Om Namah Shivaya

18/02/15

I close my eyes again and lean my head back. Just help me get through this alive, I pray…

It’s been one hell of a day and my army of angels are out in full force tonight, working overtime to get me home safe. It’s late and the roads which are already dangerous by day are outright frightening after dark. I am sitting in the front seat - which I never do because you are more likely to get killed in the event of a collision – but I have been really sick all day and I figured I might feel less nauseous if I sat up front. I started feeling ill this morning on the way to Trisuli. I kept burping up these really rank nasty burps and when the car stopped for a pee break, I got out and threw up all of last night’s dahl bhat on a pile of garbage in the ditch. I’ve taken immodium to prevent diarrhea (because that is the last thing you want on a long bus ride), but today is not a good day for my stomach. I tried eating a couple small bananas and some crackers but I was not able to hold anything down. Now I’m getting hunger cramps from not having eaten all day.

For the ride back to Kathmandu, I wanted to get some gravol or something to help with the nausea but the only pharmacy in Fishling was already closed by the time we got off the river. I guess I’ll just have to suck it up and try to keep it in for the 3 hour drive along the narrow twisting mountainous pot hole filled road overrun by crazy and reckless drivers – not to mention the dust, exhaust fumes and traffic jams that all add to the pleasure of the ride. The driver that picked us up is really kind though and he offered to drive us all the way back to Thamel so that we wouldn’t have to get another taxi in Kathmandu – I am so grateful for this small act of kindness because it saves us not only a bit of money but a LOT of hassle and time when my sick body just wants to get back home as quickly as possible. Despite wanting to get back to Kathmandu quickly, I am also grateful that our driver is going slowly and not taking any chances passing big trucks.

There is no such thing as a safe way to pass on Himalayan roads. The roads twist and turn so much that if you are going to pass it will inevitably be in a corner. That’s why honking here is such a necessary component of driving. As careful as out driver was, at one point we started to pass a truck and another truck came around the corner ahead of us. The line of cars had already closed the gap we had just left so we couldn’t get back into our lane. Our driver braked and leaned on the horn to warn the other driver to stop, but he didn’t react right away. I opened my eyes to see the headlights coming straight at us and I had a moment of déjà vu from that snowy morning in September when another set of headlights had come bearing down on me. Fear seizes me and all I can think to say is "oh shit" (it won't make it on the buzzfeed list of 10 most memorable last words). At the last second, the truck in front of us slams on the brakes and stops literally a hair’s breadth away from us; I think he might have even lightly touched the front bumper…. Another near miss. I thank my lucky stars, but I can’t help but wonder if and when my luck might run out. My friend who is sitting beside me, grips my hand. It is a while before she lets go.

Earlier we witnessed a hit and run. We had just finished packing up our gear and were getting ready to shuttle back to Fishling when a microvan tried to dodge between two buses parked on either side of the road. One of the buses started to pull out and the microvan had to swerve to avoid hitting it, hitting a man instead who had been standing on the side of the road. People started yelling. One man was holding up the man who had been hit. He was still alive but unconscious. His cheek was trembling as if he was having a seizure and I did not think that he would survive. A crowd quickly began to gather and police from a nearby checkpoint rushed to the scene. I stood rooted to the spot until my friend yelled at me “Come on, Natasha, we have to go quickly there is going to be a (traffic) jam!” I followed her; there was nothing I could do to help anyway.

Today was supposed to be a fun day paddling the lower Trisuli. I had even brought a play boat this time to be able to surf on some waves and practice some tricks, but I have been too sick and weak all day to enjoy any surfing. It’s unfortunate because we did a section of lower Trisuli that we hadn’t done last time where all the fun rapids are. I even got some practice scouting from the river and leading the lines down the rapids. I don’t lead much, usually there is another kayaker who is better than me who leads the way, but I was the only kayaker today and the raft guide hadn’t been on that section of river in a few years so she would send me ahead to scout the rapid and signal to her which way she should line up the raft. It would have been more fun if I had been feeling better but instead of playing around and trying to punch through some holes, I played it safe, picking the easy lines and not trying anything stupid. If I survive the ride back to Kathmandu, I’ll be back again next week for another go at it.

There is a massive traffic jam when we get back to Kathmandu. The driver explains that it is the prime minister and his entourage that are being given the right of way and creating a massive back up in every direction. The traffic controller who is stationed at the intersection is doing a really bad job of directing traffic and other drivers keep making it worse by trying to go around the lineup so what was originally one line of cars quickly turns into three and by the time the traffic controller lets us through our lane has almost entirely been blocked by idiots trying to go in the other direction. We eventually squeeze our way through though our driver has to shake a fist at a few motorcycles who think they can pass anywhere. The clouds have been building up and flashes of lightning occasionally turn the sky a deep purple. The wind picks up and I can smell the storm brewing. We were so close to home, I was hopeful we would make it back before the rain, but the traffic jam held us up and by the time we arrive in Thamel it is pouring rain and big chunks of hail. I am only a 5 minute walk away from my guesthouse but with my boat and gear to carry in the rain while I am sick, I don’t think I can make it. I call a friend to come pick me up. He tells me “It’s raining. I don’t have a rain jacket.” But he comes to get me anyway. It’s almost 10 pm by the time I make it home and crawl into bed. I take some medicine and hope that the nausea won’t keep me awake all night.

Yesterday was Shivaratri – a crazy festival to celebrate the God Shiva, most commonly known as the God of destruction (although Shiva has many different faces and he has the power to create as well as destroy). I went to Shivaratri at Pushupatinath seven years ago and it was one of the most intense experiences of my life so I was a bit surprised at how uneventful yesterday was. I guess the intense energy from yesterday must have spilled over onto today. My neighbour tells me that it is all about balance and if you build up too much energy on one side then there will be a big push back from the other side in order to restore balance. Maybe it’s just the storm but I can feel the intensity in the air and her words make sense to me. Hopefully, tomorrow the world will have returned to a more balanced state and we can all just breathe normally again.

*I didn't get any pictures of babas who come to worship Shiva at Pushupatinath because they now charge foreigners 1000Rs (about 10$ which is ridiculously expensive here) to get into the park above the Temple - when I was there 7 yrs ago, entrance was free.

Pictures from the line up at the Temple in Pushupatinath

A storm is coming...

Not just a bystander

14/02/15

I am sitting on the rooftop washing my underwear, just minding my own business when a guy comes up and sits down to my left. A girl follows behind him reluctantly, head bowed, she avoids looking at me as she walks past. He is upset about something and is speaking harshly in low gruff tones. She keeps her head down and turned away. Occasionally, he grabs her by the chin to force her to look at him or grabs her by the arm to prevent her from pulling away. He keeps repeating the same question “why? Huh? Why?” Then SLAP. I don’t see his hand move but the sound is unmistakeable. I stop washing and stare at the scene unfolding in front of me. He knows I am there watching – I can tell because he avoids eye contact with me – but he ignores me. A second slap. This time I yell “hey!” loudly. He continues to ignore me. He calls someone on his phone and forces her to speak to whoever it is. She says something off script and he slaps her again a bit harder this time. I yell again and this time he motions irritatedly at me to be quiet.

I don’t understand the argument, but I understand the behaviour. He is controlling and jealous; a bully with a bad temper.  The girl has her back to me and I can’t hear anything she says, but she is clearly afraid of him and I find it unlikely that this is the first time that he has treated her this way. By the fourth slap, I am really mad. This time I yell : “ If you are going to be an asshole, go do it somewhere else, not in front of me. You are not welcome here.” This time he pays attention. He marches over to where I am sitting on my low stool in front of my washing bucket. His posture and the way he looms over me so that I have to look up at him indicate that he is trying to intimidate me, only I don’t frighten that easily. I look him straight in the eyes…If looks could kill, this guy would have been annihilated.

He tells me not to interfere in his personal affairs. I tell him to stop being violent and I won’t. He says I don’t understand the problem, that she broke his heart. I say I don’t need to understand the problem, I understand violence and it is not a good way to solve your problems. He asks me if I think girls should get to do whatever they want. I tell him that is beside the point, the point is regardless of what she did or did not do, it doesn’t give him the right to hit her and abuse her. He tells me if I don’t like it, I should leave. I tell him that he is the one that needs to leave (I live there) and that he shouldn’t come back either. Eventually he gets fed up and goes back to terrorize the girl he is with only this time he drags her farther away from where I am sitting.

About a minute later, another friend comes up the stairs. I am relieved to have someone else there. My friend doesn’t really catch what is going on, but tells the guy to calm down a couple times when the guy gets a bit too aggressive. The guy disappears to go fetch the pieces of the girl’s phone which he threw off the balcony earlier in the argument. I tell my friend that he has been hitting the girl. My friend goes over to her – by now she is huddled on the floor against the railings in tears – they exchange a few words and my friend comes back explaining that she said the guy beats her and she wants to leave him. When the guy comes back he throws the pieces of phone at her then comes to sit for a moment with my friend. More friends arrive and are made aware of the situation.

The girl leaves with the guy and I am afraid for her – I think that once he gets her will take her somewhere else to continue the abuse uninterrupted, but he comes back after a few minutes. He avoids looking at me, but I am pretty sure he can feel the anger sweeping off me like heat waves. My friends sit him down and they have a “talk”. After, they tell me everything is okay and it won’t happen again, but all that means it that it won’t happen in front of us again. Next time that guy wants to slap a girl around, he will take her somewhere where there are no nosy foreigners around to interfere with his “personal affairs”.  I tell my friends that I don’t want the guy to be allowed back here. They make excuses for him saying things like “oh well, he was just angry…his application to go to Japan was rejected so he was having a bad day”. They brush his violence off as if it was not intentional, as if this was the only time he was ever violent (which I doubt), as if he didn’t really know what he was doing. But this is part of the problem, when we don’t hold perpetrators of violence accountable for their actions then they can continue being violent without anyone ever really questioning or challenging their behaviour. Well, today I challenged one guy’s behaviour and if he shows up here again, I will again hold him accountable for it. I will not pretend like nothing happened and like everything is just fine and dandy. I won’t react in anger again because that likely won`t be very productive and will only make him defensive and aggressive, but I do hope that by continuing to question his behaviour that he might eventually learn something from it. And not only him, but my friends as well. I hope that all of them have been given cause for reflection and that they might take the issue of men’s violence against women a bit more seriously next time and not brush it under the rug.

I am posting this in part because I was really shaken up by the incident (like literally, I was shaking I was so angry and upset) and writing is one way that I calm myself and work through strong emotions, but I also wanted to share my reflections because I think it is important to talk about these things. Intervening as a bystander (and in particular in this instance as a foreigner in another culture where I don’t speak the language) is never an easy thing to do and I am sure that while reading this many people might think that I could’ve/should’ve reacted in another way or done something different. I don’t think that there is ever an ideal situation of violence in which to intervene as a bystander and at the end of the day there will always be “what ifs” but I continue to believe that the important thing is to speak up, to engage people in dialogues about violence against women and other forms of violence and to continue reflecting and learning. It is the only way to make change happen.

Trisuli

7/02/15

I am the first to arrive at the office. I look at the time: 6:09am. The sun isn’t even up yet. I sit on the front step and wait. Today is the day I finally get to go paddling. It took some doing. After a month and ½ of delays, the girls wanted to cancel again on me yesterday. I finally had to put my foot down to make this trip happen or I might never have seen any rivers in Nepal. The last few weeks I have been feeling more and more restless and frustrated by the fact that I haven’t done any paddling yet or even done much of anything at all here. Every day I feel like time is running out and I don’t have much to show for the time I have been here. Today is a breakthrough. Finally I will be doing something other than sitting around Kathmandu procrastinating and pretending to be working on my thesis when really I haven’t made any progress whatsoever (no surprises there).

In the end everything works out the way it was meant to and the clients that were supposed to go on a trip today but didn’t call (the reason the girls wanted to cancel), called in the morning to confirm their booking. Not only are we going to the river, but now the girls are working so they have a reason for going beyond just accommodating me.

When the clients arrive at the river, we are surprised to find 4 Nepali guys instead of the two foreign women we were expecting, but not matter, the sun is shining and it is a beautiful day to be on the river. It rained the night before and everyone has been saying that it is a sign that warm weather is on its way. The “cold” season is officially over. Nevertheless, I jump in the river to test its temperature so that I will know whether I need to wear my wetsuit or not. I should have known that it wouldn’t be as cold as everyone said it would be. I put my dry top on and leave my wetsuit in my bag.

The first day we do the lower section of Trisuli. The water level is low and the run isn’t that exciting, but it gives me the opportunity to ease back into things and gage how my neck injury will handle the strain. The boat I am in is long and slow to react. I don’t like it much and would prefer to have my playboat with me. I see local guys with their playboats and I am reminded of my smashed up wavesport EZG back home. I miss my boat...

We ride back in the back of the truck – just the way I like it! At first the boys gallantly insisted on sitting in the back but they were freezing so the girls put them into the cab and rode in the back with me. At some point the driver slammed on the breaks and sent us all flying. One girl hit her head pretty hard and another who was still wearing her helmet exclaimed “safety first!” Indeed I always feel much safer on the river than on the road in Nepal.

At night we make a fire and bbq some chicken over a grill. It tastes delicious but I am not that hungry because I already filled up on dahl bhat (the typical Nepali dish of rice and lentils).  Everyone is speaking Nepali and I don’t understand anything so I sing to myself wishing I had a guitar. I am exhausted and just want to sleep but I don’t want to be the first to go to bed and be a party pooper so I stay up. It’s a full moon and the night is clear and glowing with silvery light. The river sparkles in the reflection of the moon and I feel at peace – this is how I remember Nepal; with the soothing sound of the river in the background, the warm glow of the fire, the laughter of friends, the feeling that everything is right with the world…This is what I was searching for when I made the decision to come back here.

That evening, I reminisce about the fun times I had the first time I was in Nepal when everyday was about kayaking and enjoying life, drinking roxy (local wine) and playing music around campfires. Things are different this time around with more work and less play, more responsibilities and fewer random spontaneous adventures. Previously when I was here, my guides and friends were pretty much all young men who were unattached, carefree and at liberty to do what they want. At that time, if we wanted to take off for three days to go down the river or to go on a trek or to randomly paddle across Phewa lake one day and camp out on the other side, we could just go; we weren’t accountable to anyone or anything. But the reality for the women at Himalayan Adventure Girls is quite different; they have families to take care of, responsibilities outside of their work and financial concerns that keep them busy and means they have less free time to spend on the river. I believe this is one of the reasons why I often find it more challenging to develop relationships with women when I travel than with men because my reality is closer to that of men than women. As a result, I have more in common with men and can bond more easily with them over our shared freedom and independence.

The second day we do the upper section which is a way more fun! The rapids are just challenging enough to be fun without being big enough to be scary. The girls are rafting but one of the local guys joins me kayaking.  I flip more times than I would have liked but I am confident that if I run it again, I could do a clean sweep of it. Unfortunately, the girls don’t want to try it again, that evening they tell me they want to go back to Kathmandu. I am a bit disappointed; we had originally planned to do about a week of training on the river, but I understand that they have worries to take care of at home.

I decide to stay behind to enjoy a few more days on the river. After sending the girls off on a bus back to Kathmandu, I enjoy a nap in the sun on a raft drying on the beach while eating oranges. Later, I gear up and borrow someone’s playboat to practice surfing on a wave. The boats here are fitted to tiny Nepali people and we have to take out all the hip padding so that I can fit – this is fairly normal for me as they don’t really make kayaks for women and I have enough hip padding already that I don’t need any extra. It takes me awhile to get back into it, but I eventually manage a spin which made my day a success.

On my last day, I kayak the upper section again and didn’t flip once! I was super proud of myself, especially on the last big drop which had caught me off guard the previous day but which I was ready for this time. I dug my paddle in and managed to hang on as I crashed between two big holes (that’s right I went between them, not straight through them- whose the hole bait now, huh??). I finished with a great big “I LOVE KAYAKING!” and some paddle high fives with my two friends. Every day is a great day when you are on the river!

Unfortunately, I have to head back to Kathmandu tomorrow to meet with the girls and do some work. I really wish I could just stay here and keep paddling, but I know I will be back soon. And next time I will bring a playboat! It’s going to be fun!

Shakti Samuha

03/01/2014

The girls fill the air with a vibrant energy as bright as the sun which hasn’t come out to play today. They greet us with chai, laughter and enthusiasm for the day hike we have planned. They are late, but it is hard to be irritated with so much good humour and kind smiles.

The jokes and joyous chatter continue as we make our way to the base of Shivapuri National Park where we are planning to hike. The girls are training to climb Mt Everest base camp. The girls are part of the organisation Shakti Samuha (the name translates as power or strength and group or together – so it means roughly that together we are powerful/strong) that seeks to prevent, rescue, repatriate, rehabilitate and reintegrate trafficked girls from Nepal – some of them are themselves survivors of human trafficking. Recently they received funding for a group of girls to make the trek to base camp.

Two of the girls confide in me that it is their dream to climb Mt Everest. For one young woman (19yrs), it has been her dream since she was six years old. She tells me that at that time, she had learned about Pasang Lhamu Sherpa in school and went home to tell her mother that she was also going to climb Mt Everest. Her mother wasn’t too pleased though and told her that it was too dangerous (the fact that Pasang died while descending from the summit didn’t help to convince her). Despite her mother’s objections, the young woman persisted and while base camp is a start, I believe that one day she will make her dream a reality. Currently, she studies social work, but her adventurous spirit shines through her bright and engaging personality. After talking to her, I am convinced that she will go on to do amazing things with her life; that she will continue to reach new heights and uncover unknown horizons.

For another one of the team members, climbing Mt Everest is a personal challenge. She is afraid of heights so she chose to participate in this quest as a way to face and overcome her fears. She tells me frankly that she doesn’t want to be afraid any more, that doing this climb is both a literal and symbolic way for her to throw away her fear. I find her very courageous. I also understand where she is coming from. I have spent the last 12 years of my life practicing the art of letting go of my fears and jumping into the void of uncertainty. After all this time, I can’t say that I don’t know fear; I am still scared every time I get in my kayak; every time I enter a social situation; every time I am in a new place or I try something new. I still get scared, but I don’t let that fear paralyse me or prevent me from achieving my goals. My companion may not have realized it yet, but I think that she has already succeeded. By choosing to do challenge her fears, in a way, she has already conquered them. 

Before reaching the start of the hike, we get caught in a downpour and have to take shelter in a restaurant. We enjoy an early lunch and play a game while waiting out the rain. The girls who speak good English translate for me and even though, I still miss a lot of the jokes, I am content just to listen to their laughter. I am happy to be surrounded by so much positive energy and good people. During the game, someone asks one of the girls what is the most important thing to her. Her answer: education.

When the skies clear, it is too late to climb Shivapuri so we meander our way through the hillside, slowly making our way back to town. Along the way, the girls tell me about Shakti Samuha and the innovative work they are doing to prevent trafficking through education and intervention in rural communities in Nepal. They sing a song for me about human trafficking that was written by a staff member at Shakti Samuha and interpreted by a local artist to highlight and honour the work the organisation is doing. They are currently looking for funding to record the song and make a videoclip.

 

I go home feeling both inspired and invigorated. They call them survivors, but the girls I met today are doing so much more than just surviving; they are living, creating, growing, reaching, shining, conquering and thriving. Once again, I am blown away by the women here; by their resilience, integrity and good humour. I resolve to continue training with them and who knows, maybe there will be more opportunities to get involved with such a fantastic group of young women and such an ground breaking organisation. 

Keeping faith

29/12/2014

“Do you believe in the work NGOs do?”

The question catches me off guard and I pause to stare at the woman talking to me. She is from Lebanon, we crossed paths literally on a little jungle trail leading from Pokhara to Sarangkot. She is going up, I’m going down.

She stops to ask me how far it is to the top. We are both sweaty from the heat. It is a gorgeous day with clear blue skies and a warm sun. I have been taking pictures all morning of paragliders and birds against a backdrop of mountains and the glimmer of Phewa lake in the distance. She is a little out of breath from the climb and our conversation gives her a moment to rest.

She loves talking to people so she loses no time in asking me about myself:

-          What do you do here?

-          I study.

-          What do you study?

-          Women who whitewater kayak.

-          Oh….what’s that?

…

-          Well, what exactly is your field of study?

-          International and intercultural communication.

-          Oh….what’s that?

I have never really had an adequate explanation for what it is that I do. Maybe it’s because what I do changes so often. For lack of a better explanation, I tell her that I work for NGOs advocating for women’s rights and development. That’s when the question drops:

-          Do you believe in the work NGOs do?”

The question strikes me but I am unable to articulate on the spot what it is about the question that bothers me. Later, I realize that it is her choice of the word “believe” that puzzles me.

We don’t tend to think of our jobs as an act of faith. No one would likely ask a doctor if they believe in the work they are doing- it seems kind of obvious doesn’t it? However, the question may be more relevant than we think. Last fall, I attended a training session where various actors from the justice system presented on what it is that they do. Everyone who presented that day spoke with absolute conviction. Despite its flaws, they had faith in the justice system and seemed to genuinely care about the interests and well-being of offenders and victims. Their commitment to their work surprised me because I was coming from the opposite end of the spectrum where criticisms against the justice system are often expressed.

It might be argued than that my decision to work outside the justice system and in the NGO sector is a reflection of my lack of faith in the justice system and belief that I can do more good changing that system from the outside (and also because I don’t think I would ever survive through law school). But why should I believe in the NGO system which is no less flawed or dysfunctional than the justice system? I could go on at length about the failures of NGOs and the entire “development industry” but I guess the bottom line is that I still think that it is worth trying. I am not so naïve as to believe that working for an NGO will solve all the world’s problems (or even some of the world’s problems), but I do believe that to do nothing is to be complicit in an oppressive system that privileges a small group of powerful elite while marginalizing and erasing the “others”. In this sense, I still believe in our ability to act to create change and to make a difference in the world. But, I also believe that any action taken must be taken responsibly and held accountable. A lot of mistakes have been made in the history of development and continue to be perpetuated today, but we cannot learn from our lessons until we have acknowledged and accepted responsibility for our mistakes. Acting with good intent, but without accountability to those we are seeking to help is as bad as and sometimes worse than not acting at all.

I should also note here, that while I talk about choosing work that one believes in, inherent in what I have discussed is the assumption that people have the luxury and ability to choose what they do for work. Not all jobs give people a sense of purpose, identity and self-worth. Additionally, not all people believe in the work they are doing, but simply need the work. For many people, a job might not be a question of whether or not they believe in it so much as a matter of survival. Yet, in many ways we define ourselves (and others define us) by what we do. By stating “I am a doctor/teacher/bus driver/store clerk/professional feminist” we emphasize our work as a significant source of our identity and self-definition. Rather than saying “I treat sick people/teach children/drive buses/sell items/advocate feminism”, what we do becomes a fixed part of our identity and plays a central role in how we perceive ourselves and others. But by viewing our work as who we are rather than what we do, we solidify it into something fixed, immutable and stable which in turn makes it harder to change our career, profession, class, and social status because these would also require us to change our identity. This may also explain why I never have an appropriate answer to the question “what do you do?” because what I do is always changing and so am I.

(Can you tell I’ve been reading more bell hooks in my spare time?)

All Girls All Adventure All the time!

23/12/2014

My first thought when I meet my host for the first time is that she is really short – even by Nepali standards. As she gives me a welcome hug she doesn’t even reach my shoulders. I feel like a towering giant beside her, but I will soon learn that this 4 foot nothing humble little woman is a force to be reckoned with. My second thought when I see her is she is stunningly gorgeous. The thick wavy long black hair of Nepali women that I envy so much and a glimmer in her deep brown eyes that hint at the fire that burns inside of her. She is an exceptional woman and within hours of meeting her I am already blown away by all she has achieved and continues to do for women in Nepal, for her community and for her family. She amazes me.

I meet the rest of the team the next day. All of them are incredible – and beautiful – young women with a passion and determination rarely seen. Speaking of judging people by their physical appearance, I am all the more impressed by Himalayan Adventure Girls because they don’t appear to be the hardened and fearless adventurers, kayakers and guides that they are. For the most part, they are lovely, modest and humble women who are always making jokes (that I don’t understand) and laughing (come to think of it they remind me of my amazing paddle buddy back home – miss you Catherine!) They are easy-going and relaxed and I immediately feel comfortable here.  I can’t wait to see them on the water, but I am going to have to wait because it’s colder than I expected and there are some schedule problems that will delay our river trip. I don’t mind because I have a cold (the dust here is really getting to me) so I probably shouldn’t be playing in the water just yet.

One thing that really surprises me is the relationship the girls have with their male counterparts. I had expected that some of the men kayakers and other rafting companies might resent the girls for encroaching on their territory; however, it is quite the opposite. Several of Nepal’s most established rafting companies have openly supported and encouraged the girls from the start and have been hiring them after they complete their training. Some of these companies were the first ones to take on the girls as guides in training when the ladies kayak club was first formed in 2008. For the past decade kayaking brothers from other companies have been reaching down to give their brave sisters a hand up. I witnessed this first hand at the Himalayan River Guides Association of Nepal (HRGAN) AGM where the girls were welcomed among the other guides as sisters and equals. Of course, I miss out on a lot of the dynamics and undercurrents because I don’t speak the language. But what I saw was both encouraging and heart warming – from the moment we arrived the girls and guys were teasing each other (friendly teasing) and joking around and generally having a good time. However, when we arrived at Fishling, the meeting location, I noticed that the guides were divided into groups: Kathmandu, Pokhara and Trisuli guides. Since HAG is based in Kathmandu, the girls mostly know and would joke with other Kathmandu guides. Later some friends told me that there were still some tensions and some guides that didn’t want to see the girls succeed, but I imagine that those are the ones that haven’t really had the chance to work and paddle with the women. Nevertheless, the day was a success and for the first time ever a woman was elected to HRGAN’s board. The suggestion came from the outgoing president, a jovial and friendly man, who said that the association should always have at least one woman representative because women have different experiences and perspectives to bring to the table. Although the meeting itself was mainly a lot of Nepali speeches that I didn’t understand, I was glad to have had the opportunity to meet more contacts, get to know more paddlers and make some friends.

I’ll be heading to Pokhara for the next few days to spend Christmas there and meet up with an old friend from my last visit to Nepal. Work on my thesis/paddling will have to wait until after the holidays. But I feel like things are off to a good start.

HERstory

 4/12/14

China’s only female emperor, a woman general who commanded 70, 000 troops, a kungfu fighting nun…

That’s how the line to our Women in China exhibit started off. In a time when a man could refuse to marry a woman because her feet were not shaped like a “three-inch golden lotus”, these women were overturning kingdoms, conquering battlefields, and, in general, kicking ass. Along with foot binding, other traditionally Confucian standards of beauty included having “phoenix eyes” and “willow-leaf eyebrows” as well as light skin all of which were symbols of beauty, proper ancestry and socioeconomic status (Zhang, 2012). But the women on our clothesline weren’t just some pretty faces, they were women who held power and influence, and who played an important role in the evolution of China. Yet, most of these women have been forgotten in some obscure corner of HIStory, gathering dust.

The clothesline Women in China exhibit

Next came the women of the revolution: Mao’s “Iron women” whose masculinization was supposed to exemplify equality. They were tough and strong, hard workers, capable of doing anything a man could do (Yang, 2006). Although, Communism officially opposed beauty in the form of self-adornment, it did not outright reject beauty, but rather constructed a new image of beauty in line with Communist ideology and politics (Ip, 2003). Young and attractive women with lots of revolutionary zeal, known as “beautiful heroines”, were used in propaganda to promote a positive image of the Communist Party and encourage political loyalty and moral integrity. For example, Sun Yat-sen’s wife, Song Qingling, who was described as a woman of “dignified grace, sophistication, fragility and simple but tasteful clothing” was admired by many for her “elegance combined with political commitment, tender beauty juxta- posed with courage” (Ip, 2003). Meanwhile, revolutionary poet, Qiu Jin, who was criticized for wearing men’s clothing, drew inspiration for her poems from the female heroes (or SHEroes as my buddy calls them) and warriors of Chinese history.  In one of her poems, she writes: “Don’t tell me women/ are not the stuff of heroes”.

Quotes on clothes

In the next section, writers from the “newly new generation” (post 1970s) sought to reclaim “the feminine” by giving voice to women through personal narratives and life stories (Schaffer & Xianlin, 2007). “Beauty writers” like Lin Bai, Zhou WeiHui and Mian Mian fought against sexual repression and female objectification by writing about female bodies, desires and sexualities (most of them have books that are banned or censured in China).  They challenged the notion that beauty is oppressive to women by exploiting their image and sexuality in order to gain public attention, fame and glamour. In fact, it was common practice to showcase their “artistic pictures” (yishu zhao) on book covers in order to catch public attention since “a female writer with a beautiful appearance is more likely to create a sensation that the market would like to see” (Yang, 2006).

It is difficult to judge whether or not exposing themselves to the public gaze is exploitative or not. A part of me would like to see women’s books read because they are intellectually sharp and interesting, not because there is a pretty face on the front cover. The other part of me knows that that is not how the market works. Efrat Tseelon (1995) provides another perspective:

The argument equating gaze with masculine position and power is problematic. In the distinction between the man “who is doing the gaze” and the women who is the object of the gaze there is an assumption that one position, that of the onlooker, is inherently more powerful than the other. However, a careful examination of the use of “invisible” and “visible” shows them to encompass a dialectical rather than a unilateral meaning. “Invisible” as ignored and trivialized is powerless. But invisible as the source of gaze (that is, the one who is looking without being looked at) is powerful. Similarly, visible as objectified is powerless, but visible as prominent and dominant is powerful. 

The "gender studies" classroom

At the end of the exhibit line are the modern day SHEroes: the “Oprah of China”, the first lady of China, actresses and athletes…Known as the “Fan Bingbing” standard, they are the women that young women in China aspire to be like; admired for their wealth, beauty and glamourous lifestyles (Zhang, 2012).

Our exhibit provides only a glimpse at all the phenomenal and radical women throughout China’s history, but by opening the door just a crack, we managed to shed light on a topic that is often left in the dark. When we first introduced the idea of doing an exhibit celebrating influential women in Chinese history, our buddies were surprised. “We hear people talk about water and the environment all the time,” said one of our buddies, “but never women”. Most of our buddies admitted that they didn’t know much about the topic and had never really thought about women’s issues before. It would turn out to be a significant learning opportunity for them as well.

White lilies expressing people's hope for women in China

Our exhibit was divided into two parts: an artistic display of historical women figures interspersed on a laundry line with quotes written on clothing; and an interactive “gender studies” classroom where we invited participants to play a game of “guess who” and answer the question “what hope do you have for the future of women in China?” Answers were written on white lily cut-outs and posted on a board.

Throughout the exhibit day, I was engaged in several lengthy and profound discussions around women’s issues and gender equality in China. Although, beauty didn’t come up as a topic in any of the conversations I had, it did show up many times in response to the lily question along with independence and equality; although it is unclear what many of them meant by beauty and if they were referring to beauty in a moral or aesthetic sense.

Independence, equality, beauty they wrote on hundreds of lilies.

One of the most rewarding moments during our exhibit was when one of our buddies started guiding people through the exhibit on her own initiative. Previously, she had been one of the buddies for who “women” was a new topic for her, but she had been very involved in helping us plan and translate our exhibit. Watching her take ownership of the exhibit and share her new knowledge with her peers was a significant testimony to the success of our project.

We had wanted to create an exhibit that had meaning beyond just presenting a “cultural exchange”. We wanted our exhibit to be thought-provoking by opening spaces for dialogue on a topic rarely discussed. We wanted to celebrate women in China, but we also wanted to inspire women in China. Just seeing how engaged our buddies were in developing our exhibit showed that we had succeeded in having an impact. Seeing how our team grew in solidarity and strengthened our commitment to feminism through intense struggles and differing perspectives was another sign of success. Engaging in some many enriching conversations with men and women on the day of the exhibit and having young women thank us for drawing attention to women’s issues was just the cherry on top.

Our buddy sharing her knowledge

Zhang, M. (2012). A chinese beauty story: How college women in china negotiate beauty, body image, and mass media. Chinese Journal of Communication, 5(4), 437-454. doi:10.1080/17544750.2012.723387

Ip, H.-Y. (2003). Fashioning Appearances: Feminine Beauty in Chinese Communist Revolutionary Culture. Modern China, 29(3), 329-361. DOI: 10.1177/00977004032

Schaffer, K. & Xianlin, S. (2007). Unruly Spaces: Gender, Women's Writing and Indigenous Feminism in China. Journal of Gender Studies, 16(1), 17-30. DOI: 10.1080/09589230601116125

Yang, X. (2006). From Beauty Fear to Beauty Fever: A Critical Study of Chinese Female Writers Born in the 1970s. (Doctoral dissertation, University of Oregon). Retrieved from ProQuest