Buying in and tuning out

In the 15 years that I’ve been travelling to Goa, it has undergone dramatic change. But one thing remains constant: The most enchanting thing about Goa is the Goans. I’ve met many warm, kind, fascinating, and passionate people in this state. They have welcomed me into their homes, made me laugh, and made me think, whether about politics, language, history, art, music, philosophy, the environment, etc. And this has made me re-examine my relationship with my own homeland, Canada, and my identity as a Canadian.

In Canada, the close ties of our indigenous peoples to the land seem self-explanatory, but among new Canadians and those of us who descend from immigrants, identity and community are under-explored issues. Fortunately, my time with Goans awakened me.

When I first came to Goa in 2001, I was struck by the exquisite beauty of the lush green fields and trees, the red earth, and the calming seaside. I was equally taken with the peaceful nature of the local people. Why would they be anything else, living in such idyllic surroundings? But rapidly, what had been a refuge from fast-paced, overcrowded, polluted, dirty Bombay was evidently becoming more of the same. There were more people and cars, buildings sprouting up everywhere, and garbage being dumped left and right. In Panjim the other day, I was aghast at how aggressively people were driving, accompanied by the fervent honking so familiar in Bombay. What’s the rush?

This no longer looks and feels like the serene Goa I fell in love with. But that’s just it. As the demographics of Goa have changed, so too has the tone here.

No one in their right mind is opposed to development, and there is no reason why outsiders shouldn’t come here. Having lived in Bombay for several years, I know how captivated Indians are by Goa. Everyone wants to vacation here when they get leave from work, and the delight on someone’s face when they talk about preparing to take their first trip here can be rather endearing. Given the romantic image of Goa, one would expect the love to be visible as the population of this tiny state grows. Instead, I see Goa choking in a flurry of concrete, dust, waste, egoism, and indifference. Those who can sit quietly in their villages and avoid this transformation, do, and those who can’t deal with it and have the means, leave.

There have been complaints about the people questioning the government’s development plans (e.g., mining, the Mopa airport, the Tiracol golf course, the Defence Expo), as if they are simply troublemakers. If the locals have a problem, their perspective should be heard. After all, if you argue that they will be the ones to gain, isn’t it equally true that they are the ones with the most to lose?

It is here that my perspective as a Canadian, who rarely observes any sense of community back home in Ontario, influences my understanding of contemporary Goa. As people increasingly settle in this state, the less investment they might actually have in it. Sure, they may have made a personal investment in property, but what is their relationship to Goa and with the people for whom this has always been home? Arguably, their stake is often at the individual level, whereas most of the current struggles of the Goans are collective ones. The only way for Goa’s newer inhabitants to see the viewpoint of their neighbours is to listen to them. In Canada, the government and the corporations have long been in conflict with the indigenous communities whose land they wish to exploit in the name of development, and the other Canadians (those who notice, that is) tend to critique from the sidelines. It is easier to stand back and label people “anti-development” than to engage with them and try to comprehend their cause.

In 2006, I noticed the garbage piling up on the slope connecting Mapusa and Siolim. It was around that time that apartment buildings started popping up throughout Siolim, and I remarked that the urban and rural worlds were likely colliding. People from cities, such as Bombay, are accustomed to putting their dustbin outside their door every morning and the garbage being taken away. So, they would likely expect the same thing in flats here—but many were occupying buildings in villages, and the infrastructure was simply not there.

People continue to fling garbage bags in the bushes, on the roadside, and in the water. Where is the appreciation for this place? How can anyone be in these magnificent surroundings and treat them with such disdain? Along with capitalism, individualism has taken over Goa.

What is a place once its people have been erased from the picture? Sometimes I worry that in Goa, we might soon find out.