Thursday, December 8th is the anniversary of Dr. Bhimrao Ambedkar’s death. (Dr. Ambedkar was the most significant Dalit leader in India’s history, and was the primary framer of the Indian constitution, a document which provides numerous legal safeguards and a job reservation system for Dalits.) As a result, my organization—which is at root a grassroots network of fieldworkers—organized a variety of programs in the villages. The organization has set up hundreds of “Bhimshalas”—Bhim from Bhimrao Ambedkar, and Shala for the Gujarati word for school—which are basically extra-curricular education centers run out of a volunteer’s home. The volunteer is trained by the organization in strategies to combat discrimination at school, and also gives the kids academic support. The organization also provides the volunteer with a library for the children to use.
Anyway, the programs on December 8th were coordinated through the Bhimshalas. When we drove into the first village, we had to spend a bit of time looking for the Dalit locality. We stopped and the director of the organization asked a villager where the Dalit locality was. The villager looked puzzled; Dalit is a relatively new word, and is preferred by the Dalits themselves, while non-Dalits still just use the traditional sub-caste terminology. So the director asked where the weavers and leather-workers lived (these two communities form the biggest part of the Dalit community). The villager waved us on, and said “all the way down”.
The road was narrow and unpaved, and our van was bouncing quite a bit in the potholes, but me made it eventually. When we arrived, we were introduced to the Bhimshala volunteer, a Christian man from the Vankar (weaver) community in his 20’s. He knew a bit of English, and told us about the classes he runs. I also saw the library in his home, which was composed of a small bookshelf and a few dozen books. We got a brief tour of the Dalit locality. A two-minute walk from the volunteer’s home, we met a young man now in the local high school whose protest had resulted in the de-segregation of Dalit and non-Dalit children during the mid-day meal at school. Mid-day meal segregation of Dalits from non-Dalits is typical, because non-Dalits traditionally believe Dalits “pollute” food by their touch or presence, and would not want to even eat while looking at a Dalit. Of course, no child is born with this idea, but the notion is reinforced by their parents and by the school itself, which often enforces the segregation.
We continued walking around the village a bit, and met some local women, about 40 years old. They told my organization’s director that they work as day laborers in fields owned by village Patels (a relatively wealthy non-Dalit caste) for Rs. 40 (one dollar) per day, despite the fact that the minimum daily wage is Rs. 53. They themselves own no land, and are therefore economically dependant on the Patels, and feel powerless to protest their meager wages. The Patels are under no obligation to hire them, so if the women strike or protest, they could lose their only source of income. This type of situation is one reason why my organization has led numerous campaigns on Dalit land rights.
We also went into the Valmiki community. I hadn’t realized that even Dalit localities are divided into clusters of houses based on sub-caste, but this is clearly the case. The Valmikis are the manual scavenger and sweeper caste, and are considered to be the absolute lowest in the caste hierarchy. Even today, tens of thousands of them in Gujarat alone are employed to manually remove and transport human excreta from dry latrines, which are often nothing more than an open area surrounded by four walls. Anyway, a family sat us down on some plastic chairs and gave us some tea, and we talked to some members of the community. They actually seemed to be doing fairly well. One woman we met there was a college graduate now working as a social worker with a different organization, and her daughter is now in college studying English. Her daughter was a bit shy, but when we called her over was able to use the opportunity to practice speaking English a bit. The houses were decent, and made of concrete. They said the government had given some money for their construction.
We then went back to the Bhimshala. Students were sitting in rows, and a fieldworker of the organization was leading them in call-and-response chants related to Ambedkar and equality. My favorite chant was the Hindi, “Hum sub ek hai”, which means “We are all one”. After about 10 minutes of organized chanting, they marched to the village primary school. The kids had been given little signs to hold, which had messages of gender and caste equality printed on them. This little march took us through the non-Dalit part of the village. The villagers looked at us a bit oddly, but I tried to smile at them. Many smiled back. It was a conscious decision on my part to smile; the chants the kids were saying went against the village status quo of caste segregation and gender discrimination, and the villagers probably felt somewhat threatened and surprised that several foreigners were a part of it. A smile can go a long way towards reducing any tension, and also help a cause more than any chants can.
When we got to the school, I was surprised to see that all of the school’s students were sitting in rows, apparently waiting for us. The school’s staff was sitting in front of the main school building, on the school’s open hallway that provided a kind of makeshift stage. The students who had marched from the Dalit locality (mostly Dalits, but apparently a few non-Dalits as well) joined the other students in rows. We sat on the school floor “stage” facing the students. Some speeches were made, including by my organization’s director. The organization’s fieldworkers helped as well, and all the students joined in chanting “Jay Bhim”, a chant of support for Dr. Ambedkar, which really surprised me. Even some of the school’s staff said “Jay Bhim”, though the principal was more stoic. He had been against the boy who protested the segregated seating at mealtime in school. I made a short speech in Gujarati, in which I said my name, where I’m from, and told the students to read the children’s books brought by the organization for the school; those books deal with gender and caste equality in a way children can relate to. As the event ended, I told the principal that he had a very good school, and shook his hand. I wanted to be overly friendly in order to try to assure the success of the organization’s message.
After the event at the school, we went to another village where we had lunch at someone’s home. There are no dinner tables in the villages, so people sit on the floor, always Indian style, with legs folded. After lunch, four girls who had gotten dressed up for the occasion performed two song and dance numbers for us. They were really impressive, and very well choreographed and rehearsed. One involved throwing flowers, and the other was about how life today differs from life “in the old days”. For example, they said “In the old days women wore saris, but we wear jean pants”, and “In the old days people drank water, but we drink Pepsi”. I recorded the first one, but unfortunately I didn’t get the second. I should say that I didn’t understand much of the song, but it was translated for me after they finished.
Then we went to another village and sat in on their Bhimshala program. Some kids gave us flowers to welcome us, and we put a garland of flowers on Ambedkar’s picture. A volunteer read the children’s books protesting gender and caste inequality. It was interesting to see the women’s and men’s reactions to the points about gender equality. The men weren’t too keen on it, but they perked up during the book about untouchability practices. 
One man in particular—the peon at the town hall—stood up and started passionately explaining how separate water is kept for him because he’s a Dalit. He said it had been that way all the 28 years he’d been working there. I've added his photo just to the right of this text.
We had another interesting experience at yet another village. We were shown a cremation ground about which there had been a protest a year or two back. The ground was built with public funds, but had been used only for upper castes. After a story was published in the newspapers about the discrimination, they were forced to serve Dalits as well. But when we got there, we saw that a new sign proclaiming that the ground was only for Patels had been put up. Also, in a sign explaining the rules for using the grounds, the words “without caste discrimination” had been painted over. You could still see them under the fresh coat of beige paint. We took some photos, and then walked to the area where “lower” castes are forced to cremate their dead. You have to hike through a path into the bushes for a few dozen yards. We saw one place where a cremation had taken place. It was simply a hole in the ground. Some bones were still visible in the ash. The bamboo poles used to carry the body were lying next to the hole. Below, I've posted a photo of the discriminatory sign, with the words "without caste discrimination" painted over in a dull yellow. Unless you can read Gujarati, you'll have to take my word for it. I've also posted a photo of a cremation pit for Dalits, since they cannot use the new facility.
Then, in that village, we joined an event in the Dalit locality. A table was set up under a tent, and we were invited to sit on chairs behind the table, while everyone else sat on pillows in front. The occasion for the meeting was the establishment of an Amebedkar youth club in the village. A bunch of different people spoke. One woman wearing all white—the sign of a widow—worked as a member in the village council through the reservation system that is maintained for Dalits, part of Ambedkar’s constitutional legacy. I misjudged her because she looked so meek, and kept pulling her veil over her face. Also, when a fieldworker asked her if she wanted to make a speech like many others at the gathering, she said no, and the director had to insist that she speak. So I thought, “Wow, this woman is so weak…look at her hiding behind her veil. I’m sure the non-Dalits in the village council walk all over her, and she never speaks up.” But when she spoke she became very passionate, even starting to cry, and the director said she spoke very well. I was angry at myself for judging her before knowing anything, and without even thinking about what might have happened in her life to make her so afraid.
After the event, we had a snack of rice, sauce, and sweets in someone’s house. Then we left for yet another village. This Bhimshala was also holding an event, similar to the other ones. One little girl MC’d the program, others did a dance, the director spoke, and the children’s books were read. The village women were totally engaged in the books, and really connected to it. They nodded, finished sentences, and made sure their kids listened. The men were not enthusiastic about the messages of gender equality, but they became engaged when the book about untouchability was read. One moment that has stuck in my mind happened when the woman reading the book on untouchability asked the kids if they, as Dalits, were allowed to sit in the village square. It's very hard to describe a look in someone's face, so I won't try. But I will say that I have not forgotten the expression on the face of one little girl, maybe 9 years old, when she shook her head no.
Finally, around 11:30 PM, we had dinner in someone’s house. The food was good; potatoes, eggplant, lentils, chappati (Indian bread), and rice. The director had to fight with the woman of the house to be able to wash her own plate. I understood it; it would be hypocritical to push a message of gender equality and then leave plates to be washed by a woman. We all washed our own plates. As I washed mine, a small crowd of boys crowded around, and some practiced their English with me. It was a very positive atmosphere, and everyone wanted to shake my hand or hear me speak some Gujarati. After seeing me wash my own plate, the grandmother of the house suggested to the director that a marriage could be arranged between me and a Dalit girl. I laughed, but the director said she was serious.
Then we left, and I was exhausted. I got back to the vocational training center a few minutes before 2 AM, and went to bed.
So, that was my day. There was plenty to think about, but I was so exhausted that I don't think I was in bed for 10 minutes before I was snoring. It's taken me some time to digest some of the things I saw and learned, but I think it's been sinking in. I've read all kinds of different accounts of discrimination practiced against Dalits in Gujarat and India, but it of course resonates in a different way when it's written on the face of a little girl.
After the event at the school, we went to another village where we had lunch at someone’s home. There are no dinner tables in the villages, so people sit on the floor, always Indian style, with legs folded. After lunch, four girls who had gotten dressed up for the occasion performed two song and dance numbers for us. They were really impressive, and very well choreographed and rehearsed. One involved throwing flowers, and the other was about how life today differs from life “in the old days”. For example, they said “In the old days women wore saris, but we wear jean pants”, and “In the old days people drank water, but we drink Pepsi”. I recorded the first one, but unfortunately I didn’t get the second. I should say that I didn’t understand much of the song, but it was translated for me after they finished.
Then we went to another village and sat in on their Bhimshala program. Some kids gave us flowers to welcome us, and we put a garland of flowers on Ambedkar’s picture. A volunteer read the children’s books protesting gender and caste inequality. It was interesting to see the women’s and men’s reactions to the points about gender equality. The men weren’t too keen on it, but they perked up during the book about untouchability practices. 
One man in particular—the peon at the town hall—stood up and started passionately explaining how separate water is kept for him because he’s a Dalit. He said it had been that way all the 28 years he’d been working there. I've added his photo just to the right of this text.We had another interesting experience at yet another village. We were shown a cremation ground about which there had been a protest a year or two back. The ground was built with public funds, but had been used only for upper castes. After a story was published in the newspapers about the discrimination, they were forced to serve Dalits as well. But when we got there, we saw that a new sign proclaiming that the ground was only for Patels had been put up. Also, in a sign explaining the rules for using the grounds, the words “without caste discrimination” had been painted over. You could still see them under the fresh coat of beige paint. We took some photos, and then walked to the area where “lower” castes are forced to cremate their dead. You have to hike through a path into the bushes for a few dozen yards. We saw one place where a cremation had taken place. It was simply a hole in the ground. Some bones were still visible in the ash. The bamboo poles used to carry the body were lying next to the hole. Below, I've posted a photo of the discriminatory sign, with the words "without caste discrimination" painted over in a dull yellow. Unless you can read Gujarati, you'll have to take my word for it. I've also posted a photo of a cremation pit for Dalits, since they cannot use the new facility.
Then, in that village, we joined an event in the Dalit locality. A table was set up under a tent, and we were invited to sit on chairs behind the table, while everyone else sat on pillows in front. The occasion for the meeting was the establishment of an Amebedkar youth club in the village. A bunch of different people spoke. One woman wearing all white—the sign of a widow—worked as a member in the village council through the reservation system that is maintained for Dalits, part of Ambedkar’s constitutional legacy. I misjudged her because she looked so meek, and kept pulling her veil over her face. Also, when a fieldworker asked her if she wanted to make a speech like many others at the gathering, she said no, and the director had to insist that she speak. So I thought, “Wow, this woman is so weak…look at her hiding behind her veil. I’m sure the non-Dalits in the village council walk all over her, and she never speaks up.” But when she spoke she became very passionate, even starting to cry, and the director said she spoke very well. I was angry at myself for judging her before knowing anything, and without even thinking about what might have happened in her life to make her so afraid.
After the event, we had a snack of rice, sauce, and sweets in someone’s house. Then we left for yet another village. This Bhimshala was also holding an event, similar to the other ones. One little girl MC’d the program, others did a dance, the director spoke, and the children’s books were read. The village women were totally engaged in the books, and really connected to it. They nodded, finished sentences, and made sure their kids listened. The men were not enthusiastic about the messages of gender equality, but they became engaged when the book about untouchability was read. One moment that has stuck in my mind happened when the woman reading the book on untouchability asked the kids if they, as Dalits, were allowed to sit in the village square. It's very hard to describe a look in someone's face, so I won't try. But I will say that I have not forgotten the expression on the face of one little girl, maybe 9 years old, when she shook her head no.
Finally, around 11:30 PM, we had dinner in someone’s house. The food was good; potatoes, eggplant, lentils, chappati (Indian bread), and rice. The director had to fight with the woman of the house to be able to wash her own plate. I understood it; it would be hypocritical to push a message of gender equality and then leave plates to be washed by a woman. We all washed our own plates. As I washed mine, a small crowd of boys crowded around, and some practiced their English with me. It was a very positive atmosphere, and everyone wanted to shake my hand or hear me speak some Gujarati. After seeing me wash my own plate, the grandmother of the house suggested to the director that a marriage could be arranged between me and a Dalit girl. I laughed, but the director said she was serious.
Then we left, and I was exhausted. I got back to the vocational training center a few minutes before 2 AM, and went to bed.
So, that was my day. There was plenty to think about, but I was so exhausted that I don't think I was in bed for 10 minutes before I was snoring. It's taken me some time to digest some of the things I saw and learned, but I think it's been sinking in. I've read all kinds of different accounts of discrimination practiced against Dalits in Gujarat and India, but it of course resonates in a different way when it's written on the face of a little girl.
