Commodity and Human Value

A woman’s fingers reach toward my face and smear a red vertical stripe from my hairline to eyebrows. I look up into her eyes and she presses her palms together. I return the greeting, but apparently a minute too late as she moves to the next guest. Beyond her a classroom full of men, women and children stare directly at me, my face painted red and my chest, hands and hair clad with strands of bougainvillea, hibiscus, plumeria and oleander.

Earlier today the journalist Shanta (pronounced san-tah, or Santa sans red suit) introduced us to a teacher she was meeting for the first time. He told her of a program in which a group of dalits and nondalits in a village outside Dahran will sign a promise to end untouchability in the area. Untouchability is already illegal; we were somewhat skeptical about the effectiveness of holding a program to sign a sheet. As we traveled through the village, the tall, thick-lensed teacher lead us to the organizers of the program, who we asked:

What was your involvement with the program?
Do you think this will create change?
How is it different from a law?

And, the one which appeared to be the most difficult to answer: If the law isn’t enforced, how will signing this sheet be enforced?

After meeting the organizers, and interviewing a few people from the village we made our way to the schoolhouse where the program would be held. Sitting on a bench in the back of the classroom, the teacher came to me in a huff, “Where is Jes?” I didn’t know. The teacher made his leave, searching the grounds. Moments later Jes arrived at my side, “The teacher was looking for you. I think they’re waiting to start…” I couldn’t finish my sentence before the teacher interrupted.

“There you are, come up, we want to welcome you.” Jes passed the camera, was whisked to the front of the class where he gave a namaste to the crowd and was adorned with a crimson tikka and flowery garland.

Moments later he was off, and the teacher asked for me to join the front of the class. Handing off the camera, I too took my place in front of the crowd, gave a namaste, and was welcomed to the program with flowers and tikka.

Shortly after, I held someone’s blue eyed baby surrounded by a gaggle of women, spoke with a student about her work on ending discrimination while group of twenty watched from a foot away, and shot the blaring speeches, songs, and announcements piped into an open field through an amplifier. More eyes were on Jes and I than the speakers.

Taking leave from the program, I felt like a cultural spectacle. Our image as Caucasian filmmakers was used to draw attention to the poorly advertised program, however we simultaneously distracted from the positive message presented. Focus was directed on us specifically rather than the issues at hand, and judgment based on external features was reinforced rather than quelled.

I came to Nepal to help fight against discrimination and to give the unrepresented a chance to craft their own image. As a foreigner, I was perceived in a very positive and excited way. It must be intolerable to be despised. I had no idea that through doing human rights work, I could become a cultural commodity.