Home Staging of Goa

My last essay hit a nerve with a Scottish reader, who argued that after living in Goa for five years, he should be considered a Goan. This is despite the fact that he doesn’t socialize with Goans; he claimed that this is irrelevant. I responded that being viewed as a Goan is not a question of time spent in Goa but of engagement with the place. Engagement is a critical topic, as Goa is treated like a reward for those with money, who have fuelled the demand for investment property or who have chosen to abandon the rat race for a quiet life here. Add to this the numerous domestic and international tourists, who occupy different spaces that tend not to include Goans. As I have already argued (see above-cited essay), this is how hospitable Goa is—you can pretend there are no Goans here.

A travel blog called Inditales.com is an example of both the lack of engagement with Goa and the erasure of Goans that I observe whenever I’m here. The author of the blog, Anuradha Goyal, has written pieces on the North Goan villages of Aldona and Assagao that read less like the insights of a traveller and more like advertorials—that is, paid ads masquerading as opinion pieces (sticking with the theme of selling off Goa, here is an example from 2007). Goyal states on her blog that she has lived in Goa for more than three years, and yet she writes about Goa as if she has just visited for the first time, with no prior knowledge of it. The descriptions portray a surface-level interaction, with no probing to learn about these villages or the people who inhabit them. Even more striking are the photographs. The only people in the few images that contain human figures are far in the distance, faceless and nameless. And yet in this absence of signs of life are photographs of well-preserved churches and homes. So, while their existence might be overlooked, these villages evidently have inhabitants.

(House in Aldona; Source: realestateIndia.com)

This reminds me of a day last fall, when I was taking a walk around downtown Hamilton. As I made my way through the MacNab Street bus terminal, I passed by a large tour group whose professionally dressed participants were sporting name tags and holding clipboards. Not wanting to stare, I glanced briefly and made out the word “Toronto.” Interesting, I thought. I heard the tour guide inform them about the history of the buildings towering over them. Later on, I ran into this same group again on James Street North. Now more curious about what they were up to, I slowed my pace and detected a turn in the tour guide’s script. Instead of highlighting the history of the neighbourhood, the subject was the neighbourhood’s potential. It hit me: this was a group of developers looking to acquire property in this already gentrified neighbourhood. The gentrification of my hometown is a topic on which I’ve written before. This particular street was already reinvented as an artists’ hub, and now it is undergoing a transformation into a downtown-Torontoesque neighbourhood of restaurants and condominiums. The advertorials selling Hamilton to investors have been churning out of Toronto’s newspapers for years. A city that was once known for its affordable detached homes and green spaces is being increasingly concretized to allow developers to make money. As I eavesdropped on this tour guide’s sales pitch, I wondered if these people noticed or cared that the space they were coveting is already inhabited.

This brings me back to Inditales. The images of the houses in the blog posts remind me of real estate advertisements. Realtors in Canada advocate home staging to enhance the likelihood of selling one’s house. The basic rules of home staging are that the premises must be pristine and lacking in personal touches, to make it easier for potential buyers to envision themselves filling that space. Thus, instead of providing information to would-be vacationers, these posts on Inditales exhibit the home staging of Goa. The blog is guilty of subtly conveying the idea of Goa as a vacant plot through its envisioning of the state as a land of quaint, almost empty villages.

(Like Inditales, selling an empty Assagao on a real estate website)

Of course, the erasure of Goans from the Goan landscape is nothing new. I remarked once in a comment on a Facebook post (Sept. 7, 2016) about the habit of referring to houses of a particular style as Portuguese, as if they were never—and are still not—inhabited by Goans. It had occurred to me that this terminology reinforces the idea that when the Portuguese withdrew from Goa, it was deserted. No wonder, then, that acquiring one of Goa’s old “Portuguese” houses offers so much prestige. In fact, I was told once by a local that there is a saying: “You’re not a proper Delhiite until you own a house in Assagao.”

(Home in Assagao marketed as a Portuguese house; Property Management Group – Goa) 

In tandem with the promotion of the construction and sale of second homes in Goa, the tourism industry plays its part in catering to the desire to acquire a piece of Goa. Look at the following ad.

The third line, “At your very own Goa,” begs the following question: To whom does Goa belong? Not only does the ad invite tourists to visit Goa; it suggests an entitlement to claiming it for themselves. In Goa, where does tourism end and colonization begin? Furthermore, the ad promotes Goa on the basis of its Catholic identity, in stark contrast to the larger vision of India as a Hindu nation.

Vishvesh Kandolkar recently wrote a poignant opinion piece in The Goan (Feb. 9, 2017) on engagement with monuments. In it, Kandolkar argues that while the local Goan Catholics continue to use these monuments, to the average tourist, they appear to be relics from a bygone era. This argument serves as a microcosm for the greater issue of engagement with Goa. The colonial history of Goa is primarily acknowledged for its sales appeal through promoting stays in “Portuguese houses” and visits to old Catholic churches, with an emphasis on their Iberian character. However, any further mention of the imprint of Portuguese colonialism is discouraged. After all, as the Goa Tourism Development Corporation ad tells us, all of this belongs to the Indian consumer. Although tourism and consumption go hand in hand, this promotion of possessing the territory in question is something I haven’t encountered anywhere else.

(Source: lonelyplanet.in, Photographer: Jeremiah Christanand Rao)

The question of how we consume Goa is one that I have been pondering for a while now. I use the pronoun “we” because I recognize that I am not exempt from this. I am but a visitor to this beautiful land, and though my relationship with Goa is a long one, and I have been writing on local issues for some time, it occurred to me that I have been guilty occasionally of romanticizing Goa and of wishing for what I remember from “the good ol’ days” to be preserved for my own benefit. However, over years of personal and intellectual growth, I have come to understand that there is no such thing as “the good ol’ days”; one person’s comfort and pleasure always come at the expense of someone else’s. For that reason, nostalgia is harmful. It can blind you to the problems that others face. And willful blindness to others’ problems and to the capitalist system that creates them is as bad as actively promoting the consumption of Goa for short-term gain or pleasure. Those who recognize the erasure of their identity should seek ways to forge solidarity and assert their presence by demanding that we—the insiders and outsiders—all engage with Goa.

Modern colonial encounters

The term “expatriate” is an interesting one. It may mean one living outside one’s native country, but in practice, it seems to apply only to certain people. For instance, one never hears this term associated with the Goans and Indians working in the Gulf States. Indeed, it is reserved for white people. I remember reading an article about this unequal linguistic treatment in The Guardian some time ago. When I was working in Bombay, I had a British colleague who would meet up for drinks weekly with members of an expat community. Such people always seemed to me to be creating their own upper class, white world in India, complete with servants—a rather colonial way of living.

Similarly, I’ve observed white tourists converging in Goa. Fortunately for them, Goa is a very hospitable place. Supporting my years-long observation that Europeans in particular prefer to build their own communities in Goa, I once stumbled upon a Facebook page whose European administrator declared that he was “home”. What followed were photos composed of mostly white people on Goa’s beaches, with a few Indian tourists in the background. I wondered where the Goans were in this vision of Goa.

I have noted that some such “expats” expand their circle to elite Indians who have houses here. The latest example of this played out on a recent visit to MOG (Museum of Goa) in Pilerne. A C-grade band was performing. This is nothing extraordinary, as any foreign musician who comes to Goa will have the red carpet rolled out for them—although Goa has so many of its own excellent musicians. The crowd comprised people from different parts of India and the world. Despite the presence of families with young children, some attendees were brazenly breaking the law by smoking pot—as this is what some visitors associate with Goa. The scene at the bar was typical: The white woman pouring the drinks was chatting with the white customers; she did not notice my Goan friend—although he is a man of decent height—standing directly in front of her, trying to get her attention. She did, however, notice a white man who approached the bar around the time that she decided to end her conversation. My friend politely informed her that he had been waiting; she apologized and took our drink order—but she seemed to struggle to understand his accent. Since contact with Goans seems to happen only on a need-to-do basis, she could very well have been unable to decipher what he was saying.

Yes, Goa is very hospitable. So accommodating a place is this that if you want to pretend the Goans don’t exist, you can do that with little protest. We know that Goa is regarded by many as a playground of sorts, but beyond this, spaces in Goa and depictions of Goa that are void of Goans feed into the notion that Goa was an empty place after the Portuguese left in 1961. This is a useful exercise for those from the Indian mainland, but what do foreign tourists have to gain from this?

Take food as an example. There is a common misconception overseas that India is a predominantly vegetarian country. Over the years, I have answered many questions about this from curious Canadians, and they are always shocked to learn that I was a vegetarian until I moved to India in 2007. More than the meat itself, the call of the masala was too seductive to ignore, and I fell off the wagon—hard. Indeed, I know very few strict vegetarians in India. However, I did have an American colleague in Bombay who had a preference for eating in “pure veg” restaurants. She said that she wanted to avoid the possibility of meat contaminating her food. For high-caste Hindus, however, the term “pure vegetarian” can have a different meaning. I used to wonder why I would see dairy on the menu in some vegetarian restaurants in India, and I recently got my answer from a knowledgeable friend. Since caste was almost never discussed in Bombay, I was oblivious for years about how significant the concept of purity still is when it comes to food. Although it may refer to the contents of the food on the menu, “pure vegetarian” can also mean that no one from a lower caste has prepared the food. There is another common misconception abroad that the caste system is no longer relevant in the lives of Indians. Therefore, a visitor is unlikely to think about the politics of food in India. This is despite the fact that fatal conflicts over beef have been reported in the international media. Perhaps because it is also widely believed that everyone views the cow as sacred, and therefore abstains from eating beef, such violence is met with apathy, as it is seen as a logical punishment.

In the areas of Goa that are popular with tourists, like Ashvem, the number of restaurants boasting a vegan menu seems to have grown over the years to cater to the white tourists. In tandem with this, the yoga retreats and classes have increased. To the tourists, the beaches of Goa must seem like an ideal location to practice yoga, and as I stated above, the outside world tends to equate veganism/vegetarianism with India. So, this must all seem tightly interconnected and innocent. But this is the problem. By adopting practices they understand to be Indian (or Hindu), or compatible with what they perceive as “Indian” culture, and carving out their own isolated space in Goa, such tourists may be unwittingly endorsing soft Hindutva.

As I have highlighted in the past, the conceptualization of Indianness is very narrow. One wonders how visitors can continue to hold onto this idea after seeing different parts of this country first-hand. An incident that is fixed in my memory is when a European woman said “Namaste” to a Goan Catholic friend. My friend quickly informed the woman that this is not how we interact with each other in Goa. I have also been surprised to hear Westerners in Goa try to speak to locals in Hindi. Similarly, many people in Bombay and Canada have asked me if I learned Hindi during my time in India, as if that is the only language people speak here. One exception left a lasting impression on me. Last year, I was stuck at Pearson International Airport due to a technical issue that was delaying my Jet Airways flight. A long wait for a delayed departure is a good ice breaker, so there was a lot of conversing going on at the gate. I was speaking to an Indo-Canadian man travelling to Chandigarh, and when he learned that I was a regular visitor to India, he asked me if I could speak any Indian languages. He was the first person to phrase this question as such, and I appreciated it.

This brings to mind the controversy when Coldplay and Beyoncé released their video for “Hymn for the Weekend” (2016). Most of the criticism from the West was directed at Beyoncé for cultural appropriation. What these accusations failed to account for was the homogenized image the video was portraying of India. And while some rightly accused Coldplay of engaging in an Orientalist fetishization of India, this critique only went so far; it missed the nuances of the problem of portraying India as a Hindu country, and more importantly, an upper-caste Hindu country. The insightful article, “Hymn for the Weekend: India’s Got 99 Problems, but Beyoncé’s Not One”, highlights the problems of promoting this image of India in the midst of growing religious fundamentalism including atrocities committed against Dalits. As I stated above, all of this information is available in the digital age. That it fails to influence how Westerners shape their understanding of India only helps those who want a Hindu—rather than a secular—nation.

How can we westerners enjoy free movement throughout most of the world and continue to take it for granted, blissfully ignorant of—or perhaps indifferent to—the people in the places we visit? Just as no space is waiting to be discovered by European explorers, neither does a place like Goa—so rich in culture—need anyone from outside to come and revive it or introduce the locals to the arts. Why are only white people accorded the name “expatriate”? Because we are happy to continue our colonial encounters.

Does anything ever change?

My whole life, I’ve been hearing about how much progress we’ve made, whether the question is the status of Black and Indigenous lives, women’s rights, LGBTQ+ rights, immigrants’ rights, the lives of the differently abled, etc. But when I look around, something always seems amiss. Instead of seeing progress, or anything remotely resembling equity, I see a statement meant to shut up those who dissent. In fact, I think it’s an example of what they call gaslighting.

If you engage with social media, you’ve probably come across the term “gaslighting” before. It traces its origin to a play called Gas Light (1938), written by Patrick Hamilton. In the play, a husband psychologically abuses his wife, lying to her and making little changes in their home, and convincing her that she is imagining things when she notices his changes, causing her to question her own sanity. Essentially, gaslighting is manipulating someone by dismissing their feelings and perspective, to the point where they begin to believe things that are untrue. If you take a minute to think, you might realize how common this abusive behaviour is. I think all women and all racialized people have been gaslighted, likely many times, by people close to them, by acquaintances, by strangers, and by their society. It’s not always an overt attempt to psychologically abuse someone; it can be as simple as being told flat out that you’re wrong when you discuss or react to something that happened to you.

(Source: Chump Lady)

I live near a university, and I often stumble upon flyers, stickers, and graffiti in the area complaining about misandry and false rape allegations made by women. Such language is almost always the handiwork of so-called men’s rights activists (MRAs). The existence of that term is a gaslight itself, like the reactionary slogan “All Lives Matter”; if you believe that men, who literally control the world, are being disenfranchised, then how are you to ever feel compassion for anyone whom you don’t see as being like you? The latest find in my neighbourhood was a sticker stating that 80% of all suicides are committed by men, accompanied by the phrase “Men Matter.” Let’s leave aside that statement of the obvious (“men matter”) for a moment. Yes, men in Canada commit suicide at three times the rate women do. This is a problem. But how do the MRAs propose to solve it? If you peruse anything the self-professed misandry fighters post online, you’ll usually find a white male centred narrative that is very hostile to feminism and often to women in general. There is no questioning of patriarchy; I’ve never seen that term used in the antimisandry lexicon. Conversely, hypermasculinity is encouraged. Are they promoting the idea that men open up and discuss their depression, which might lead to suicide? It certainly doesn’t seem like it. So, it is for that very reason that I question their motives when they talk about the problem of suicide.

Let’s come back to this non-argument that “men matter.” When has this notion ever been challenged? The usual arguments one hears from the antifeminists and devil’s advocate types relate to child custody cases and education. Again, these are valid problems—and again what are those who are so outraged by these injustices doing to help those affected by this? Other common arguments concern domestic abuse and rape, including false allegations of rape. Again, what is the solution, besides demonizing people? Where are the resources targeting men who are seeking to escape abusive relationships or who need help dealing with PTSD resulting from sexual assault? Once again, this would require contravening the norms of patriarchy and encouraging men to actually talk about their feelings. And what about prosecuting the women who do make false rape allegations? Isn’t there a long history of white women falsely accusing Black and other racialized men of rape? My point is that when there is actual evidence to support the claims of the “men’s rights” camp, it makes little difference, if it conflicts with the patriarchal, racist position in which so many of these antimisandry warriors seem to be placed.

Cries of injustice that aren’t accompanied by compassion seem hollow to me. So, naturally, I view the purpose of MRAs as undermining feminists and pointing fingers at them for the problems that (white) men face. It may be easy to sit online and find statements made by random people that you can call examples of misandry, but how exactly is misandry working in the power structure to oppress men? I really would like to know. You know what I think? I think MRAs have no concept of what power is and how it works. Though they may spout statistics from time to time, and argue their position vehemently, such people have no interest in facts or helping anyone. Their function is to gaslight those who are discussing the lived realities of marginalized people. I would lump them in with the same people who complain about “reverse racism” (“Foul! You’re questioning my superiority over you!”).

Recently, the Government of Canada announced that there would be a woman on the new $10 bill. After hundreds of names were proposed, the decision was made. Not only would it be a woman; she would be a Black woman: Viola Desmond. On social media, the reaction was mostly favourable, but still mixed. Many white commentators had no idea who Viola Desmond was. I read a few comments on Facebook questioning why a historical figure from Nova Scotia had been chosen instead of someone with more pan-Canadian appeal. In fact, someone said, “Why not Laura Secord?” My response to that is that this is the only woman in Canadian history that anyone in this country ever hears about; it’s time to acknowledge that other women have existed. There was also a lot of contentment, as though this was a sign that Canada was finally making progress toward ending racial and gender inequality. This is, of course, what the Trudeau government—which has no Black Cabinet ministers—would like us to think too. In truth, I was initially excited about the news. Then I thought about it some more: a well-off, light-skinned businesswoman, who fought for her own right to sit where she wanted in a movie theatre, being commemorated as though she was the only person fighting for civil rights in Canada—sounds like the ideal Liberal poster girl and nothing more. I tweeted the following:

As writer Septembre Anderson has argued both on Twitter and in an audio essay for the CBC, this is nothing more than tokenism.

And not surprisingly, Anderson was subsequently harassed, abused, and threatened online.

So, what does it mean when someone expresses a feeling or shares an experience or observation and another person shouts them down with, “But things are much better now than they were before”? Is it so beyond our comprehension that change might merit immediacy? What are we waiting for? And why should anyone be content to wait for those with the power to give them their rights or to treat them as though they are human? Moreover, if change is happening in small increments—so small that some people don’t even feel it—why would someone believe that if they’re patient enough, things will not just get “better” but be just? And what does one have to gain by trying to convince someone else that things are much better now than they were before? I can’t help but perceive that as a means of shutting up anyone who would challenge the status quo.

Christmas in November?

It was an unusually warm mid-November afternoon, and after a string of especially gruelling days of work, I decided to venture out while the sun was still shining. In November, when the sun starts setting around 4:00 PM, most of my roaming ends up happening after dark. In the bus and to the local shops I went, in search of nothing in particular but a break from my laptop. Much to my chagrin, everywhere I went, I was confronted by Christmas carols. In one store, my ears were besieged by the sound of Nat King Cole fa la la la la-ing (something I rather enjoy a little closer to December 25^th, but not at all in November) and my eyes bombarded by the sight of frantic shoppers hunting for decorative items to dress their homes for the upcoming festive season. As I moved deeper into the chaos of shopping carts darting in all directions, closer to the centrally located cash registers, I could hear the sound of that computerized voice calling out numbers in quick succession to eager consumers waiting in line for the privilege of swiping their cards. A thought popped into my head: “I hate capitalism.”

I escaped and soaked up the relative silence outside, until I entered the next shop: “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!” This time, at least, the store was rather empty and peaceful. But it dawned on me: This is only the beginning. Soon, the shopping frenzy will kick into full swing. I may have to avoid such commercial establishments from December 1^st onwards.

Finally, I knew there was no hope that this conspiracy to start the Christmas season in November was going to suck me in, when another favourite, Eartha Kitt, couldn’t put a smile on my face with her rendition of “Santa Baby.” That was it for this Grinch; I decided it was time to head home.

I find it fascinating that the winter outerwear is just emerging in clothing stores, but the Christmas music is already pumping through the sound systems of our big box stores. Granted, the pink toque I’ve conjured in my imagination is more of a vanity purchase than a necessity, as I have various other toques to keep my head warm, but said outerwear is of practical use, whereas cutesy snowmen and reindeer to decorate the home are not. But, then, utility isn’t exactly the motivation behind the corporate version of Christmas. 

All I can say is Bah humbug. 

The unshocking triumph of the Right

Like many, I’m still reeling from the result of the U.S. election. I watched with dread as the U.S. map turned mostly red. I felt an intense fear for the safety of racialized, queer, and trans Americans, given the hornet’s nest of macho, hypermasculine, white nationalism that Trump had stirred up to get votes. The reality of this outcome was overwhelming to say the least, but the outcome shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

As I’ve said before, this was the quintessential American running for the highest office of the United States of America. Of course this happened! What else would happen when capitalism is treated like a religion, with wealth worshipped, celebrity revered, inequities maintained to support the pursuit of wealth of those at the top of the pyramid, poverty reviled as a sign of laziness, and humanity dismissed as weakness? Nevertheless, as history was unfolding on Tuesday night, I chose to be in denial. My disillusionment with politics in general had led me to believe that “the system” wanted Hillary Clinton, and therefore she would be the next President of the United States, even if the election was close.

This mistake is exactly the problem. I never took Trump seriously. I thought his presence was strictly to ensure his opponent’s victory. It looked like the Democratic Party agreed, because Clinton didn’t put up a very good fight. In the debates, she stood by and made faces and she didn’t really challenge Trump on what he said. In the second debate, she even let him get away with changing the subject to ISIS when he was asked directly about sexual assault. I don’t know if she and her party were taking voters that much for granted to think that all they needed to do was say “Look at this buffoon!” and the votes would automatically go to Clinton, or if we were duped and Trump always had it in the bag. After all, he kept repeating, “The system is rigged.” The point is that this result was inevitable, and anyone who didn’t think it was at least possible is part of the problem—and that includes people like me.

The world we inhabit today is cutting us off from reality. We interact more with the Internet than our neighbours and in so doing, we control the content we see and read, and we can block or filter out dissimilar voices and create a bubble of consensus that we share with like-minded individuals. The result is that we don’t necessarily know what others are thinking, and so we have the Republicans taking the U.S. Electoral College, when all the polls projected a Democrat win. After the election, liberals and the pundits of their ilk were quick to dismiss Trump voters—the same behaviour that helped him emerge victorious. When Hillary Clinton referred to half of Trump supporters as the “basket of deplorables” she showed how arrogant and out of touch she was. Did she really believe that she could insult thousands of people and there would be no backlash? Or was she so cocky that she thought she could alienate that many people and it wouldn’t make a difference to her campaign? No one likes being spoken to condescendingly or being insulted.

Although the conditions that created this result are complex, it is undeniable that racism was the main factor in this election. Anyone who wishes to argue otherwise is blind to the white supremacy that is the foundation of all settler states including my own country. Speaking of which, those who were able to look past the racism in Trump’s campaign and still vote for him showed that racism isn’t really a problem for them. Misogyny also played a part. Men and women are not measured by the same standards, and North Americans like to judge the rest of the world while pretending things are perfectly fine here. They are not. But I’m less concerned about gender right now than I am about the failures of liberalism. By continuing to brush off Trump voters as nothing more than ignorant, crazy, racist sexists, we will continue to look like egotistical ideologues and we will fail to notice as they organize further. As I see it, this is the key difference between liberals and conservatives—the former have no plan, while the latter are increasingly mobilizing to get what they want. And if what they want isn’t what you, in the centre and on the Left, want, then wipe your tears, forget this “love trumps hate” claptrap, stop being surprised by announcements like the one that racist ideologue Stephen Bannon is on Trump’s team, and organize.

The Americans are not the first ones to elect a government that ran a campaign of negativity and fear and anger toward the “other”. So, the world is not going to end when Donald Trump takes his oath and this is not the beginning of dark days; that is a very American-centric view. And let’s be real: If the election had gone the only other conceivable way, would you really have warm, fuzzy feelings about another President Clinton? It would have been business as usual. No doubt, liberals—especially white liberals—would have heaved a sigh of relief and gone on thinking all is well. This past weekend, I saw a couple being interviewed by CBC reporter Steven D’Souza at the anti-Trump protest in New York, and when asked why they were protesting, they emphasized the rhetoric that Trump used, and the woman said that if Clinton had won, things would be better. So, basically, Trump’s language offended them. If words become the biggest issue in the eyes of dissidents, such protests are not going to achieve anything. This CBC video of D'Souza speaking to a protester in New York is far better:

Given the popularity of Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump in the party leadership races, it was clear that a large number of Americans wanted change. Clinton was the antithesis of that. So, there you go. Of course the Democrats were punished for putting Clinton forward as their candidate! Now large numbers of liberals—many of them white by the look of it—are hashtagging and marching in the streets. Where were those people when Black Lives Matter was doing the same thing? Where were they when the police were increasingly killing unarmed Black adults and children, and militarizing to keep the public in line? Where were they when the Right was targeting transgender people, fear mongering about washrooms while ignoring the rising murder rates, especially among trans people of colour? Where were they when Obama was setting a record for deportations? Bernie Sanders may have been offering something different, but he alienated many people when he and his supporters tried to tone police Black Lives Matter activists. He showed them that they could expect more white liberalism with him.

The political class is an entity unto itself. The “outsider” whom thousands of Americans are hoping will understand their struggles and “make their country great again” is a white billionaire who was born into wealth. It is entirely illogical. Anyone who argues that this man is the saviour of the proletariat is either incredibly ignorant or trying to conceal their own white nationalism. In addition to this, my takeaway from Trump’s successful entry into politics is that there is a certain kind of “outsider” that gets to infiltrate the political establishment—a billionaire. Talk about being out of touch. Why do we, in our so-called democracies, continue to be satisfied with choosing whom we perceive to be the lesser of the evils? Why do people get angry and try to shame others who choose not to vote or who vote for third-party candidates? This election, with its low voter turnout and victory for Trump, is evidence that a lot of people are dissatisfied with a system that they don’t feel exists for them.

Americans (and Canadians) need actual change. If you agree that Donald Trump shouldn’t be president, then you hopefully see that real change means the obliteration of the entire system of whiteness that is responsible for white supremacy. Anger and vitriol have become the norm in political/social discourse. It certainly helps when our mainstream media normalize racism by propagating the use of terms like “Alt Right.” I have never used this term because, to me, it legitimizes an ideology that should remain on the fringe; rather, it’s taking over. That should make you furious.

I don’t care what angry white men say; I care what they’re given licence to do. Liberals and leftists have been focusing too much on semantics and less on what they stand for. Hillary Clinton was not the answer; she was a symptom of the problem. She was doing what liberal politicians do: giving you destructive neoliberal ideology in a friendly package. Where is the outrage at the disparities in how white and racialized people have always been treated at all levels of society? Indeed, things might get worse from here on out, but if you can’t see that they were already horrible, then I don’t know what your cause is, but it doesn’t look like social justice to me. Let me give you an example. Most people, whether they’re friends with immigrants or not, are aware that a person’s educational and professional qualifications from the developing world are of no value in a country like Canada. Do you think that’s fair?

You don’t have to be openly racist to support white supremacy. If you don’t hear anyone else’s experiences and can’t see anyone else’s struggles, then you can’t care about anyone else’s struggles. If you aren’t outraged at how our countries work, maybe you’re more closely aligned with Trump’s white nationalism than you think.

Oh, Rocky!

Having been a fan of The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) for more than 20 years, I was rather looking forward to watching the remake, The Rocky Horror Picture Show: Let’s Do the Time Warp Again (2016). This was especially the case when I read that Laverne Cox was playing Dr. Frank N. Furter. But I was also a little sceptical, as I’m so attached to Tim Curry’s portrayal.

Sadly, the reboot was a disappointment. While the music remains faithful to the original score, fairly successfully delivering those familiar songs, the rest kind of falls flat. The dark, campy flavour of the original film has been erased, giving the viewer a much more stylized movie that seems heavily produced. More so, the sexuality—so crucial to the original film—is largely absent from this reboot. Laverne Cox looks great, she shows that her voice has fantastic range, and she delivers humour and trademark villainous expressions, but she isn’t seductive. And to play Frank N. Furter without oozing sexuality is to miss the essence of the character.

Where is the leching at Rocky when we are first introduced to the scientist’s creation? What happened to the flirtation with Janet? Where is the brazen attraction to Brad? And what about the power Frank has over Columbia?

 

It’s all lacking in 2016 Frank N. Furter. Further, the creepy hints at incest between Riff Raff and Magenta are absent. Since Fox decided to show the film at the family-friendly hour of 8 PM when it premiered on October 20, this could reflect a directorial decision to tone it down for a younger audience. After all, even the killing of Eddie is less gory than in the original film. And the lack of sexual chemistry is not unique to Dr. Frank N. Furter. When Janet sings “Touch-a Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me” to Rocky, the scene is comparatively tame as well.

It takes more than putting two attractive people in front of a camera. But this seems to have been lost on the director. Basically, none of the pairings in this film evince sexual chemistry, and without this, the remake of what is undeniably a bawdy film cannot help but fail.

Most catastrophic, in my opinion, is the crucial moment in the plot, when Frank goes to both Janet and Brad in the night, pretending to be each of them, respectively, to seduce them. 

This epitomizes the hedonistic lifestyle that Frank leads, and is punished for, and awakens the sexuality of the square protagonists. And yet, how these encounters play out doesn’t compare to the original.

The sexual acts are replaced with spanking, and while a little BDSM wouldn’t be out of place in this scenario, that isn’t what’s going on. It feels more like naughty humour than sex.

Something else that didn’t sit well with me was Laverne Cox’s performance of the song “Sweet Transvestite”. This is the song that introduces Frank N. Furter to both the viewer and Brad and Janet, but the dramatic entrance that the character makes in the original film is missing here, where Frank enters the room dancing on a platform attached to a crane. What is disconcerting about this scene is that a transgender actress is singing about being a man dressed in women’s clothes. If Laverne Cox herself sees nothing wrong with it, I’m no one to say she’s wrong. But it does seem like it could send a negative message about trans women.

This film could have been a lovely homage to the original if it had used a little creativity to modernize the costumes and setting while maintaining the edginess and lasciviousness of the original, instead of this overproduced, subdued spectacle. It’s worth a watch if you want to feel nostalgic for the original, but you won’t be doing the Time Warp again and again with this new cast.

The Goan Aunty

(Image courtesy Angela Ferrao)

Many of us are likely familiar with the videos and audio recordings that circulate from time to time of some “Goan Aunty” regaling her audience with rantings of the mundane in an exaggerated accent. Indeed, the Goan Aunty trope is so common that most of us probably have a giggle without paying much attention to the message under the surface of these silly portrayals. After all, who doesn’t enjoy hearing that characteristic “Wot, men” that signals the voice of the Goan Catholic? But recently, some videos have been making the rounds on WhatsApp that made me pay closer attention. The character, simply referring to herself on YouTube as “Goan Aunty”*, almost defies description. She is inarticulate and obnoxious. Nothing in these videos is either funny or reminiscent of the Goan women I’ve met in my life. I’m all for self-deprecating humour, and I appreciate one’s ability to laugh at oneself, but this mockery purporting to be comedy is simply insulting. Discussions of the Catholic stereotype are not new (see, e.g., Paromita Vohra’s short film Where’s Sandra), but perhaps the larger subject of the Goan Catholic woman deserves more attention.

My ire was actually ignited several months ago, when I was looking for articles about Braz and Yvonne Gonsalves. Braz is a well-respected musical legend, so one can easily find news content devoted to him. His wife Yvonne is also a brilliant performer, who continues to sing with various ensembles in Goa. I heard her live for the first time a couple of years ago in Saligao and was enchanted by the tone of her voice. But you won’t find a single article about her. Instead, what you will find are brief mentions of her as the doting wife in the articles about her husband. It was, in fact, a Goa Streets article from 2015 that incensed me. In the paragraph devoted to acknowledging the musical talents of the Gonsalves family, Yvonne is not mentioned at all. When her name does come up, it is to emphasize her support for her husband:

Braz’s wife Yvonne keeps a neat file of magazine and newspaper clippings documenting her husband’s life work. She speaks approvingly of the “hotels and night clubs (in India) that supported jazz music.”

A more recent search retrieved more of the same from an article published in The Times of India in 2011. Braz Gonsalves’ performance at Kala Academy in Panjim is described with the following passing mention of Yvonne:

Gonsalves’ wife Yvonne didn’t let a fracture [an audience member heckling Louiz Banks] dampen the spirit. She walked with support and belted out a jazz gospel hit, before the musicians took over with ‘Culture Shock’, ‘Sweet Shakti’ and ‘Enchantment’. (Emphasis mine)

These descriptions of Yvonne Gonsalves as the devoted wife, disregarding her status as an accomplished musician, exemplify what Fátima da Silva Gracias wrote in the Introduction to her book, The Many Faces of Sundorem (2007): “Generally, whenever women are mentioned in the Indo-Portuguese Historical literature it is usually in the traditional and subordinate role of a daughter, wife, mother, mistress or dancer.” She was referring to the past, but what has changed in recent times? 

(Lorna performing in Bombay in 2013: Photo mine)

How many times have you heard a Goan man talk about the legendary Lorna Cordeiro and say, “She would have been nothing without Chris Perry”?

I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve heard this, and it has come from both diehard Lorna fans and guys who aren’t that into Konkani music. So, even some who hold the Goan Nightingale in high esteem can’t find it within themselves to simply acknowledge her talent. They must give Perry—a man—not just credit for discovering her and helping her find her musical niche but all the credit for who she became.

But interestingly, I hear very few people reflect on Lorna in her younger days.

The one exception that comes to mind is in Jason Keith Fernandes’ review of the film Nachom ia Kumpasar (2015), where he describes Lorna as follows:

Lorna is an icon of Goan culture not merely for the songs she gave, and continues to give, life to, but for the kind of sexuality that she embodies. Her voice does not contain the sickly saccharine and shrill sweetness that marks so much of Hindi film music and embodies virginal, self-effacing purity. Her voice is an earthy one that can roar if there be need for it. The woman that her voice gives life to is conscious of her sexuality and vocal about her desires.

By contrast, the discussions to which I am accustomed to hearing about Lorna the woman tend to focus on her alleged drinking and her appearance today. As for the former, for the sake of argument, if one wishes to credit Chris Perry for everything else related to Lorna, why not also for breaking her heart? After all, substance use (and abuse) is often used as a means for coping with pain. As for the comments one hears regarding her physical appearance, it is as if she deserves to be punished for aging.

  (No matter her age, Lorna’s still got it! Photo mine)

This ridicule of the aging Goan woman brings us back to the image of the Goan Aunty. You know her: She’s the one with the enormous boobs and bum, who nags and talks any rubbish in her quaint, provincial accent, often uttered in a shrill voice.

YouTube sensation Aunty Maggy offers an example of this, complete with padding to amplify her breasts, stomach, hips, and rear, and a somewhat discordant voice.

Significantly, when I decided to write this piece, I typed “Goan Aunty” into Google’s search field, and was shocked to see that most of what the search engine retrieved were links to what appeared to be pornography. A similar search on YouTube generated the same results. From this, I can only assume that when the Goan Aunty isn’t being derided, she’s being fetishized.

On that note, why is it that Mario Miranda’s cartoons have mostly escaped criticism for their depiction of women?

While I’m a fan of his work, some of it makes me uncomfortable. He undeniably started a trend among Goan artists of exaggerating the assets of the Goan woman to sexualize the young and poke fun at the old. One piece that I find particularly disturbing is Cool Jazz, where the bass player is groping the singer with his right hand, instead of plucking the strings of his bass, and the saxophone player is blowing up her skirt.

In addition to depicting this woman’s sexual assault, it reinforces the aforementioned examples of the woman being placed in a subordinate position to the man. Mario Miranda certainly devoted space to both men and women in his art. But similar to a surface-level viewing of the Goan Aunty parodies, when one probes a little deeper into Cool Jazz specifically, the question arises as to what exactly is going on. A band is a collective of artists who play, and sometimes also write, music together. They’re colleagues and collaborators. So, to see the singer—the individual fronting the band—objectified by her own band-mates is shocking. What is a musical group without a good singer? So, one expects the musicians to have some respect for their singer. This image, however, shows utter disrespect for the only woman in the illustration.

I see a similar lack of respect for women in the trope of the Goan Aunty. When I think of a Goan aunty, I picture a proud, well-turned out lady in her dress at church. I picture an assertive woman who confidently shares her opinions in mixed-gender conversations. I picture a woman who likes to sing and dance and enjoy life.

(Still from Nachom-ia Kumpasar)

(Image courtesy Angela Ferrao)

I picture the woman who taught me to cook dishes like pulao and pork vindalho, passing on the tradition of delighting the family’s senses with lovingly prepared food.

The Goan woman is more than a caricature. It’s time she got her due.

________
* The "Goan Aunty" on YouTube now goes by the name Succorine Bai.

(Revised versions of this piece have appeared in The Goan Review, vol. 28, no. 1 [Jan–Mar 2017] and The Joao Roque Literary Journal, vol. 1, no. 2 [https://selma-carvalho.squarespace.com/the-goan-aunty-by-christine-russon])