Moment of Silence for Tamir Rice

"Moment of Silence for Tamir Rice,"

Said a woman standing in a circle crowded to mourn another murder, for the eleventh time tonight since the last moon.

“Silence,”

She spoke

Holding a bullhorn,

A black fist, and a bleeding heart

Her eyes

Soaked with all seven oceans,

Set on the land at fault for stolen lives…

I swallowed my tongue.

My fingers have lost count 

of charges against this country

Indebted to her in centuries of silence,

For all the 397 years of black bodies pushed in the grave too soon. 

-Neha Ray

Violence in Kailali: Beyond the Protest

Photo Cred: Vice News

On August 24, Nepal was introduced to Kailali- a district in the Western region— far, in many ways, from Kathmandu, her people, pop-culture, and the policy makers of the country.

News media reported the death of seven police officers. Thousands of demonstrators clashed with security forces and a curfew was imposed. The incident received massive coverage, especially because of its very violent outcome.

A senior police officer was stabbed to death and another burned alive.

Immediately, social media sites and blogs were filled with posts condemning the event. Some were certain that the riots were inflicted by external agents. Others claimed that ideas of identity politics are parts of a conspiracy to divide and weaken Nepal. And there was a widely-circulated piece in the Huffington Post declaring that the protest was an act of terrorism.

Since August 24th, folks in Kathmandu and abroad who live far away from Kailali have suddenly become experts on people and politics of that region.

There are those in complete disbelief that such a brutal outburst has taken place in Nepal, and right after the tragedies surrounding the April earthquake. Posts confused at the anger of protestors and their cause troubled the Nepalis who question the “current” disturbance of unity in Nepal.

This sentiment is an example of the dominance of disconnect that exists between the upper caste, higher class, cosmopolitan-Kathmandu Nepal and the Nepal that is less privileged in those terms. Denying or dismissing the dissatisfaction of the people living in Kailali and wondering why anyone would resort to rioting demonstrates a lack of awareness of the geographical, historical and political context of this protest.

Kailaliis not Kathmandu. It is a district with the highest concentration of Kamaiyas (bonded laborers). The majority of them are Tharus who are indigenous to the south of Nepal yet have the least ownership of land, property and power there. Often children of Tharu Kamaiyas are sold into indentured servitude. Fifteen years post legal prohibition, this tradition continues largely due to a lack of proper compensation by the government for the families to re-start their lives.

Kailali is also a district that was hit by the Maoist conflict on an immense scale. It lost a tragic number of people to the conflict and continues to have unsolved reports of children who went missing during that period.

Kailali, like many other districts in centralized Nepal, has been deprived of schools, health centers, employment opportunities, security and government assistance easily granted to most of Kathmandu.

I am not sure who was fighting on the streets that day. Of the thousands of angry men, women, and children, I don’t know how many were outsiders paid to protest and who among them were the “real Tharus.” But given the violence forced upon this place and its people, I am not surprised at the rage that escalated to the incident on August 24.

The second most popular response to the Kailali conflict seems to be outcries of nationalism; The “We are all Nepalis” flag that is flown high with pride every time a minority community speaks up against their oppression.

Nepal needs unity. There is no doubt or alternative to that. But this unity should not be at the expense of those who currently are and have been historically marginalized by the state and its policies.

This nationalist uproar for unity reminds me of the “All lives matter” Americans who seem to care about racial equality only when black folks are literally fighting for their lives.

Nepal’s progress depends on peace among its citizens. That harmony is attainable only with equity among all Nepalis living across the country. When we expect silence from minorities in the name of patriotism, we are perpetuating the state violence that these groups are already living with. Especially with the new constitution’s failure to implement justice for those who have been oppressed since the creation of this country.

The author of the Huffington Post piece demands serious action against those who were responsible for the death of those police officers.

“I worry: doesn't ignoring terrorism have serious consequences? Would it not encourage other attacks? If we turn a blind eye to labelling what is right and wrong -- of course it's not always black and white -- aren't we allowing and often giving a green light to such acts of terror? Doesn't it strain the country's moral fibre?”

The irony of educated, progressive, liberal Nepalis using rhetoric resembling the right- wing of the United States did not stop with this author. Rhetoric questioning the nationality of Tharus has surfaced everywhere. There have also been reports of death threats, physical attacks, etc. to many from that community as well as those speaking on behalf of them.

Part of me understands that these sentiments come from a place of grief. The police officers who were murdered in Kaliali represent the Nepalis in blue uniform who risked their own lives and families to rescue our people during the devastating earthquake just a few months ago. These women and men work for the state but represent the working class and, also usually, the oppressed communities of Nepali society. Their loss was wrong, and tragic.

But what I am emphasizing here is the possibility of mourning their death and condemning those responsible without dehumanizing the protestors and dismissing their fight for justice.

The above mentioned author’s biggest concern seems to be her perceived lack of strict repercussion against the protestors. According to reports, a curfew was imposed right after the clash and the national army deployed to the area with an order to shoot anyone violating the curfew on sight. Also, along with the police officers, four Tharus, including a child, also lost their lives. Yet, the author is troubled about semantics.

I am not an expert on the politics and people of Kaliali. After all, I am also from Kathmandu, currently abroad, and far away from the realities of Nepal outside the valley and academic discourses. But I am a concerned citizen. And I am troubled by violence. Not just the kind that manifests in protests such as the one on August 24, but also the violence that causes such rage.

We cannot prevent national tragedies by criminalizing protests. Demonstrations are sometimes a response to nation-sanctioned violence, a larger tragedy that should be criminalized.

The said author ends her piece with a definition of terrorism.

“The use of violence and intimidation in pursuit of political goals.”

I agree. So let us not forget the violence and intimidation that is directed toward Nepalis in pursuit of political goals in the interest of social and economic privileges of other Nepalis.

Written by: Neha Rayamajhi

HONK for Immigrants

This past Sunday hundreds of folks, including immigrants, allies from social justice groups, activists, musicians and even couple of children gathered at the Suffolk Detention Center in Boston. This group of people came together demanding "freedom for the detained immigrants." Though the event was centered around immigration rights, the group also carried signs in solidarity with Ferguson and Palestine.

The sight of a diverse presence and the sound of freedom songs, drum beats and musical instruments by HONK participants made the evening special. It was a true testament to the good cause to see the Cakalak Thunder who drove all the way from North Carolina and the Rude Mechanical Orchestra from New York, perform in solidarity with the supporters of the detained immigrants.

Immigrant prisoners waving at the supporters from behind the barred prison windows, and singing along while swaying to the music added joy to that powerful moment. And no, not even the police with their cameras or intimidation strategies could ruin the energy of the evening. As a brand new member of Boston, I am filled with gratitude to have experienced such love in this city.

Written by Neha Rayamajhi you can follow her on twitter @NehaRaySays

Find a list of her contributions in the "About Us" section 

The Post 9/11 America

The following was written by: Neha Rayamajhi

Seven years ago years ago I would have never imagined myself being anxious about a date. I would have never imagined having to mentally and emotionally remind myself to remain calm and careful just because it is September the 11th.

The people killed in the incident thirteen years ago were not related to me. The killers responsible for these murders are not related to me. The political groups that have continuously abused this tragedy as a propaganda tool are not associated with me. The religion that is wrongly and continuously accused for all this is not mine. And neither is the land where this happened. Nor the people who witnessed that moment from a closer distance; geographically, politically and personally.

September 11th 2001, I was a little girl in Nepal almost twelve, almost eight –thousand miles away, almost oblivious to the disaster taking place inside the television blasting loud, surrounded by grownups in my grandfather’s house. All I understood was that some “evil men” had murdered innocent people in America. But then “evil men” were murdering innocent people everywhere, everyday, including my own country where Maoist insurgency had started taking a very violent toil. The unfamiliar face of an angry white man on the television told us to take a moment of silence in respect to the lives lost. And we did, that day for the people of America and the next day for the people of other countries mourning their and our own similar tragedies.


Seven years ago the same day as I sat in a classroom in my new American college, I was startled by subtle stares I received whenever the professor mentioned those”evil terrorists.” The class was full of American students who hadn't quite had the time to learn about my background, or the geography of Asia it seemed, but the stares made me uncomfortable. They were not hateful, at least not all of them, but they made me feel uncomfortable. I did not understand the connection.

“But you do look like an Arab.” Clarified one of my classmates much later. And I still did not see the connection.

The years following that have been different. Different in a sense that I have now become accustomed to the stereotypes and homogenization of Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, and of Arabs, Afghans, (South) Asians; and to the realization that in a post 9/11 era our status as immigrants from the continent has morphed from being “the other” to the “dangerous other.”

Irrespective of our diverse cultural, historical and geographical backgrounds, we have now been lumped into a single category. And to some extent it makes sense, considering the shared experiences of being welcomed with offensive names, remarks about our “barbaric” religions, “smelly curry,” funny accents and such. As well as the expectations that come with the myth of a model minority. The high expectations from us to be able to tolerate racism and xenophobia, while silently and submissively making profits for the boardrooms and classrooms seem to bond us together. We are a single category. And the last seven years have been different because I am no longer concerned about disassociating myself with this category, or any other group(s) I am generalized into.

I am however, still concerned about the fact that those subtle stares still make me as uncomfortable as before. I am still frustrated about the fact that “the others” in this society are unconsciously or otherwise, held responsible for harmful acts that we have nothing to do with. I am still angry about the fact that I find myself, and my kin, having to explain or apologize on behalf of murderers (or suspected murders) just because they possibly sound or look like us. It is ironic that immigrants and people of color continue to sacrifice for nations yet in any time of tragedy they continue to be the sacrificial lamb.

Things have changed since I was twelve. I can no longer look at 9/11 as an outsider. Official immigration policies, unofficial attitudes of people, stares I still get since my first September in America, the heated arguments with my cohorts, micro aggressions on social media sites, news of family and friends getting harassed online or in public spaces everything reminds me that I can no longer distance myself from the attack on America in September of 2011. And at the same time, all these things simultaneously remind me that I am an outsider as if I should be apologetic about my otherness.

All seven years of being here, I have had to remind myself to be calm and careful around this date. This year is no different.

Tomorrow another angry white man in the television will tell me to take a moment of silence for the lives lost this day on this land thirteen years ago. And I will take that moment, with all my sincere respect for them, but also for the millions of others who have lost their lives in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan and other nations, because of this day thirteen years ago. May all of them rest in peace.

This reflection was written by Neha Rayamajhi you can follow her on twitter @NehaRaySays
Find a list of her contributions in the "About Us" section 

4 AM Prayers for Ferguson

Vigil at the spot where Michael Brown was killed,
Sunday evening, in Ferguson, Mo.
The Associated Press

The following reflection was written by: Neha Rayamajhi

I was woken up too early today with thoughts of people in Ferguson, Missouri. With a heavy heart I reached out to the closest person I had for comfort. That failed miserably and with a heavier heart I logged on to my social sites I guess looking for some sense of solidarity.

Ice bucket challenge. Few news on Palestine. A lot of grief for a Hollywood actor. And couple of other national and international, both relevant and not so much news.

Whatever I could find on Ferguson was far too few and seemed to be a non-issue for the majority of my non-black folks on social media.

Don’t get me wrong.

My heart still hurts for Gaza. For the Nigerian girls who are still missing. For victims of recent landslides in my own country Nepal. For the maybe “legal” but definitely unfair deportations. For Robin Williams and the society that triggers mental and social illnesses...

This morning though, I also hurt a little too hard for Mike Brown from Missouri, and the Mike Browns from all across America who were made to leave too early.

No I am not saying that this is a pick and choose issue. In the words of brilliant Katina Parker,

“People dying unnecessarily, under any circumstances is worthy of compassion- and- ACTION.”

What I am disheartened about is the lack of compassion and action against atrocities committed by the police against people of color, and especially black folks in this country.

To me this apathy is more than just hypocritical. First because in most instances of injustice, I have seen African-Americans stand in solidarity with the oppressed peoples. Second, I have always seen organizers and activists, across races, borrowing strategies and styles of resistance from the said community. Liberal, radical, progressive- no matter what label, most academics outside the political right fill our book shelves and arguments with the likes of Angela Davis, Audre Lorde, Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, and more whenever convenient. And among the younger generation I find myself and many others being educated and inspired every day by thinkers and doers like Kim Katrin Milan and Janet Mock, or my very own Cherrell Brown and Ed Whitfield, and so many others in other many spaces.

Most of the time our fights against oppressions are fueled by aspects and examples of African American resilience and revolutionaries yet when it comes to being in solidarity with the African-American struggles, the majority of the world stays silent.

In fact, generally, when it comes to issues of race people remain silent.

Peace corps returns who travel all the way to over-exploited nations to “help” black women and children rarely make trips to the next city to help communities who lose their children to racist institutions. Missionaries who send money and services to countries like mine to “save” brown savages rarely send support down couple of streets across their churches to communities infested by racist cops. Liberal white activists who want to wear Keffiyeh as a symbol of unity with the Palestinians (even if it is bought from institutions that sponsor Zionist propaganda) rarely want to reflect on the skin they wear that could possibly also perpetuate white supremacy and privileges responsible for genocides. Students in liberal arts colleges who write thesis and “think pieces” on refugee struggles and dictatorship in foreign lands rarely think about instances like Ferguson and the breach of democracy taking place right now right here. Or so it seems.

And I wonder if this lack of concern apart from racism is also a result of guilt. The topic of race is controversial because it requires the dominant group, even in progressive spaces, to reflect on their own actions and maybe even take responsibility. It is easier instead, to focus on battles away from homes. It is more comfortable to wage a war against Kony in Uganda, to sustain and be part of narratives that make you feel heroic without having to address the villain in you and/or your loved ones.

Or maybe people are still waiting for “credible” news reports. As if people on the ground in Ferguson with tweets and videos of lived experiences that come along tear gases and men in uniform are somehow less credible than corporations who come to us with selective news.

Reports on destruction caused by racism, no matter how frequent, do not get covered by American institutions as much as they should. Yet the same institutions love reminding the people here and around the world, how we as brown and black people of the “third world” are responsible for each other’s murders. Both of these representation trends are rooted in values of white supremacy that refuse to value any lives other than their own because their very survival is based on making profits off these deaths. Racism and imperialism are not separate, or extinct like many love to claim.

On the other hand for us, people of color, and specially immigrants, anti-blackness is a real issue and the most relevant reason for this disengagement. But there is also the socialization of silence and fear. We are taught from our early years in the new country that we as the “others” do not have the right to complain about the U.S. That critiquing is a luxury reserved for the “real Americans” only- and I am not talking about the indigenous people of this land. You see, with our accents, addressing the weaknesses of this country gets translated to hate and comes with consequences. But it is important for us as a community to remember and remind each other that resisting is also a form of love. What often gets dismissed as rants and redundant complaints are sometimes honest concerns for the country that has given us a lot in its own ways.

Yes I agree that some injustices are more urgent and closer to us than others. That there are similar news I should be aware of but I am not. That not everybody can be equally invested in all these issues and in the same way.

But, explain to me why some people are incapable of mourning over dead bodies in their own backyards. Why is it that some news of deaths are national losses yet others are just expected to be lost?

Honestly, I don’t know where I am going with all this. It is 4 am. My heart is heavy, and I am looking for some comfort.

This reflection was written by Neha Rayamajhi you can follow her on twitter @NehaRaySays
Find a list of her contributions in the "About Us" section