I Lift My Eyes Up To The Mountain

Going for walks is one of my favorite ways to get to know the life of an area.  It is also my most vibrant spiritual practice.  I breathe in sounds, scents, sun, rain, heat, smog, views--natural, mechanical, synthetic, awe-inspiring, heartbreaking, divine, life.  So, when I am craving communion with the cosmos and community, I slide into my sandals or tennis shoes and begin to meander.  Sometimes I have a destination in mind and reach it.  Sometimes I end up elsewhere entirely.  Sometimes I simply wander.  Always I get where I need to be.

Yesterday after classes I sat down to write some field logs from my time observing the work of the Slum Rehabilitation Society in Mumbai.  I was reflecting on how neoliberal ideologies and globalisation projects result in displacement of the poor, especially residents of slum communities.  Perhaps I will post the logs soon.  Seeing a ray of sunlight streaking outside while I was typing, I got the urge to walk.      

This time I had a destination in mind.  There is an astonishingly beautiful hill that can be seen from the campus.  Its tree cover is monsoon-nourished brilliant, and there are slum settlements winding all the way to the top.  I had recently learned the road to get there, so my path was decided.  I started walking up the chaotic road, which has settlements on one side, pavement rubble in the middle, and a freeway ramp construction project for wealthier car owners dominating the other side.  The priorities of the state are painfully obvious.

As I walked I of course drew stares, a reality I am used to here.  I also drew some friendly conversationalists with whom I was able to share names and smiles but little else.  School had recently let out, so there were kids with backpacks everywhere.  Really, the road was abuzz with the activity of daily life.  The further I moved up the hill, though, the slower and quieter things became.  The upper part of the hill is also the most isolated, with fewer amenities and more disrepair.  I saw a few friendly smiles up there, but the atmosphere was definitely tending toward “What are you doing here?”  I was close to the top, though, and I wanted to reach my destination.  

Soon a group of twenty-somethings called me over with a wave.  I went over to talk to them, and one man started asking me questions excitedly in Marathi, the only bit which was able to make it through to me being a request for money.  It was clear that he was strung out on something.  Another man knew some English and asked me why I was there.  After I explained that I was just going for a walk, he told me that this was not the place to walk.  He said I should turn around and leave.  I was taken aback, but I respected his request and walked down the hill.

My first friend from the group proceeded to follow me, continuing the conversation about wanting money.  I kept firmly refusing, he kept firmly following, and people along the road kept firmly shouting at us.  We went in this manner for 2 kilometers, all the way to the bottom.  At the end I had to violently shake my arm out of his grip and hurry into a crowd of people.  I eventually turned around and saw him being escorted forcibly up the hill by some men.

This experience was devastating at multiple levels--my beloved walk was ruined, I was upset at myself for handling this human interaction in what I consider a rather inhuman manner, and I didn’t know what was to become of the man.  The most devastating aspect, though, was a forced confrontation with my privilege.

Here was this white American male with big umbrella and Sabarimala murse in tow walking into people’s homespace unaccompanied and uninvited.  What I had viewed as exploration and an opportunity for spiritual renewal was in reality an intrusion.  Coming from where I do and looking the way I do, though, it never even crossed my mind to think of such a prospect.  I mean, why shouldn’t I be able to go where I want to go and do what I want to do?  I wonder if it was really anything short of despicable slum tourism.  I was microcosmically manifesting the neoliberal project about which I was writing earlier in the day.

This is nowhere close to being a blog that fairly and adequately deals with my privilege.  Rather, it is a small glimpse that smacked me full-palm in the face.  With my privilege I presume that I can go anywhere.  I am blind to the deep significance of invitation.

I do not wish to problematize experiencing communities and places that are unfamiliar, for we all need to do so frequently as part of fulfilling our humanity.  I do, however, need to continually problematize privilege and the manner in which I and others approach doing so.  For reflection: How can we interact with people without reifying power relationships?  How can we witness oppression without oppressing further in the process?  How can we enter into each other’s lives and fight systems of dominance at the same time?  We are all called to be in community with each other, but how do we take steps toward mutual invitation?

So, my walk turned out to be much more difficult than I anticipated.  Yet, I did end up where I needed to be--in a difficult confrontation with myself.  Such is the atmosphere I need to breathe at this juncture.