fair-skinned.
Throughout my primary schooling my family was lucky enough to travel to Bangladesh every summer, it was during these trips my mother would stock up on a skin lightening cream called “Fair and Lovely” for both her and myself. Whenever I would find myself at family gatherings or other social outings with fellow South Asian women, it would never be too long before the conversation turned to beauty and women began complimenting the fair skin of one another and offering helpful information to those afflicted with darker skin. In searching for potential brides for my male cousins, fair skin, not the bride’s accomplishments or sense of character, was prioritized. Simply put, fair skin was good and dark hued skin was something you had to constantly make-up for and attempt to change. Retrospectively assessing these instances it becomes clear that the opinions of the people in my family and families across South Asia are informed by a deep-rooted history with colorism.
South Asia (India, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Bhutan, Nepal, Sri Lanka) has developed their issue with colorism over a long period of time, starting with the invasion of the light-skinned Aryans and concluding with the reign of the British Raj. The traumatic rippling affects of these historical occurrences are still felt today through the internalized oppression of the indigenous population that these invasions descended upon. Having to witness social and political power be given to outside forces whose physical bodysuit was so vastly different from the native population it ruled over only naturally leads to self-questioning and desire to emulate those in power.
To this day South Asians hold the belief that fairness is equated with more positive attributes i.e., intelligence, more attractive, wealthier, etc., and this attitude is reflected in the pervasive popular culture of South Asia. Bollywood being such a massive industry and having so much influential pull over the South Asian population, continues to perpetuate the idea of fairness being preferable by continuously celebrating and casting fair skinned actresses. Furthermore, the idea that fairness is the preferred shade is evidenced by the vast amount of skin lightening products that exist for both men and women and are touted and affirmed by their association within the Bollywood culture. South Asian people, and women more so, are inundated with images of fairness and the belief that a lack of melanin is somehow associated with success. South Asians have seen power given to light skinned individuals for centuries, and today that power continues to manifest itself in the higher echelons of South Asian culture, where, more often than not, people in positions of power continue to be fair skinned. It is high time we recognize and value our people beyond the shade of their skin. South Asians as a community are vibrant and brilliant regardless of the hue of our skin. My intelligence, sass, and creativity doesn’t stem from my lack of melanin, rather it has flourished in the responses to it.
As I’ve grown into my own and have been equipped with the specific language and education surrounding the history of oppression of people of color and the evolution of the feminist movement, I have come to understand the importance of my racial and cultural heritage. It has come to the forefront of my consciousness and, along with the lens of feminism, has done much to shape how I perceive my own experiences and the experiences of others around me, by recognizing that my place in the world starts with affirming that I am a woman of color. I make the distinction to say woman of color, and not woman and person of color, because too often I feel these two labels become disjointed and it is imperative to recognize that women of color are recognized otherwise we are inevitably perpetuating the erasure of women of color (hereafter known as WoC) altogether. It is through this lens that I am able to acknowledge the daily microagressions and societal challenges faced by WoC, whether from individual or systemic forces. Colorism has been continuously documented as a common problem amongst nations that have gone through extensive periods of European colonization, including the Indian subcontinent from which I am a proud product of.
[photo source: www.popfn.com]
Alfe Azad is a 28 year old grad of NYU Steinhardt’s Educational Theatre program. At NYU she focused on her interest in Theatre of the Oppressed and the intersection of arts and social justice. Her work culminated in a literature review thesis on the issue of colorism within women in the South Asian community. In addition to her post-graduate degree from NYU, she received her BA in Theatre and English literature at California State University Northridge. Alfe is currently a Teaching Artist in the city with three different organizations, Opening Act, The Leadership Program, and Wingspan Arts. She is originally from New York but has lived, studied, and worked in Los Angeles for the past 13 years. She is also a practicing actor, credits include Dunyazade in Arabian Nights and Peaseblossom in A Midsummer’s Night Dream. Alfe also works in technical theatre, most recently helping design costumes for NYC’s The Secret Theatre’s production of Through the Glade. Find her on Twitter @alfeazad
