23 mattresses and one voice

The huge population of sandals outside the door meant the fisher folk had stayed the night.

I’d seen them in the conference room the previous evening. 23 coastal villagers, each with a dignified, quiet presence, sitting cross-legged on the floor. There were adults and elders. Men and women. Each person was invariably thin. One older woman was missing an eye. They dressed well. They were clean**. They looked like people on the cusp, for the first time, of gaining objective self-confidence.

They are called the Yanadhi tribe. Their livelihood is in crab picking, shrimp, and small fish farming. Most of them will own two, maybe three outfits over the course of their lives. Their living conditions, Sivaji (co-founder of this NGO) tells me, are minimal and extremely poor. They came by bus to discuss their rights and participate in a workshop about Community Based Organizations and self-empowerment, one of many in which they had participated over the past three years. They stayed the night in the thatched roof building that I had recently vacated.

On what did they sleep? I doubt this place has 23 teacups – let alone 23 mattresses.

Nonetheless, the morning came and they were still here. Their meeting commenced around 8am, so they were up early. A few of the men were seen brushing their teeth in the hallway sink at 6am outside Karen’s door.

Karen is a short-term AJWS volunteer serving here for two months. Today is her birthday. There was talk around the office about getting her a cake, and people were getting pretty excited. I walked past a colleague’s computer and saw that he had Googled birthday card images. Seems he hadn’t yet heard of eCard...on his screen was a solitary purple rectangle with a white cake, candles, and fireworks. It read Happy Birthday Gino.

Around 11am word came that we were to meet downstairs for cake. I put down my laptop and stepped out into the conference room. Except for an evenly spaced semi-circle of notebooks and personal items, the room was empty. What happened to all the villagers? I asked. I turned to Joseph. Oh downstairs they went to cut the cake, he replied.

Sure enough, all meetings and workshops had been put on hold, and everyone in the office – including the 23 Yanadhi villagers – sat on the floor awaiting Karen’s arrival. The men sat in the front left. The women sat in the middle back. The NGO staff sat on the right. Karen joined the group and sat front middle, accompanied by a shy younger woman in a purple saree who had agreed – nervously – to sing a traditional song. She began, and soon the rest of the tribe joined in. It was moving, but also it was remarkable. Remarkable that in the course of three years, a people’s confidence could swing from a low point - where historically they would not even reach out to neighboring communities for fear of harassment - to such a high, wherein they represent themselves at a workshop, and share their traditions with foreign visitors.

**I asked Vani (NGO co-founder) how one would tell that these people came from a “scheduled” caste (meaning the most neglected – poor, illiterate, forgotten). She said that a lot has to do with their physical presentation and the quality of their clothing. Three years ago, she said, when outreach to this tribe began, the people were literally unclean and they smelled awful. Upon arriving here, they would report that passengers on the bus had refused to sit beside them, or would stand up and change seats. Vani explained it to them in simple, fair terms: Before issues of discrimination could be addressed, they had to respect peoples’ right to protect their own health. The tribe made the change accordingly. So when I say they were clean and well-dressed, I point this out as a mark of advancement and a step towards overcoming actual systemic causes of discrimination.