It’s been a couple music-filled weeks, from Baul music festivals in Kushtia, to discoveries of (relatively) hidden Bon Iver tracks, to surprise concerts from Bengali music sensations.
So, to begin with, here’s couple of tracks that have been looping in the background for the past little while. First, from a friend of a friend, Lemonade’s “Braids” off their as-of-yet unreleased new album.
Swiped from the stellar music discoverer Lower Frequencies, The National’s “Think You Can Wait.” (Be sure to click through to LF’s blog for a number of other excellent finds.)
Next, a track featuring the dear, dear Justin Vernon. Shied away from it at first listen, but now, many times through, I think I might just be hooked.
And how’s about a little Bangla? This tune has been the ring-back tone on my research assistant’s number for the past six months – meaning I’ve heard the first three lines or so about three hundred times. So it was a bit of a surprise when, at a concert hosted by BRAC University’s cultural club earlier tonight, out from the singer’s stellar voice came this song.
The lady, as it turns out, is Moushumi Bhowmik, a singer-academic who spends most of her time traveling between West Bengal, Bangladesh, and far northeastern parts of India (actually to the east of Bangladesh!) collecting and archiving local tunes, writing some of her own (like this gem) along the way to add in. Check out a live version of the one above to see something a great deal closer to what the show tonight was like. (Although, gotta love wanderings through jute. Jute!)
This past December, some fantastic people had me join the dancing crew for their friend’s wedding – in Bangladeshi weddings, both the groom and the bride have the equivalent of bride’s maids and groom’s men, and each group choreographs a number of dances to perform at its respective gaye holud, the turmeric ceremony that happens a couple days before the wedding itself.
Over the course of the three weeks of practices, I got a pretty stellar crash course in some of the top Bollywood tunes of the day. Most of them I had never heard of, although a couple were surprisingly familiar – one being the hit song from last year’s Bollywood box office topper, Love Aaj Kal (translates from Hinglish to Love These Days). I saw the film during a flight from Germany, and while I think one’s perception of a movie’s worth is directly proportional to the height at which it’s viewed, I was pretty thoroughly involved in Jai and Meera’s romance by the end.
Its top song – “Twist” – is the biggest dance number of the film (and that’s saying something in a Bollywood flick), marking the hero’s move to a new city and his discovery of the various temptations and frivolities London has to offer. It progresses from him dancing in the streets, to dancing in a club, to dancing with (spoiler alert!) what is soon to be his romantic interest for a significant portion of the film.
It’s a dreadfully catchy tune that was a hit at the gaye holud, with eight of us fairly successfully reenacting most of the moves (I’ve still luckily managed to avoid getting any footage from that night, so sorry – no clips!). But one thing that occurred to me, as I was watching and re-watching the clip, trying to figure out which way your hands go when your feet twist left, was that all of the female backup dancers are, well, white.
Okay, he’s in London, so it makes some sort of sense that the girls would be caucasian (putting aside the vast diversity of London proper for the time being). But check out the dudes in the back. They’re not. White, that is. The majority of them are South Asian, or at least look to be.
I didn’t think too much of it – that is, until I started seeing the same pattern again and again in other Bollywood music videos. For example, take the one for “Love Mera.” Set in some sort of bizarre futuristic space ship, it even features half naked white girls (well, their torsos at least) gyrating blearily in the foreground of the scene at one point.
And “Dil Hara,” with the leading lady chastely running away from the man’s advances, albeit at the last moment possible, while the white gals (literally) throw their legs in the air.
And one more, a personal favorite of mine (Denise Richards, what are you doing there?), with a hoard of white girls dressed up as Indian brides throwing themselves at the male lead for a significant chunk of the video.
As you’re watching these, you may notice that a number of themes carry through from video to video. There’s always a huge pack of backup dancers (white), which are generally less-clad than the South Asian leading lady; both usually sport some sort of sari blouse, but the latter with a long skirt and the former with something resembling short-shorts or bikini bottoms. The girls in the back always stay there, in the back, never interacting with leading lady. Occasionally they do, well, brush up against the male star, but they’re not given a passing glance. The shots never focus on their faces, with any close-ups there may be centering on their bodies. And, while this is an editorialization on my part, they tend to look pretty dumb – their dance moves are always a little sloppy, their outfits absurd, and they even look a little uncomfortable – out of place. But there they are, pumping out the subcontinental dance moves to Bollywood beats in the background of each of these videos.
So, what’s the reason for their presence here? I’m sorry to say caucasian ladies, but it’s likely not for your dancing prowess – the backup ladies (and men, in some cases) are clearly outshone by the South Asian stars in each video. Well, yesterday a friend forwarded this article along to me, which speaks about the “white skin industry” of India. In it, tales of white girls on extended stays to the subcontinent recount getting paid – significant amounts – to act as sorts of hostesses/hustlers in bars, to make appearances at parties in skimpy outfits, or even to simply pose for photographs at important events. The article reads,
The white skin fetish has created its own cottage industry. Sai Hospitality India’s proprietor Rahul (no last name) says blithely, “I provide white girls for parties, business conferences, weddings: tequila girls, Arabian night dancers, pole dancers, bartenders girls and girls who only stand around at parties. My charges range from Rs. 15,000 to Rs. 1.5 lakh for a girl per night. Whichever country you want, I can provide.”
Richa Singh, who works at Delhi’s KamaKazi wedding planners, raises the snobbery stakes. “We provide authentic English girls, not Lebanese, Chinese or Indian. Many companies colour the hair of Indian girls and pose them as foreigners. We’re not into such things. We charge Rs. 5,000 per girl for only standing at parties. They’re only eye candy for the guests. They’re like dolls…” she says.
This is a leaping off point for quite a few topics of conversation, one of the first being – why, exactly does this happen? Theories of internalized racism of inferiority complexes spring to mind, but neither are by any means my specialty, so I’ll leave that to a later post, perhaps after consulting someone who knows more about these issues than I. But the question that strikes closer to home, and that I think about on a near daily basis, is – what influence do these sorts of images have on perceptions of white women in the subcontinent? And specifically, in Bangladesh?
In a country where the number of foreign visitors is relatively low and the number of television sets is sky-high, I think it’s fair to say that most Bangladeshis interact with caucasians much more through the screen than they do in real life. And now, they don’t have to turn to ‘Western’ media to receive images of barely-clad white chicks. As they begin to populate these roles as backup dancers, a new image of white women in South Asia is emerging.
Furthermore, while I have no idea what part Denise Richards plays in that other film above, the white girl that (temporarily) steals Jai’s heart in Love Aaj Kal is also played as inarticulate and unintelligent Dumb as dirt, in fact. So it’s not just that they’re are shown mostly nude – they’re played as easier, in both a physical and mental sense. Meera, the Indian female lead, is depicted as a sharp and driven girl, clever and funny throughout the entire film, while White Girl barely speaks English, more often than not on screen in silent mode. Which actually might be for the best, considering that she sounds like an airhead whenever she opens her mouth.
What with the pervasiveness of American films in the subcontinent, one might think this wouldn’t add up to very much – there are a number of movies from the U.S that could counterbalance this image, providing a much more positive, or at the very least stronger image of caucasian women. But these are not the stereotypes, by and large, that make it across the globe. Friends have confided, and leers and stares have reinforced, that white women are perceived by a number of Bangladeshi men as looser and more forward. Admittedly, I am far more assertive and confrontational than a traditional Bangladeshi woman is expected to be. But the danger of these images is that assertive, professional behavior is interpreted as an invitation for advances. Nods and enthusiastic remarks at business meetings can be read as being ‘interested’ in the man rather than in the topic of conversation. And when one’s work centers entirely around making contacts and connecting with individuals to conduct research and do your job, the feeling that you need to edit yourself and your behavior – to make yourself seem less interested in what you are speaking about and doing – can be deeply frustrating.
This post surely sparks a number of other questions – questions that have been at the forefront of my mind since beginning work in Bangladesh, ones that I have spoken about at length with women of all colors here, as many of the negative perceptions about working women extend beyond race and ethnicity. These are questions on which I’m searching to hear others’ thoughts. Questions that are currently being raised in the press, with the detention and subsequent sexual abuse of Lynsey Addario in Libya and the sexual assault of Lara Loganin Tahrir Square. This is only just the beginning of this examination. Where will we take it next?
I have waited for you for ages, for an eternity and a day. Unseen, unheard, yet, you were always there the fighter, the warrior. Come forth in all your glory and destroy, as you had destroyed the enemy once and for all the myth that the woman is weak and helpless.
– Sharmeen Murshid
Getting back up on the blogginghorse with a little exciting news to share. The Aftermath Project, an incredible organization founded by Sara Terry that provides support to photo documentary projects that examine issues surrounding the aftermath of conflict, recently announced its 2011 grant winners and finalists – and a project that I’ve been working on here in Bangladesh was named as one of the latter!
The idea for “Women Warriors” first began to take shape last July in Hue, Vietnam during the VII/[EXPOSURE] there. I spent that week riding around the back of a moto to the homes of six women who fought for the North Vietnamese Army during the war with the United States, speaking to them not only about their experiences during the conflict, but how it shaped their lives after they returned home. The work was recently published in Global Post, which had a small accompanying interview that was never published – so here it is now!
In heading to Bangladesh to research the creation of narratives of the Liberation War, I knew that I wanted to work on a photography project while here, and to have one that tied into that research would add a rather interesting twist. So the Women Warriors: Bangladesh project emerged, and it’s grown in some interesting and unexpected ways as of yet. It is moving much more slowly – in both good and frustrating ways – than its Vietnamese counterpart, unfurling slowly as contacts grow and shift here.
The project focuses on three specific aspects of the lives of women who served in the Liberation War – as armed combatants, spies, nurses, caretakers, organizers, and so on – and the way that the war has defined them, their families, and their communities:
Personal History: Through personal portraiture and recorded testimonies of female Mukti Banini, I hope to add to the existing histories of the independence struggle and subsequent construction of Bangladesh. While such testimonies will include women’s wartime experiences, they will focus on their lives in the decades since, with their struggles to reconcile the dual roles they are expected to fill in Bangladeshi society.
Physical Scars: Bangladesh’swar of liberation was fought at the doorsteps of every home in the country – the battlefields were the streets, alleys, and corners of her cities and towns. Its scars exist within the souls of the victims and on the surfaces of the nation. I will visually explore, using individual memories as guides, sites and localities where personal histories were made, where personal traumas were defined.
Memory & Dreams: As photographer Shahidul Alam writes, “What of the photograph made out of nothing? What about painting with light? Is it photography? Surely if we can paint with light we can paint with dreams, create the morning mist or the afternoon glow. Is it fake? Hardly. Whatever else may be false in this tenuous existence of ours, imagination is not. All that we value, that we strive to uphold, all that gives us strength, has been made of dreams, and we must dream on. If pixels be the vehicle that realizes our dreams, be it so.” Using photography as a ‘vehicle’ for the imagination, I hope to evoke the intangible memories and dreams of this conflict, and the subsequent personal reconciliations experienced by these women. This photographic exploration will take place within the lives and communities of the women, in both past and present landscapes and sites, as well in those places they have yet to, but still hope to see. It will reveal not only what they have experienced, but also where they wish to go – the dreams they hold for both themselves and their children.
The narrative that has dominated in Bangladesh of women in the Liberation War up until the present has been one of victimhood – those who were raped en masse by the Pakistani army, those who watched their sons and husbands and brothers leave home to fight for the country’s freedom. While official narratives fail to recognize the histories of these women, they remain deep within those who experienced them. They face them day after day, developing ways to quietly process past experiences in an attempt to move beyond them. These women, who are raising the first generation of Bangladeshis born after 1971, have been guiding forces in shaping and forming the country and its identity. In learning the stories of these women, and understanding how their experiences in conflict have shaped them as mothers, daughters, sisters, and wives, this project endeavors to document the ways in which conflict not only affects those who experience it firsthand, but those that they nurture and raise – the next generation – and, in that way, how their experiences continue to live on in the nation.
The Stories We Tell 