Songs of struggle, dreams of freedom

“But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.” 
 
(Maya Angelou, I know why the caged bird sings) 
 
All over the world, women put their lives on the line, risking everything to stand up for their political values and to fight for other people’s rights—but no one wants to learn about them or remember them. They are not our heroes, even though their work is heroic. 
 
This year, as our observance of International Women Human Rights Defenders Day, and as part of the 2016 Prajnya 16 Days Campaign against Gender Violence, we invited people interested in history, women’s rights and writing to write us short profiles of women human rights defenders who had been targeted either by their communities or governments. We got two responses. The response was disappointing but we were hardly surprised. We run a user-generated visual archive and occasionally call for photographs on a particular theme and by and large, we have learnt that people are not interested in women’s work or experiences. When we asked for photos and stories about women in leadership roles and this year when we asked to hear about women’s memories of August 15, 1947, the response was not even as good as lacklustre. Even extraordinary women whose achievements are remembered by their peers are ignored—if not criticised—by their families, who neither have time to listen nor space to store their memories. With a few exceptions, the work that women do as social workers, as human rights activists or any other sphere of public affairs, is overlooked. 
 
Punishing their political activism
 
The corollary of this is that we also ignore the tremendous cost at which women undertake any public sphere work, whether it is mainstream politics, social work or that large, grey minefield that lies between the two, human rights advocacy. Charitable work by women who otherwise work at home is acceptable and almost an extension of the private sphere insofar as it evokes the same stereotypical feminine roles—mother, nurturer, provider of nourishment and caregiver. Working to alter social power relationships or to seek political power both defies the private-public dichotomy that allocates the former to women and the latter to men. 
 
For upsetting that applecart, women must and do pay. Women who are raised to hold families close to them may find that their families do not support them, or worse, do support them but expect a pay-off for it. Psychological violence is habitual; harassment, abuse and threats are not just faced by the women activists but also their families and associates. Character assassination is extremely common, even if we do not count the rampant sexism they face in their work spheres and media. Assault, assassination, kidnapping and sexual violence—directed at them and at their loved ones—are real fears. Sexual exploitation and workplace sexual harassment are experienced at the hands of those with the power to distribute any kind of privilege—election tickets, funding, endorsements or campaign support. Access to resources can also be withheld; in India, tax and financial regulations have been common instruments of coercion used by successive governments against those who challenge them. Because Women Human Rights Defenders defy these challenges and ignore these threats in order to do what they believe in, they are also stigmatised for not being mindful enough of the barriers patriarchy raises for them. Violence against women in politics—and politics in the broadest sense—is a global reality, and yet it is one kind of violence we pay little attention to. Women who choose to enter the public sphere must be asking for it, after all. 
 
Ending their obscurity
 
Countless women’s rights organisations work all around India to safeguard women’s rights, build their capacities, help them with livelihood options and offer sexual assault and domestic violence services. Their reach and knowledge of their work is limited to the community they work with. No matter how profoundly they transform people’s lives, we do not know they exist. This does not mean they work in safe environments. Soni Sori, Dayamani Barla, Vaishali Patil—a few names that you come to know only when they are under attack, but few of us have or take the time to find out exactly what they have been doing. What about all the others? 
 
The mainstream media does not cover their work. Many don’t have websites or a social media presence. They are not writers so few of them write their stories. We hear about them when the government they challenge decides to penalise them in some way or when their opponents subject them to violence. Background research for a wikipedia project on women’s rights organisations in Chennai and Tamil Nadu shows there is very little information in the public domain for even relatively prominent people and organisations. 
 
Our ignorance points to our apathy, but even if we wanted to learn, where would we find information? Where are the stories of women human rights defenders and political activists being written? This is a knowledge creation challenge anywhere; you know and can know more about what you know. But if you do not know there is something to be learnt, it is hard to seek, find and document that knowledge. Where a male-dominated culture teaches you not to see women or their work, it is even more challenging to seek it out and learn about it. 
 
Women are not encouraged to take themselves seriously enough to keep records, papers, diaries or write memoirs. Sometimes, they simply do not have the literacy or the resources. Even if they write, they may not write in the ways we valorise. Biographical writing is still uncommon in India, perhaps because funding for that kind of research is limited. Should someone do this research or edit papers, they would still have to find a way to put that information in the public domain. This requires a publishing outlet. In this age, there are blogs and websites but how many mainstream media outlets would carry features on women activists in remote areas? In any case, you cannot say much in 800 words. You would need a larger platform or an archive that would hold your research for you.
 
India has had feminist publishers for a long time. Kali for Women (which then was succeeded by Women Unlimited and Zubaan Books) and Stree Books were pioneers. With feminist journals like Manushi and Samya Shakti, there was a place for articles and features on feminist concerns. Today, their online successors like The Ladies’ Finger and Feminism in India take their work forward. As early as the 1980s, Bengaluru had a feminist bookstore, Streelekha. But there are so many more stories to learn and to document! 
 
To know is to care, to defend and to be free
 
Why am I talking about history and biography on Women Human Rights Defenders Day instead of just describing their challenges and the urgent desperate need to protect them? History is intrinsically important, and when we do not document the work of half the world (and more), we lose important parts of our human story. But never mind that esoteric concern; I am doing this because our apathy and disinterest are directly related to our ignorance, and this has consequences for our survival as the democratic societies we say we are. 
 
We cannot care about something we know nothing about. Unaware of the work that women are doing, the value of that work to our lives and the challenges they face, it’s really all the same to us what happens to them. Therefore, when the police or intelligence agencies, or even those in power, tell us that Human Rights Defender X or Y is in cahoots with another country or she is fundamentally dishonest or she has been misled by idealogues or that she is corrupt—we have no reason not to believe. This is terrible for the activists, of course, but it is also dangerous for us. When we are willing to accept anything we are told about another citizen simply because we do not know them or about them, we open the door to a politics of rumour and suspicion. It begins with one person we do not know at all, and works its way past acquaintances, friends and family until it is our turn. Each time we fail to challenge it, the tools of intimidation and suppression are sharpened. The accusations made may be true or false, but the point is, we do not care enough to find out nor enough to give this activist the benefit of the doubt. After all, the first time most of us hear of the person is usually when they are being accused or investigated for something.
 
Soon, either the activist is eliminated, incarcerated, silenced or finally, she quits. We have lost someone who cared enough about us to fight as hard as she could. More than that, we have lost yet another female role model for our daughters—already too few and unsupported. Our daughters never learn that they can also be the people who defend the values they hold dear. They accept limitations on their rights without resistance. Our sense of agency is slowly lost because we do not see anyone who exercises it. We did not care enough to protect women human rights defenders or take our turn to defend them, and now there are none. There is no one to fight for us and no one to show us how to fight. We are, simply, subject nations. 
 
“Untamed minds and boundless dreams
Ablaze with all possibilities
Equality justice and solidarity 
Connecting our joint bloodstreams
I pluck the stars and scatter them around us
It’s an old protection ritual for the adventurous
Be prepared...
For I know the smell of revolution when it’s a brewin’
Don’t get too comfortable...
‘Cause in front of me lies, a terrifying bunch, of revolutionary women.”

(Marwa Sharafeldin, A Revolutionary Woman
 
Swarna Rajagopalan is a political scientist and the founder of Prajnya which organises the Prajnya 16 Days Campaign against Gender Violence (25/11-10/12) every year.