On Citizens, Squirrels, Democracy and Peace

2023 is almost over and ‘best of…’ lists and articles about new year’s resolutions are everywhere. The impulse is to comment on the speedy flight of time but what a year this has been and how much more unbearable had it floated by at the pace of childhood summers.

This moment has seemed even more apocalyptic since December 2019’s advent of the COVID-19 virus. The pandemic; the global democratic deficit; pushback on equality; shrinking freedom and rights; obscene, expanding socio-economic inequality; ever-more frequent climate change disasters and shameless, heartless violence and war together make this moment hell on earth. It is easy to believe that we do indeed live in the last era of the yuga cycle that is traditionally characterized by moral turpitude and decline.

I speak, write and teach about citizenship and agency. I tell people that they are citizens. They must take responsibility. They must act in whichever ways they can. In my international relations class, my not-so-secret agenda is global citizenship—be cosmopolitan, care about others, our lives are interconnected.

At the end of 2023, my spirit feels like stale poha—beaten, lifeless and beyond rescue.

How can I preach pro-active citizenship when I myself am at a loss? I do not think anything I do makes a difference. Who reads what I write? (To be fair, that gives me a little room to write more honestly!) There may be other things, more things, bigger things I should do but I cannot escape my day to do them (and the teaching of the Gita stays with me—do your own duty first). The world around me is a political nightmare and I too self-censor because, like many, many others, I have to choose my risks.

Many years ago, I wrote an article about getting through hard political times. But these times feel so much direr.

My own daily constraints contribute to my dispirited despair. I read at random because I cannot sequester myself to read deeply any more. I write all the time but bits and pieces of no consequence—organisational content, social media posts, administrative email, class materials—not even many personal letters any more. I cannot write academically, faking a neutral standpoint, nor journalistically, as if I do not take the mess in the world personally. Writing in a blog and not writing are the same. Who reads? And who reads older women (of colour) writing from peripheral locations anyway? (Maybe some do, but since we will never be worthy of a citation or a share, we will never find out!) Moreover, it turns out that because I am not a great fundraiser, I am not very good at social sector work and in these years, will preside over the slow demise of something I birthed and nurtured.

I am so deeply grateful for teaching. It seems to be the one somewhat useful public sphere work I can still do.

But is that all? Is that all, the citizenship preacher in me despairs?

I wanted to write this because writing is the rat-mining of my brain. I can feel my way to the openings and possibilities I do not know exist. In that spirit, I make myself a list to explore. (Will any of this matter? I cannot tell. But if I do not try, I will have failed in my duty to myself and to the world around.)

So, what am I capable of doing?

·         I can learn. I can read more, more, more—widely and deeply—and process that information in useful ways.

·         I can communicate; this may be my core skill. I can write—it’s not my job to think about who will read—to make some of what I learn accessible to others. I can explore the new media and tools for communication that are out there and learn to use them for the common good. (No, no, not another podcast!)

·         I can teach, with all my heart. Teaching usefully brings together my ability to learn and my ability to communicate and it enables others to realise their own citizenship. I am now privileged to teach in formal classrooms but there are lots of other places where teaching and learning happen as well, including everyday conversations.

·         I can work with, join, amplify or support other individuals, organisations or networks working for change. I am not alone and it is important to remember that.

·         I can find, clear, create and hold space for others to talk, to share and to connect with each other.

I read that in 2024, half the world will go to the polls to elect their governments. Going by the last few years, we cannot take for granted that either  the process or the outcome will be democratic or good for democracy. We cannot take for granted any more that most people support ideals like “social justice” or “gender equality” or “unity in diversity”—and as I write this, the words seem ridiculously outdated. We cannot assume that today’s wars, conflicts or genocides will stop because those who have the power do not have the will to stop them and those who would stop them (like me) have neither power nor voice.

As this year ends, I feel like I am living a nightmare. I am being chased and running hard but never moving. Exam questions are being distributed but I have forgotten the exam or forgotten how to write. I need the toilet but there are none or there are no walls around the commode. I am outside, night has fallen, public transport has vanished and only the ghouls, dead and alive, remain, and I cannot walk home fast enough. My hands hold a long-awaited letter whose text disappears as I read and I cannot read past the salutation sentences. I am trapped, desperate, helpless, angry and grieving more than I thought possible.

As my country sets aside life-and-death concerns to debate RSVPs to a temple’s consecration, I take heart from a story in that very deity’s life. I can be the squirrel who diligently, tirelessly ferries one pebble at a time to construct a sea-bridge. My lifetime’s little efforts may not matter in themselves but my failure to contribute them will matter to me. More than a resolution for 2024, this is an imperative.