Many good things! 3-20-07

I have special things I must share. It would be scandalous to go to bed without rejoicing. So many nights have I written laments, it would be utterly unfair to retire without celebrating the absolute gallantry of today’s blessings.

After a rough night, my first a long while, I poured myself into the car this morning full of a horrible I attitude I was determined not to take out on anyone else (um, except Papa Jack, that one time). I listened to Seane and Kate talk about our usual mix of hope for the kids we see, the fears that riddle us sometimes, peppered with constant side bar chats about sex, love, our families, mortifying poop stories, you name it. I had meditated in the room, so during the ride while the a.m. patter was going on, I tried to read my devotional stuff. Today’s was quote was from the Buddha, the great one about how hate is only transformed when it is met with love, never when it is met with hate. It was another typical, average ride to the slums.

We walked down very, very narrow poured concrete paths, in the middle of which open drains flow. Any questions about poor people’s lives and diets, just check those ubiquitous gutters. Tiny rooms darted off in every direction, left right, high, low. It was another claustrophobic labyrinth teeming with poor people’s lives, stories, and fates. Most had only cloth for doors. Music poured out of many. Babies cried. It was all so small, like a surrealist’s version of a doll’s house, except one that mockingly tries to accommodate thousands.

Ruchira Gupta had to walk behind me; two astride don’t fit. She explained the girls group wanted to show me a bird’s eye view of their world. I carefully stepped up the tight steps which took several turns, before emerging onto a small roof that indeed overlooked this neighborhood. I thought of Matisse’s tile roofs in the south of France, of how Cezanne took the art of interpreting space and structure into little triangles. I wondered what Van Gogh would have done with it, could he have found in this cramped view space for his curvilinear brush stroke? It was their subject matter, but India, 2007. The roof levels varied and they each were so tiny, like the houses below them.

We traced our steps back and entered Apne Aap Worldwide, a very grassroots anti trafficking ngo which my friends at Equality Now and Gloria Steinem had sworn I needed to see. As of yet, we don’t partner with A2W2, but oh, we will! Ruchira is well versed in the reciprocal cycles of poverty and exploitation, and how gender inequality sets the stage. Her ngo is based on 2 Gandhian principles: Ahimsa, and the one that says so eloquently that the destruction which happens in the soul of an abuser is absolutely equal to the victimization of the abused. (I’ll look up the spelling of the actual principle.) It’s something I talk about often, but haven’t gotten to yet in India: misogyny is as harmful to men and boys as it is to women and girls. The prescribed definitions of manhood are as arid, limiting, and damaging to them spiritually as they consequences are to women.

She operates the ngo right in ‘hood, inviting anyone to join. They teach their members (who pay 10 ruppes to join) self reliance, self efficacy, self respect, self love. It’s capacity building of the most essential sort. They have vocational classes; I ran my hand over the black sewing machines, blessing the steel that helps a girl learn a trade that can save her life. They have English and computer classes, social skills building. It is a simple, clean swept, beautiful place with murals painted by members and simple, flat woven mats to sit on.

The adolescents did a play that illustrated a typical scene in their lives: a young married woman, harassed by her in laws for not doing the chores quickly enough, tries to protest. She is beaten for insolence, and eventually turned out. Soon, men spy her and her vulnerability; they offer her tea. It is drugged. She wakes up in a brothel. You know the rest, you’ve been there with me. They showed an alternate ending, one in which a girl, given good information and taught to use her voice, can unite with other girls to form empowered circles whic replace isolated, powerless lone, girls.

The kids asked me lots of questions about HIV. My gosh, they are so serious, so proper when addressing me. There is a sweet formality in the way the stand, fold their hands, state their names, ask the question. When it was my turn to ask them questions, I approached topics like, “What do you get from being here at A2W2? What was life before? How have you changed? What are your dreams? How do you define abuse? How can we survive abuse? Have we abused others? How do we learn from that?” One girl shared her parents have chosen her husband, and she is resolutely denying the marriage. She insists she will marry in her own time, for love. She is learning there are alternatives; there should be alternatives. Her folks are furious. “A2W2 is spoiling your attitude and mind,” they tell her. She just keeps coming back.

When we talked about abuse, one girl said, “Oh, when they beat us, it’s okay if we’ve done something wrong. That is not abuse.” I died a thousand deaths. Cultural change is so slow. I anguish over it sometimes, it is so slow.

We were all on a level playing field. When I asked, “Who amongst us has been abused?” I raised my hand, as did most of the others in the small group traveling with me, donors, PSI staff, etc. Today A2W2 was enormously blessed with the presence of an Indian writer from Reuters, and I know he will include that I raised my hand in the article he publishes. So be it. Most folks know I am in recovery, and I wouldn’t be if I didn’t have something from which to recover --- the logic follows. It’s the other part of the story, one of which I am neither ashamed nor fearful. It happened, and I, by doing the work, am better for it. It’s not so much what happens, however awful, but what we do with it. I am so lucky I chose to access the tools. Of course, it is likely it will be misinterpreted, distorted, inflamed, excerpted, ridiculed, whispered about, used to embarrass my family. For only that last bit am I truly sorry; the rest I am totally and completely detached from. I would prefer to have been abused so I may be qualified sit with exploited people all over the world, to be a part of a grassroots social justice process that speaks volumes about the promise of ending poverty, of an age of justice, than to have had some pristine, unassailable life.

Ruchira told use an enraging story, involving a woman, trafficked to a brothel as a child, who was able to flee. However, amidst her rare escape is the tragedy of having left a small child behind. The woman rehabilitated her life, a rarity in this culture, and found Ruchira to help her rescue her girl out from the old brothel. The girl had been sold to a 60 ish year old man with white hair while the child was only 8; he wanted a virgin. Ruchira, the local police, and the mama got the girl out, only to have her TAKEN AWAY BY A JUDGE, who deemed the mother of “bad character in her past life,” and he declared the pimp the father. The child was asked to produce burden of proof that her mother is actually her mother; she could not, of course. The child is now in custody of a remand home, meaning a juvenile delinquent house. Shocking, appalling, impossible? Yes, but, only if you don’t know India.

I became instantly willing to stay in India as a public protest til that girl is free. I was ready for civil disobedience on the curb in front of the remand house, the judge’s house. I was ready to fast, to call friends to travel to India to raise high holy hell with me. It turned out not to have been necessary; the girl is not free, don’t get ahead of yourself of the Indian beaurcracy; it just that tonight I did manage to pull off a stunt that has helped.

Our time at A2W2 drew to a close with each of us offering something we love about ourselves. I held my bosom and said, “I love my boobs!” Hysterical giggling ensued. Most girls were able to find something…teeth, hair, hands, eyes, oh, but the struggling few who could not put words to one single admirable thing about themselves. Surprisingly, a gal who had been speaking up a great deal was one of these; I said to her, “Well, I LOVE your voice!” she was so pleased. The girl whose parents are attempting to force her to marry was also too ashamed to say anything good about herself; I told her I loved her strength. Funny, isn’t it, that the ones who are so visibly special, so clearly gifted, carry so very, very, very much shame? It’s part of the system’s subtle, insidious violence that identifies their innate greatness and breaks them down to make them believe they are worthless.

***

I then had a lovely lunch at a delicious restaurant with all the PSI staff. I especially celebrated the research staff who provide such impeccable data on which we base our programs. We are an evidence based ngo who provide critical outreach to the most poor and vulnerable, and we measure our results. They are the unsung heroes. We are talking a lot about ‘bridge’ population, the men who buy trafficked, prostituted sex and spread it around everywhere else (especially home), and I joked that I am PSI’s ‘bridge population’ as so much of describing what we do falls to me. I pray each and every day I do what I need to do in order to represent their compassionate genius well.

***

Next, as if to reinforce exactly what I said above about representing PSI/YouthAids, I appeared on a popular 1 hour t.v. show during which an audience of college students questioned me about human rights. Before the taping, I had hoped to freshen up in a quick a shower in the dressing room, and had a classic India experience: when I turned on the shower, no water came out, but the sink faucet started to trickle. I did my best with some make up. I have no mascara, and found a lead pencil and tried to, I don’t know, do something with it for eye liner. The show was refreshing, inspiring, hope building. They have had everyone from PM Blair to Bill Gates to Richard Gere; I had a chance to sit back, chat, reflect, share, process, encourage. I was actually able to cover a great deal of poverty, equality, HIV, etc. territory with them, and also managed to suggest that after college they stay put in Mother India and share with her the gift of their talents and education. I had a lovely experience.

In the car back and back at the hotel, I managed to have some quiet time, read, be briefed about tonight, reach out to recovering people, eat, talk to my gorgeous husband (who won his first ALMS race, btw, last Sunday!). He is so far away, yet so very, very close to me.

***
AT 8 Seane came to my room and we each shared about our experience with Ruchira, and went over a bit how we get that angry animal out of us when we need to, how we stay positive, how we constantly check our own process to make sure we aren’t projecting, etc. She looked gorgeous, of course; my hair was wet and I realized my dress was wadded up. We made it out the door to what is I hope and pray our last evening event for this trip. Tonight is something Kate put together, I just knew I needed to make a speech and that it could be about the programs, which for me is just story telling of the best sort.

At the Rai family home, I was stunned to see great swatch of green cultivated gardens, single file rows of Dahlias the size of dinner plates. There was a DOG WHO WAS ACTUALLY A LOVED, WELL FED PET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! In the back was a fountain, a small devotional temple, and more flower beds. I sat on small stage while the Rai’s well dressed, beautifully mannered guests took slip covered seats. Mr Rai said nice things about Kate and me, described his family’s education fund ($150 million U.S. to send poor girls to college, including clothing, so they may blend well with wealthier students). Kate described PSI, and I took over to, yet again, share bluntly with previously unengaged Indians the story of HIV here, hoping to lure, shock, galvanize, charm them out of complacency and into activism. I chose of the people I’ve met so far in slums and brothels to describe in detail and was surprised to hear my voice coming out of me tonight. There was something extra in the quality of it. If don’t say so myself, that was one fired up, kick ass, hyper lucid, emotional, effective, come to Jesus meeting of a talk. I had called Bono tonight just to thank him so much for having reached out to me 5 years ago, for getting me into this “holy mess,” as I call it, and one of his great lines came to me: THIS IS NOT ABOUT CHARITY. IT IS ABOUT JUSTICE. The whole trip and especially the story of the girl in the remand home just lit a fire in me and tonight, I would NOT back down.

I began to ask for money, which is simply not done in Indian society. The point was to break the seal, be mavericks We raised $25,000U.S. for a VCT in the Daharvi slum, and then I quit; I know most Indian’s spiritual practice requires they give anonymously. A member of parliament stood up and thanked me, and he’s a powerful, wealthy, elite guy; it really helped to have his approval of my non culturally appropriate tactics. It was a successful exercise in setting for them an example of the need for direct talk about this emergency, and the need for Indians to fund projects at home. Do they want to be Sub-Saharan Africa? They can. Easily. Or will they chose to learn, to act, to prevent?

Anyway, what happened next is really why I had to sit down to write tonight, regardless of the hour, regardless of the early morning tomorrow….

Mr Rai shared tonight he is going to take care of all the orphans I have met on my trip --- every single one. He began by talking about dear Neelam, about whom I haven’t even told you yet, but trust me, it’s a big deal. Each and every year he will send a poor girl for all the schooling she wants, undergrad, graduate, and post grad, covering every single conceivable fee (plus that fashion budget!) in my name. He also made a special, side bar promise to me to ensure that “my” kids get what they need to actually make it through high school, too. He also has named an identical scholarship in Kate’s honor, and said he will create one named PSI also. What a priceless, indescribable gift. It’s almost too much for me to truly take in. It is radically life altering for these children 800 million kids in India live in extreme poverty; tonight, some got out.

Last night, I had sat in my room alone to contemplate what I could do for the kids I have met: what financially was realistic, how I could best help, how much/how many of them I could take on. My intention was to increase my conscious contact with the God of my understanding, praying for direction. Would it be letter writing? Simply praying for them supporting their families?

How remarkable, how utterly astonishing, humbling, and rapturous, the answer to this prayer.

***

The spectacular nature of the night was not yet over. After Mr Rai’s announcement, without planning it or conferring with my colleagues, I stood up and said to the guests: There is a gross miscarriage of justice to which I would like to draw your attention. I am a white American, what judge here is going to listen to me? I urge each and every citizen of India here tonight to use your voice to help a child, born in a brothel, sold for sex at age 8, who was recently rescued by local police, her mother, and Ruchira Guptra, but is now, insensibly, by a judge’s order, in a remand home. Her mother, having lived many years in the brothel to which she had been trafficked, is devastated; the judge declared the pimp the girl’s father. Ruchira, whom I had invited to this lovely party, came forward, and spoke in the battle cry of a veteran activist, telling the emotional components ts of the story. We ended with a plea that anyone who could help to please come forward. There was a lot of press in attendance, kate was nervous, as we are so often in a situation of whilst trying to help a victim, also potentially putting them at serious risk of further harm, even death (I am not even going into that much in my diary, it is such a sickening part of this work.) However, Mr Rai looked at me, smiled, and said, “You are doing a good thing.” What a special man, opening his home in spite social mores to the contrary, relying on his spiritual faith rather compliance with social conventions for his status, raising money for our HIV programs, educating the disposable, and allowing me, an upstart, impertinent foreign woman with a big mouth to address his friends about the outrage that occurs in India every day right in front of them.

I floated around the garden, meeting people (including one amazing woman who did more name dropping, from Prince Charles on down, and a recitation of the property her husband owns in the shortest amount of time humanly possible), and eventually ended up in a small sitting room inside the family’s home of 30 years. Mr Rai came in, smiling bigger now, to tell me two very prominent lawyers were taking the mother and daughter’s case, with Ruchira’s help and evidence!!! He explained the lower courts are corrupt, inefficient, bothersome, mired, and that it works differently here in that cases may be taken directly to the highest court in the land. The lawyers will take Meena and Naina’s plight directly to the high court and onto the supreme court if necessary, and that they all fully expected at either level this case will be a cri de ceour that changes the letter of the law, which as it currently stands insanely discriminates against women who have been trafficked as ‘person’s of bad character.’

Then he gave me two 5’ dahlias for my hotel room

If that’s not enough to drop you to your knees….!!!