My Support for Jagmeet Singh and My Understanding of Love and Courage

(Photo: Mark Blinch, Reuters)

Confession: I have never been especially excited about provincial politics. I pay enough attention to know whom I want—and don’t want—to vote for, but that is usually it. A few years ago, there was some buzz about this NDP MPP from Bramalea–Gore–Malton. More so than his politics, most of the talk was about his well-tailored suits and colourful turbans. My engagement with Jagmeet Singh’s politics happened at a time when I was quite disillusioned with politics in general. I’d grown up in a liberal-leaning household and had even been a card-carrying Liberal for a while. My gradual realization that I was not, in fact, a liberal, began in 2014, during the party’s leadership race. To my dismay, Justin Trudeau swept it without much of a platform. Nevertheless, I subsequently participated in the process of electing the federal candidate for my local riding. When the victor was the only candidate without a platform, and the only candidate who seemed inaccessible and beholden to wealthy supporters, it became clear to me that these were not my people.

The Liberals won a majority government in 2015, when awareness was being raised in the media and among the public in the GTHA about the ongoing unconstitutional practice of carding. At a time when our leaders should have been on the side of those targeted disproportionately by police, Justin Trudeau was busy propping up former Toronto police chief-turned MP Bill Blair. Most politicians at the various levels of government were mum. But NDP MPP Jagmeet Singh was not. I saw the following from Queen’s Park and thought, “Someone with some power in this place gets it!”

In Jagmeet, I saw hope for the first time in the possibility of change in Canada. I thought, “If this guy were to become Prime Minister one day, we might actually start to dismantle the white supremacist system that controls everything here.” I followed him on Twitter and Facebook to get a better sense of his policy positions. He was talking about social justice in a meaningful, passionate way—something I wasn’t getting from any other politician. The promises of “Real Change” that the Trudeau Liberals had been making seemed like mere spectacle as they carried on the legacy of their Conservative predecessors.

There was talk in Ontario that provincial NDP leader Andrea Horwath wouldn’t run again and that as Deputy Leader, Jagmeet would probably be next in line to lead the NDP in Ontario. But as it became increasingly clear that Horwath would continue in her role, I began to consider that maybe Jagmeet was ready to lead the federal NDP. Accordingly, I began stating on social media that he should replace Thomas Mulcair. Rumours began swirling early this year that he was going to attempt to do just that. So, I declared that if this were to come to fruition, despite my cynicism about politics, I would join the NDP and vote for him.

So, here we are.

All political candidates should be scrutinized and questioned on their positions, even when we like them. However, Jagmeet Singh has faced a different kind of criticism from his fellow candidates in this leadership race. He has been called everything from style-over-substance, to inexperienced, to (neo)liberal, to conservative! But his supporters, who have kept up with his policy statements and attended his JagMeet & Greets, have seen someone who believes in equity, respect, listening to and learning from each other and, of course, facing challenges with love and courage. In the first NDP leadership candidates’ debate in which he participated, he was considerably talked over. It was clear that Jagmeet was not an aggressive person. Indeed, I think anyone who has met him would agree that he exudes humility and sensitivity. In this race, he has struck me as someone who is careful about what he says and values consulting with those who are more knowledgeable on a subject before he puts forward a proposal.

(Photo mine, taken July 17, 2017)

In the current state of affairs in North America, where white supremacy is not challenged in mainstream media, we need a leader like Jagmeet Singh. This is not merely because he is a racialized Canadian—after all, this is not unique in the Canadian government—but because he has given hope to many Canadians who have felt invisibilized by the powers that be. He has shown a commitment to amplifying marginalized voices and fighting systemic racism, which is something that few politicians will even mention, let alone strive to achieve.

I am a new member of the NDP. I am by no means an expert on the party, but it has always seemed to me to be dominated ideologically by white men. However, one cannot honestly use any adjective associated with the left end of the political spectrum to describe oneself if one is not committed to the liberation of all oppressed peoples, and this liberation cannot be separated from a commitment to dismantling white supremacy. Sadly, no matter how nice and ‘progressive’ Canadian politicians are, few of them have convinced me that they are prepared to do this. It stood out to me that in the leadership debate on July 11, Jagmeet Singh and Niki Ashton were the only candidates to mention systemic racism in Canada and its violent, colonial history. Another issue that should be important to the left is that of transgender rights. In addition to the violence and murder of transgender women in particular, the Canadian populace shows significant hostility towards transgender and nonbinary people that a simple ‘X’ gender option on a government document is not going to solve (Please read Jules’ blog). Furthermore, the current government has been criticized for its failures both in upholding its promises for an improved nation-to-nation relationship with Indigenous peoples and in advancing the inquiry into missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls. And, of course, there are still those defending and practising carding (or ‘street checks’ as they are often called), despite evidence that this harassment does not produce great benefits for solving crime.

While I remain cynical about politics, as I think all power structures are ultimately oppressive, an NDP under Jagmeet Singh might be our last hope of trying to effect change from within the system. His message of love and courage is one that received some laughter when he entered the leadership race. But love and courage is not a cheesy slogan Jagmeet borrowed from a greeting card or a new age self-help book. The scoffs and eyebrow raises in response to it speak volumes about how we (mis)understand ‘love’.

The concept of love is one about which I have been thinking for quite some time. So, again, I suppose Jagmeet Singh has taken centre stage in my thoughts at the right time in my life. But I will not try to speak for Jagmeet; rather, I want to discuss what ‘love and courage’ means to me.

We often think of romantic love or familial bonds when we hear the word ‘love’. Thus, it may seem out of place to talk of love in politics. Nevertheless, it does come up. The words often repeated from Jack Layton’s final letter, released upon his death in 2011 are as follows:

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.

Jagmeet’s positive message resonates with this.

As part of our understanding of love, we tend to rely on a love–hate binary. But the opposite of love is not hate; it is indifference. You either love me or you don’t care about me. Not loving me does not mean hating me. This false love–hate binary allows racism to thrive, because without expressions of hatred, a lot of people who don’t experience racism themselves don’t see it operating. This creates apathy. This apathy is how some are able to believe that the ideological positions of Black Lives Matter or Antifa are as unappealing as those of the anti-Black and fascist/Nazi forces they are battling. Furthermore, indifference is what the public generally gets from politicians, who seem to use us to get elected so they can start their real jobs of working for corporations. Love, therefore, is a promise not to be apathetic. Jagmeet has made such a promise to Canadians, to listen to them and advocate for them.

This leads me back to the question of love and hate. If not love, then perhaps the opposite of hate is acceptance or tolerance. So, if hatred is not the antithesis of love, can we effectively fight hate with love? This question is relevant in light of Jagmeet’s response when his JagMeet & Greet in Brampton was disrupted. When Jennifer Bush invaded Jagmeet’s personal space and shouted her anti-Islam rant in his face, he had little choice but to handle the situation the way he did. On the one hand, of course remaining calm and talking over someone until they get tired and leave is a positive way to handle such a situation. On the other hand, the onus is always on racialized people to be polite in the face of racism—to turn the other cheek. The global standing ovation in response to how he handled the situation was frustrating for me because I am tired of witnessing this double standard that exists for white people and everyone else. We are currently living in a time when people are advocating that we refrain from punching Nazis, as if their beliefs are no more than a difference of opinion.

The notion of showing love to bigots is one that I have difficulty grasping. Among white people, there seems to be plenty of love for bigots already and not nearly enough for those whom the bigots wish to eradicate. Just look at the nonsensical ‘Hug a Nazi’ arguments making their way into our North American media and contrast that with the indifference shown to Black Canadians murdered by police or Indigenous women and girls murdered by… we still don’t know who. It seems more reasonable to me to battle indifference with love among those who are sympathetic, and hatred with intolerance to the ideas of bigots.

As for courage, Jagmeet is certainly not lacking in this department. What we know of his personal history speaks to this. He often speaks about growing up looking different and his experiences of being carded by police. In addition, he faces significant backlash not only from the most obvious white supremacist and anti-religion camps but from those here and abroad who oppose his social justice work. The character he has shown in standing up to those who have more power than he does is another reason why Jagmeet won me over several years ago.

Now more than ever, we need a full appreciation of what love and courage are to face the threats of climate change, the exploitation of the global capitalist system, systemic inequality, and bigotry. I believe Jagmeet Singh can steer Canada in the right direction, and that is why I voted for him for NDP leader.

Bisexual Invisibility and Erasure

The following essay is part of CRUSH, a zine edited by Kat Pruss and published in September 2017 as part of Toronto’s inaugural Bi Arts Festival.

At least twice this year, a right-wing politician in North America has used the Queen song “We Are the Champions” to celebrate a victory—Donald Trump, when he won the U.S. presidency, and Andrew Scheer, when he was nominated leader of the Conservative Party of Canada. The irony was not lost on many. In both cases, people quickly took to social media to highlight the oddity of a conservative using a Queen song to celebrate his triumph. The faux pas, many argued, was owing to the fact that Queen’s frontman, the late Freddie Mercury, was gay. The problem with this is that Freddie Mercury never professed to be gay. He had relationships with both men and women. In fact, Mercury wrote the song “Love of My Life” about Mary Austin, a woman. For me, these reactions highlighted the problems of bisexual invisibility and bisexual erasure—that is, when bisexuality is ignored or dismissed because it is not seen as a real or valid sexual identity.

The fact that Freddie Mercury is known to have had relationships with men is sufficient for some people to define him as gay. But if Mercury himself never said that he was gay, why would we label him as such? It is important to note that Freddie Mercury was not very political, and he was not interested in discussing his sexual orientation with the press. That was his right, as it is everyone’s right to decide how to self-define and whether to share this information. Although he never came out as bisexual either, he did have romantic relationships with both men and women. Therefore, it is worthwhile reflecting on why so many of us assume that same-sex attraction strictly means homosexuality.

In the book Bi: Notes for a Bisexual Revolution, Shiri Eisner (2013) suggests that among the many assumptions about bisexuality, the most popular one may be that it simply does not exist. Consequently, there is an “impression that bisexuality doesn’t appear in popular culture (or indeed anywhere) because it really doesn’t exist. This also causes people to ignore (erase) bisexuality where it does appear for that very same reason (What you know is what you see)” (p. 37). In other words, we tend to define a person’s sexuality on the basis of what we think we know about them. Not everyone who is bisexual, pansexual, or otherwise non-binary in their attractions (hereinafter bi+) comes out in the same way that people who are gay or lesbian do. And indeed, some simply cannot due to the risks involved. Ask anyone who has tried to tell people that they are bi+ and you will hear stories about being told some of the following:

“You’re just going through a phase.”

“Pick a side!”

“If you haven’t slept with a guy and a girl (or sometimes, if you haven’t had relationships with both guys and girls), how can you know?”

“You’re greedy!”

“I can’t trust you to be faithful to me.”

Just as it is for people who identify as gay and lesbian, coming out as bi+ can be difficult. As the examples above indicate, such a declaration can be met with doubt, denial, or suspicion. And once a bi+ person has relationships out in the open, their sexual orientation will usually be defined according to whom they are with—again, as Eisner (2013) states, “What you know is what you see.”

My observation is that bisexual invisibility and erasure are related to the phallocentrism inherent to patriarchy. In other words, one’s sexuality is defined according to one’s proximity to the penis. Consider the term “gold-star lesbian”—that is, a woman who identifies as a lesbian and has never slept with a man, as if that somehow makes her purer than a woman who has slept with one or multiple men. Accordingly, if a bisexual woman is dating a man, she will be defined as heterosexual. She may, however, be seen as someone who occasionally has sex with women, but probably as a performance she puts on to arouse heterosexual men. Furthermore, if a bisexual man is dating a man, he will be defined as gay, and any attraction he might have to women will be dismissed or ignored because others will look at him and see a gay man.

Besides being erased, bisexuality is sometimes demonized. The perceived threat of bisexuals is due to the fact that bisexuality is commonly equated with promiscuity. A popular assumption is that since bisexuals are attracted to more than one gender, they could never be faithful to one partner. While it is important to acknowledge that everyone has a right to sleep with as many or as few people as they want to, and to embrace or reject the idea of monogamy, it is insulting to be told that your ability to be attracted to people of multiple genders makes you untrustworthy. Yet many of us have heard someone nonchalantly admit, “I would never date a bisexual.”

The messaging in popular culture does not help. Entertainment is replete with examples of not just erasure but also outright bi-antagonism. The TV series The L Word (2004–2009) immediately comes to mind (“Bisexuality is gross”). Most commonly, there are the storylines about people leading double lives, as in the film Brokeback Mountain (2005), or leaving their spouse of many years to be with someone of the same sex, as in the Netflix show Grace and Frankie (2015– ). Such characters are always framed as gay—as if bisexuality does not exist.

Just this past Pride Month, there was an example of bisexual erasure. A popular joke arose on social media that the ‘B’ in LGBTQ+ stands for Babadook (a character from an Australian horror film). The joke started as a way to mock people who forget that bisexuality exists, especially considering that Pride was the culmination of work by bisexual and transgender activists, such as Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Rivera, and Brenda Howard. But this joke morphed as people began sharing memes of the Babadook in front of the rainbow flag. People soon began referring to him as a “gay icon” without making any reference to bisexuality. So, despite starting out as an attempt to promote bisexual visibility, this joke eventually erased bisexuality.

In addition, as part of a larger discussion on the appropriateness of heterosexual allies participating in Pride, there was some debate about the place of bi+ people at Pride if they planned to be accompanied by opposite-sex partners. This discussion was disappointing because it reinforced monosexism and cissexism (prejudice or discrimination against transgender people). Many overlooked trans people who may appear cisgender to others and assumed that bi+ women would necessarily be romantically involved with cisgender, heterosexual men. Notably, I saw no mention of the possibility of a bi+ man dating a woman—but this is pretty standard, since bi+ men are almost always erased and labelled as gay. While I agree with the argument that bringing straight people into LGBTQ+ spaces can cause problems, I was baffled that it seemed incomprehensible to those defending this safe space that that bi+ people of varying genders might be in relationships with each other.

The above examples suggest how pervasive bisexual invisibility and erasure are. No one dominant group should speak on behalf of LGBTQIA+ people. We come from innumerable backgrounds and have a diversity of lived experiences. Therefore, we have a responsibility to listen to each other, learn from each other, and work together to ensure that all marginalized and vulnerable people enjoy their rights. I believe every aspect of identity is political. Thus, my queerness is certainly political. Everyone has the right to define who they are for themselves and should be able to choose if and when to share that information. When it comes to sexuality, the desire to understand what people are is natural. The problem is that our understanding of what people can be is incredibly limited.

Love is love?

In school, an English teacher pointed out that the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. This would be reinforced time and again by teachers as the years passed. But this perspective is not one that I hear often anymore. We cling to the love–hate binary without recognizing how problematic it is. While hate is obvious, indifference is subtle, because it simply means not caring about or noticing something. While I do subscribe to the belief that we need more love in the world, is hate really the biggest problem facing those of us inhabiting one or more of the countless “other” categories? Systemic problems are far less in your face than hate and, therefore, are much stronger barriers to liberation and equity.

The message that “love is love” is a very popular one during Pride Month. Allies use it to show that they care about LGBTQ+ people and our rights, and some queer people use it to affirm their humanity in a world that has long told us we are disgusting, abominable, and even criminal. As well-intentioned as it might be, the phrase “love is love” has become something of an annoyance to me as a queer person. I find it reductive and reeking of respectability. My sexuality is not just about whom I love; it is an integral part of who I am that has helped shape my politics, my opinions, my tastes, my philosophies, and of course also whom I physically and romantically desire. It isn’t one part of me and it isn’t about anyone but me. This is why I cannot reconcile boiling down my sexuality to whom I love, and why I don’t appreciate that being done on my behalf.

“Love is love” reminds me of my youth, when I felt the need to argue why others should accept me. This would involve me defying the budding radical in me by trying to persuade heterosexuals that I was just like them, only attracted to girls. I grew out of that rather quickly. And Radical Queer was born. This is a nickname/pseudonym I used in my youth that I think I’ve earned the right to reclaim at this stage of my life. We all wish to be loved and accepted by our family, friends, and whomever we are attracted to, but what about people who yearn for societal acceptance? This is where I see a problem.

As the popular social media user and writer known as Son of Baldwin recently pointed out, ideology is greater than identity; too many people are fighting for power instead of liberation. This is why homonormativity was spawned. This is why so many people believe that same-sex marriage is the benchmark of liberty. This is why the history of Pride is so easily forgotten. This is why Black Lives Matter continues to be demonized in general and specifically for their demands relating to Toronto Pride. This is why so many privileged people—especially white people—are supporting the notion that armed police are entitled to participate in the Pride parade. Obtaining societal acceptance means proving to the powerful that you’re like them, and that includes being indifferent to other people’s liberation.

Given the focus on the issues of the most privileged members of the so-called community, some might be surprised to know that 2016 was a record year for violence against LGBTQ+ people in North America. Beyond the Pulse massacre that took the lives of 49 almost exclusively racialized people (we also don’t know how many of those 49 deaths and 53 reported injuries the 300 police officers who stormed the nightclub had a hand in), racialized LGBTQ+ people were disproportionately victims of homicide last year. And this year is not looking good either. Human Rights Campaign reports that 13 trans people have been murdered so far in the United States, most of whom were racialized trans women. Domestic violence, homelessness, and mental health are just a few other issues that go largely ignored by the mainstream. Where does “love is love” account for the basic struggle to survive?

The subtlety of indifference also manifests in monosexism (the assumption that everyone is attracted to one sex or the belief that bisexuality and pansexuality don’t exist), which is something that I personally deal with regularly. The heterosexual–homosexual binary is constantly reinforced. While we all know what the ‘B’ in that acronym means, bi+ people are often erased from the image of queerness. This is actually happening as I write this. A popular joke arose this Pride Month on social media that the ‘B’ in LGBTQ+ stands for Babadook (a character from an Australian horror film, for those who aren’t horror buffs). The joke started as a way to mock people who forget that bisexuality is a thing, considering that Pride was the culmination of work by bisexual and transgender activists. But now this joke has morphed into yet another example of erasure, as monosexuals share images of Babadook in front of the rainbow flag and refer to him as a “gay icon” without making any reference to bisexuality.

We can also see the erasure in the phrase “love is love” in its exclusion of people who are aromantic. Some people assume the ‘A’ in the longer acronym LGBTQIA stands for ally—because heaven forbid nice straight people not be centred! In fact, it means asexual/aromantic. We tend to overlook these valid identities because North American culture in particular emphasizes romantic love and sex. So, here, if you are not seeking either or both of these things, you are outside the norm. Actually, that is the definition of queerness—all the more reason why ace and aro people should be celebrated in the queer community. In this vein, “love is love” removes the individuality from a person’s identity and connects it to the pursuit of romantic love. This is the same thing that has been done to heterosexuality—reducing that identity to some Disneyfied quest for a happily ever after that will make the person feel complete. So, if it has overtaken the dominant group, it should come as no surprise that this has been put on queer people too, as homosexuality has gained increasing acceptance. I’ve seen the result of this in queer spaces, where love is celebrated instead of identity. It’s a bit like Valentine’s Day in that respect. What about people who aren’t in committed relationships? Are they less valid? And what should queer people’s relationships look like?

As part of the larger discussion on the presence of straight people at Pride, there was a more focused debate recently on Twitter about the place of bi+ people at Pride if they are there with opposite-sex partners. This discussion was very disappointing because it reinforced monosexism and cissexism (prejudice or discrimination against transgender people) by overlooking trans people who may appear cisgender to others and relied on the assumption that bisexual and pansexual women would necessarily be romantically involved with cishet men if they were with someone of a different gender. Notably, I saw no mention of the possibility of a bi+ man dating a cis woman. But this is pretty standard; bi+ men are almost always erased because they are assumed to be actually gay. While I agree with the argument that bringing straight people into LGBTQ+ spaces can cause problems, it seemed incomprehensible to those defending their safe space that queer people would be attracted to other queer people across genders—i.e., that bi+ people of varying genders might be in relationships with each other. I suppose this bothered me so much because attraction to queerness irrespective of gender is the basis of my sexuality.

Coupling should not be the standard for validating or determining a person’s sexual orientation. My journey to self-acceptance and understanding has been long and essential to my well-being. But it has been my journey. This doesn’t mean that the love and acceptance I’ve received in my life haven’t been immensely important to me—even life altering. It’s that they didn’t make me love and accept myself; I had to get there on my own. So, I wonder, if we focus on love and define ourselves according to a partner, what implications does that have for coming to terms with ourselves as queer people? The positivity this Pride Month has been abundant, but the visual representation of queerness has overwhelmingly involved representations of romantic relationships.

The following provides a basic graphic representation of one interpretation of sexuality—emphasis on basic.

If “love” is the benchmark, does that mean that support from allies, and even the dominant gays and lesbians in the community, is conditional on coupling and commitment (the one person of the same sex)? Where does that leave polyamorous people; people who aren’t, or maybe don’t want to be, in a relationship; people who unashamedly enjoy sex, but not love, with multiple partners; people who are genderqueer; people who are intersex; people who are asexual; people who are bisexual and homoromantic? I could go on. The point is that those under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella are highly diverse in all aspects of identity. While “love is love” might sound affirming and inclusive to some, to me, it removes politics from queerness and negates the vast majority of us.

Whiteness is the problem

The debate in response to Hal Niedzviecki’s insulting editorial “Winning the Appropriation Prize” in the recent issue of Write magazine, which was intended to spotlight the work of Indigenous writers, shows that we don’t have a diversity problem in Canadian media but a whiteness problem.

The issue of inclusion/diversity is one that surfaces often in relation to print and TV media. For years, the public has been complaining about the lack of visible minorities on the CBC, for example. An important discussion on the CBC between Jesse Wente and Jonathan Kay on May 13 sheds light on the real problem.

As Jesse Wente points out right away, Canada itself is an example of appropriation. This is something that tends to remain unacknowledged by anyone who isn’t an Indigenous person. Canada is a colonial settler state; we live on stolen land, where the colonial perspective dominates any discussion of history, past or ongoing. Indeed, our government continues to push the idea that we should be celebrating 2017 as the 150^th anniversary of this country’s existence. What? Apart from the obvious fact that this landmass we call “Canada” existed long before 1867, does Confederation generally get the average Canadian excited? I know it’s what Canadians celebrate every July 1^st, but I’m not sure they all know that colonialism is what they’re celebrating. So, why exactly is a government that purports to be committed to truth and reconciliation so eager for us all to participate in insulting Indigenous peoples further by extending the one-day annual celebration to the whole year?

Jonathan Kay, who is no stranger to controversy, reinforces his social location throughout his commentary in the CBC video, as he tends to do. He accuses the Writers’ Union of Canada (TWUC) Equity Task Force of trying to shame Niedzviecki and commends less strident voices for critiquing Niedzviecki in a way that Kay finds more appropriate. Let me clarify what I’m getting that: Kay chooses to use his first minute of airtime (1) to admonish the TWUC Equity Task Force for being mean to the white editor who used his position to undermine the purpose of the issue of the magazine and (2) to tone police, which includes applauding those whom he perceives as the good detractors. Kay then goes on to criticize the TWUC Equity Task Force again for going after Niedzviecki for being racist, as if he had said “something that was akin to neo-Nazi propaganda.” Kay also admits that he did not like the editorial either because it was “flippant about a serious subject and insulting, given that the issue itself was about Indigenous writers.” This highlights a common problem in the discussions surrounding racism in this country. Many seem to be under the impression that racism means only using racial slurs and promoting or committing violence against racialized people. This is why Jonathan Kay could criticize the editorial on Saturday despite having chosen to put himself in the middle of the “Appropriation Prize” controversy on Twitter on Wednesday: he seems to believe that he is one of the good white people.

But nothing about whiteness is good. This is something that has to be acknowledged if we are to truly change how this country operates. By continuing to focus on diversity and inclusion, we continue to uphold whiteness, because demands for representation and inclusion allow white people to continue in their role as gatekeepers. Between minutes 6:40 and 7:48 in the CBC video, Jesse Wente sheds light on this problem.

At this point, Jonathan Kay tries to distance himself from the controversy by clarifying that he wasn’t one of the people who offered to put up money for the “Appropriation Prize.” So, once again, we see the narrative of the good white guy creep in. But as I stated above, Kay actually chose to insert himself in this controversy in the first place by taking to Twitter to criticize those reacting to the offensive editorial. That he did not offer to donate to fund this fictitious prize is not the point—and, in fact, in highlighting this, he chooses to centre himself in the larger debate. It is somewhat ironic, then, that good guy Jonathan Kay did not use his position to tell the other white editors/writers that they were being insulting, if that is what he truly believed at the time. It is easy to apologize for not calling them out after contemplating the reactions to their statements. Yet Kay shows his unwillingness to listen by continuing to use this CBC platform to chide the TWUC Equity Task Force for accusing Niedzviecki of racism.

As Jesse Wente asserts, we need to move past apologies and reach a point where we see real change, and we must “move beyond conflating free speech debate and artistic expression with ongoing colonial appropriation.” After all, the popular accusation is one of political correctness run amok any time whiteness is called out for doing what whiteness is meant to do—centre and uplift itself as if it is innately rational, righteous, and meritorious.

Interestingly, Kay unwittingly underlines the problem of whiteness when he reassures us that the first issue editors discuss at meetings is diversity. In other words, the media has always been controlled by white people and continues to be controlled by white people, who have the privilege of selecting which other voices they will allow to enter their space. This matter was most recently visible in the case of columnist Desmond Cole’s resignation from the Toronto Star, whose gatekeepers seem to have had a problem with his activism.

It is unfortunate that we are still in an environment where Jesse Wente has to participate in such discussions with the likes of Jonathan Kay, and that he must do so with such composure. If Wente were to express himself in a way that the white establishment deems impolite, he would no longer have a voice in mainstream media. And that is the crux of the diversity matter: no matter how many diverse faces and voices are out there, well-off white people continue to make the decisions. We do not need to work harder at diversity and inclusion; we need to replace the system so that whiteness is no longer synonymous with decision-making in this country. And since those who belong to the establishment are so fond of the idea of people coming up based on merit, surely they won’t object to such a change.

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.