Look, an indigenous!

JUL 08 -

Kunming, China. Six o’clock in the morning. I hurry toward the Yunan University Campus where I have to board a bus to the village of an indigenous community. Less traffic—one or two cars pass me by. Early birds are going about their business: a municipality truck overloaded with rubbish, an elderly couple trying to run (but their running is no better than walking) and a couple of bleary-eyed policemen returning from their night duties.

The bus is full. I take my seat and survey the interior. Noisy Indians, tight-lipped Europeans, booming Americans, tall Africans and quiet Chinese. Indians have outnumbered Chinese and therefore, only they can be heard. Four of them are competing to talk to a European woman who is leaning over her seat and trying her Hindi with them—the deep gully that divides her two big breasts could be seen from her low cut sleeveless vest. She wants some information about some south Indian city, and the Indians are vying to supply it eagerly and all at once. This has confused her, and the more they try to help her, the more overwhelmed she becomes.

The bus is going fast —a symbol of the fast growing Chinese economy. There is construction underway. Scaffolds and iron bars of big buildings and skyscrapers can be seen everywhere. I notice a small house among green trees surrounded by half-erected buildings with huge cranes towering over them. How long the house is going to resist, I wonder. Big buildings come at the expense of greeneries. Fifty years from now, any greenery at all will be a strange sight.

The bus reaches its destination. We were taken to Yi community and greeted by the villagers in their indigenous dress: the men half-naked with wild animal’s leather tied to their waists, and the women in colourful dress with small earthen goblets full of wine for the foreign guests. I wonder if they are happy to expose their brown bodies. I would not like to be presented in my traditional costume to aliens for any reason. In every country, government and NGOs expose indigenous communities to foreigners, sometimes for dollars and sometimes just for fun. I don’t know about China, but in my country, government and NGOs receive millions of dollars in the name of the welfare and development of the indigenous communities, but their condition remains the same. They have become objects of fun and merriment for the foreign guests. Their dress, their houses and their dance—everything is watched, enjoyed and applauded. But their half-naked bodies are still waiting to be covered, and their children are still waiting for equal opportunity and education to materialise.

I woke up from my daydream. 

We are greeted by Yi people at the gate of their village, entertained with their dance and fine wine and honoured with gifts. We, big white Americans and Europeans; plump, dark Indians; tall, black Africans and small, brown South Asians, enter their village, eat their food and visit their houses. People are clicking their cameras and posing for photos, positioning themselves between native men and women. I feel like I’m trespassing. Their village,

houses and small worldly possessions are exposed to the foreigners. The tourists around me couldn’t be happier, unless the villagers’ souls were exposed for inspection. I feel so sad for them and for all the indigenous communities who are made to be objects of entertainment. Even worse, the governments, NGOs, INGOs and professors think this show and tell is for the welfare and benefit of the indigenous communities.

Shouldn’t we—who think we are superior and know best how to provide for their welfare—respect their privacy and let them decide who they want to greet and receive and respect as guests?

Source: http://www.ekantipur.com/2012/07/08/oped/look-an-indigenous/356791/