Reviewing Moda Goa: A story of how the choice of style makes a difference

Released early this year, Wendell Rodricks’ book Moda Goa: History and Style , a work that presents a history of Goan costume, clothing and accessories, has garnered a good amount of unstinted praise from the popular press.  This review will not however follow suit, but will attempt instead a more critical position on this work.

To begin with, one should recognize that in having consolidated the plethora of views on ‘Goan’ style and costume, Moda Goa has effectively created the foundation for a discreet line of study; style and costume in the areas around what has come to be called Goa. With the lavish images, and acknowledgement of sources, Rodricks provides future researchers with a starting point to commence their discussion of the themes that he attempts to consolidate. We should also acknowledge that unlike so many other books, a good number of the images in Moda Goa point to the identity of the individuals, who are otherwise unfairly left without mention. However, some credit for this democratic act should perhaps also be shared with Rajan Parrikar, given that these acknowledgements accompany Parrikar’s photographs in the book.

By popular accounts, Moda Goa would in fact live up to its promise, of presenting a narrative of History and Style. The book continues the grand tradition of understanding and writing about Goa that was first established by Goan public intellectuals in the late nineteenth -century. Toward that end, Rodricks must rightly be held to have joined that company, demonstrating also the continuity of intellectual traditions that Rodricks is heir to. The problem with this tradition however, is that it is one that is in severe need of updating in light of theories propounded by scholars working outside of the narrowly nationalist, orientalist and racist frameworks that marked nineteenth century scholarship. 

Rodricks’ work would have benefited immensely had he engaged with contemporary scholarship. Indeed, had he done so, it is more than likely that Rodricks would have crafted a remarkably different book. For example, Rodricks currently attempts an encyclopedic presentation of style and design, presenting a narrative of a linear history of Goan costumes, stretching from the prehistoric to the contemporary. The result is a work that is markedly thin in a number of areas, allowing him to suggest for example, it was the Emperor Ashoka’s Greek wife Helen who ‘set the style for Indian women who continue to drape their saris in much the same way even today’. While this may be a part of the story, failing to mention research that indicates the more contemporary origins of the story of the sari leaves us with the idea of a pristine garment that has come down to us. Contemporary research suggests that the contemporary Indian sari, along with the blouse and petticoat, was a Victorian era adaptation in nationalist Bengal, this model being popularized through Raja Ravi Varma’s wildly popular depictions of brahmanical goddesses. Another example is his suggestion that ‘The Muslims who traded with Goa after the Inquisition was lifted wore traditional fez caps’  challenging the suggestion from scholarship that the fez gained popularity in the sub-continent around the time of the Khilafat movement, the deliberate adoption of a fez cap being a mark of solidarity with the deposed Ottoman Sultan-Caliph. It is possible that, given the general disregard for the nuances of sub continental histories outside of British-India, Rodricks is in fact overturning established scholarship through reading the largely ignored Indo-Portuguese archive. However his failure in following standard academic norms of citations prevent us from ascertaining if this is the case, or if Rodricks is simply extending commonsense back into time.

Engagement with this body of research would also have ensured that at the very least Rodricks would have problematized the linear history he makes use of. Linear history is eminently suited to nationalist agendas that see the culmination of history in the idea citizen for the nation. Once this ideal citizen has been identified all else is held of dubious value. Given that the ideal citizen for the Indian nation is largely imagined as the upper-caste Hindu, the history that Rodricks crafts is an upper-caste history that often runs counter to the evidence that he himself provides. Thus for example, the departure of groups from Portuguese controlled Goa, was not necessarily that of Goans, but often of upper caste groups, especially those who had already, prior to the arrival of the Portuguese, established themselves as a dominant group along the length of the West coast. Further, the presence of the (Mangalorean) Catholics in Kanara was not merely the result of Goan Catholics fleeing Inquisitional terror, as Rodricks suggests, but also the result of combined factors of peasant abandonment of villages when faced with excessive taxes from the Portuguese State, and Maratha incursions into the same territory. It is not as if this fact is not recognized by Rodricks, but so great is his verve in telling a nationalist mythology that he fails to make this, and other facts, cohere with the larger narrative he weaves.

As a further result of following these nineteenth century patterns of historiography, and having marked the (upper-caste) Hindu as the central pole, the entry of Aryans into the subcontinent is clearly specified as not an invasion, but an arrival (though to be fair, this early clarification does not translate into consistency, given that the Aryans are saddled with invasion later in the text). Such a clarification however, is not in evidence in the case of the Persianised adventurers and dynasts in the subcontinent, who are simply brushed off as ‘the Muslims’. It is perhaps this dismissal, where he fails to distinguish between the Mughals, and the Deccan Sultanates that is the reason for the plethora of gross historical errors. Take for example the suggestion that  the Vijayanagara empire fell to the ‘merciless Tipu Sultan’, when it was in fact the Wodeyar dynasty that was effectively displaced around 1761 by Hyder Ali, the father of Tipu Sultan, whose throne Tipu inherited. The Vijayanagara polity fell much earlier, subsequent to the battle of Talikota in 1565. With this dismissal, and the following the nationalist common-sense of ancient Goa as a brahmanical seat, Rodricks misses the opportunity to engage in more nuanced understandings of the Islamicate impact on the evolution of Goan dresses, such as the pano baju and the cabai, that he discusses. Indeed, almost completely missing from the 'history' that Rodricks produces, is reference to the Deccan Sultanates, especially the Sultanate of Bjiapur that played a significant role, culturally as well as politically, in the development of the Goan aesthetic. All we have in the book are references to the Delhi Sultanates of the Tughlaks and the Khiljis; and subsequently the Mughals.

Finally, as a result of falling into the nationalist trap of seeing invaders as largely having a negative influence, and, especially in the case of the Portuguese, seeing their influence largely as a rupture from what ought to have been, Rodricks is forced to makes uncomfortable suggestions. Take for example the suggestion that “The Kunbis who were converted to Christianity by the Portuguese were forced to wear a blouse.” Rodricks would have done well to reference the literature that discusses the extensive battles that depressed groups in other parts of the subcontinent (one good example being Kerala) where women had to fight against upper-caste oppression, for the right (to cover their breasts) that the Portuguese state required by law. This is just one of the many places where one wishes that Rodricks’ otherwise detailed work had benefited from deeper reading to provide a more layered, nuanced, and perhaps responsible text. Devoid of an understanding of the power relations that mesh with costume practice, at times there is the danger that this book will slip into a mere coffee-table picture book recounting mythology, not history.

Perhaps most disappointing in the book, is that as a result of making this choice to present to us an encyclopedic narrative of Goan history, and choosing the nationalist frame in which to cast it, Rodricks spends more time on the ancient, medieval and early modern periods of history. As a result, he barely spends much time on the more exciting, and chronologically nearer period of the twentieth century. One would assume that as a trained stylist, conversant if not in active dialogue with the styles of the recent past, this would be Rodricks' area of expertise, one where he would be able to shine through. Furthermore, with the liberation of the Goan underclasses from feudal dependence, as they moved abroad, bringing up money and differing fashion sensibilities, a great many changes were introduced into society. This period is thus hugely interesting. How did these fashions create different ways of being? These are some questions that could have been asked and answered, a route that Rodricks unfortunately does not take. In a similar vein, some of the more interesting stories from the present remain untold. In his final chapter, Rodricks mentions the challenges and potential for a fashion industry in Goa, but fails to mention his own challenges as he made his, at the time laughed at, leap into setting up base in Goa. Some attempt at this is made in the stand-alone piece by Meher Castelino but it lacks the involvement of Rodricks' first hand telling, and given his elegant voice, mores the pity. 

However, to gain a comprehensive sense of the value of the book, we need to ask why it is that Rodricks is attempting this linear history? In this question lies the redemption of Rodricks’ attempt, which can be seen as the effort of the Goan Catholic to find and make space for himself within the largely upper-caste Hindu narrative for Goa and India set in place by nineteenth century intellectuals. In doing so, Rodricks has chosen one of two options, to negotiate space for himself, and others like him, according to the norms that have been laid down by the dominant forces within India and Goa; rather than fighting for a more democratic and open telling of a Goan history.  Rodricks is not the only Goan Catholic to go down this road, we need only refer to the review of Moda Goa by Maria Aurora Couto in the Outlook, to see that this affirmation of the Indian-ness of the Goan, as well as the space for the Goan Catholic within India is uppermost on her mind. Take for example, the deep concern for the Goan image, one that is born from a shame that most Goans feel when Goa is represented merely as a pleasure periphery with no valid 'culture', that is in evidence when Rodricks speaks of his interventions with the Kunbi sair; "if Gujarat can have its Patola and Maharashtra its Paithani, Goa too can proudly present its Kunbi sari in a new designer avatar." While we cannot therefore, fault Rodricks for his choice, we can nevertheless lament the fact that the fine voice that he possesses did not choose what could have proven to be, the more historic option.

(A version of this post was first published in the Gomantak Times dtd 18 July 2012)

Standing for Rights: The demand for English and the ‘Mother tongue’

The events subsequent to spectacular showing at FORCE’s (Forum for Rights of Children's Educations) rally on March 20, present a delightful opportunity for us to reflect on the nuances on Goa’s complex politics.

To begin with, the opponents to this move have raised the predictable bogey of ‘mother tongue’. The attempts by FORCE and related groups and individuals so far has been to respond to these arguments by rather weak formulations. In these formulations, lacking anything more than a superficial understanding of Goa’s linguistic politics, as well as operating as if movements in the rest of India did not matter, they fall over themselves while making statements about Marathi and Konkani, alienating rather than gaining allies. This situation could be resolved by focussing on the real issue here, that of power. Addressing the situation in this manner, will provide them an effective platform to display the mother tongue argument for what it is, a scam.

An essay in a recent issue of the Economic and Political Weekly pointed out that ‘In the case of historically marginalised sub­jects who have been denied their rights, such as Dalits, arguments in favour of Eng­lish as the language of empowerment and emancipation have been around for some time now.’ These pan-Indian movements, most notably Chandra Bhan Prasad’s celebrations of Macaulay’s birthday, and the setting up of the cult of the English Devi, point to the question of power. In which language is power held they ask? The answer is quite clear. Universally, nationally, and locally in Goa, as demonstrated by the publication of the State’s Gazette, power is wielded in English. As groups since British-India’s freedom struggle have realised, access to English is imperative to demand rights that are being denied.

Within Goa, there is another language that holds power; Konkani. This Konkani while masquerading as the popular language of Goa, is not a Konkani (or 'mother tongue') universally spoken or written by all Goans. It is primarily a Konkani spoken by the Sarasawat and its allied castes, and is presented to the rest of the Goans as the pure language that they must all mimic. The model for Goanhood is thus, the Saraswat, and all other local cultural and life-style models are either faulty, or as some would not hesitate to bluntly accuse, anti-national. By this model, despite the suggestion that one can eventually ‘blend in’, one can never be properly 'Goan', until and unless one is Saraswat or part of a similarly aligned caste. The operation of Konkani in Goa therefore, confers supreme power on some (caste groups), and deprives others of power completely.

This latter reason ensured a participation in the March 20 rally that cut across divisions of caste and religion. The demand at the rally was truly unitedly ‘Goan’ in that sense. It is perhaps also for this reason that the Education Minister, Mr. Monserrate, who represents a social group largely excluded from official power, responded positively to the rally’s demand.

The letter written by Fathers Mousinho de Ataide and Jaime Couto to the Archbishop in opposition to this demand however, point to an interesting fact. The leadership of this demand, as evidenced by those who were on the platform on the 20th, are largely Catholic (and I dare hazard a guess and suggest dominant caste/ middle class). FORCE would do well to make its leadership more representative of the forces that support it. This would be the perfect and only way in which it can effectively respond to its critics, gain its objectives and not fall into the Marathi trap that the Konkani lobby regularly lays. In other words, they need to forge alliances with those Hindu bahujan who were clearly present at the meeting and also wish a support for State supported English language education. This alliance can only come about, if the current leadership of FORCE takes the perspective of power seriously. To do so would require them to relook the Konkani-Marathi agitation, and ask the questions that Dr. Oscar Rebello asked us recently, why did almost the entire Bahujan Samaj want to merge with Maharashtra? The answer is that they feared power be firmly established in Brahmin hands. Those unaware of the history of ‘Konkani as mother tongue’ should know that it has largely been a brahmanical history dominated by the socio-political goals of the Saraswat caste. Merely look at the caste origins of those opposing the current demand to understand the value of caste analysis.

Caste analysis would also warn us that those in favour of support for English education need not engage in Saraswat bashing. For, does the opposition to English not include Mrs. Shashikala Kakodkar under the banner of Bharatiya Bhasha Suraksha Manch? Caste analysis will point out that support for ‘Indian’ ‘mother-tongues’ is largely the tool of brahmanised castes and groups. Through this tool, they effectively restrict other groups from accessing State power in India. Ms. Kakodkar’s opposition however may largely flow from the internal contradictions of the Maharashtrian Maratha-pride movement that structured the reform experiences of Goa’s bahujan samaj. In Maharashtra the Maratha despised the Brahmin, but sought to become brahmanised themselves. Further, a look at the largely ignored history of Goa’s Portuguese period will point out, as has Rochelle Pinto, that Goa’s Catholic elites, whether Bamon or Chardo, used the brahmanical imagination of the Indian national movement to settle their own scores against the Portuguese and demand autonomy. To do this, they also had to buy the argument that their own cultures were inauthentic, and they gleefully placed the blame for this condition on the Portuguese. In adopting Konkani as their sole mother tongue, not only did they ineffectively attempt to ‘blend in’, but also obscured the fact that the South Asian experience of language does not accommodate narrow 19^th century European formulations of ‘mother tongues’. Rhetorical use of the value of Konkani however also served these elite Catholics to keep non-elite Catholics ‘in their place’.

The failure of the attempt to ‘blend in’ is the reason that FORCE has obtained the support of such staunch nationalists and formerly Nagari-Konkani stalwarts as Tomazinho Cardozo and Fr. Pratap Naik. A word of advice to Mr. Cardozo though; Drop this ridiculous argument that the ‘Medium of Instruction’ clause was a conspiracy against the Archdiocese schools. On the contrary, the Konkani language movement has been piggybacking on the Archdiocese schools to secure its power. Via this argument, Mr. Cardozo stands to unwittingly convert the issue one of Catholics versus the rest. Conspiracy to destroy is not part of the equation, and if so, may have applied to an earlier context, that does not hold now. It would be especially a pity since Mr. Cardozo has thus far admirably held the tenor of the demand for recognising the Roman script to the issue of power, and not succumbed to the red-herring of ‘us Catholics’. But then this is because the Roman script issue is a caste battle, against the brahmanised castes and groups in Goa, and even though Mr. Cardozo does not use this lens, he is a remarkably perceptive man.

It is when we speak of power that the single most powerful argument of the FORCE is revealed, it is the parent that has the right to decide the education of their child. The democratic rights of the parent cannot be held hostage to the national-community building fantasies of either a small group of people, or a State. To do so is ultimately what fascism is about. A focus on rights, would also reveal the possibility that this fight could be taken to the courts, which may perhaps prove less amenable to nationalist arguments and open to the demands of democratising access to education.

(First published in the Gomantak Times, 30 March 2011)

Taking Caste Seriously II - Why Brahmin bashing will not further the Goan Revolution

It is something of an article of faith in some circles to place the ills for much that is happening in Goa at the feet of the Saraswats[1]. These circles indicate that the Saraswats have always been a dominant force in Goan society and especially so after Liberation. They control the mining industry, through this they control educational institutions until very recently almost all of the newspapers in Goa, with the development of technology they also control the local audio-visual media. Further it is pointed out, that from A – Z, all government departments are headed by Saraswats who ensure that on retirement, their position is taken over by another Saraswat. It is through this presence in all key posts and institutions these activists argue, that the Saraswat is able to control the fate and politics of Goa, manipulating every situation to come out the winner. What we should know these circles argue, is that there is no such thing as a Congress agenda or a BJP agenda in this State; there is only a Saraswat agenda, and they will sleep with whoever promises to deliver it.

The above argument may be true; especially if the first half of these arguments can be established. Control over institutions and resources presents groups with not just economic capital, but social and cultural resources that allow for dominance in society. One can be recognized as dominant not purely through physical domination and economic might, but by also being recognized as providing ‘high culture’. And this is where I would like to introduce a spoke into this pleasant idea that we can blame the Saraswats for every ill in Goa. Dominance in a society is not possibly entirely through physical domination, especially by a group that forms a small percentage of the total population. Such domination is possible only through the active participation of other groups in this domination.

The emphasis on Brahmins as the object of attack for creating a caste-violence free society obfuscates the issues rather than contributes to addressing the matter. Being anti-brahmin is not enough. On the contrary, it is not what is required in the first place. What is required is a hostility to the entire edifice of Brahmanism that is propped up by brahmanised groups that are not always Brahmin. For example, the Chardo[2] landlord who hates the Brahmin is not being anti-caste, but merely fighting a caste battle for dominance. When he wins this battle, it does not translate into any form of liberation for the dalit[3] below him. A friend succinctly captured the sentiment when he remarked “For the Chardo being anti-brahmin, is being anti-caste”.

In early 20^th century Maharashtra, moving toward kshatriya status was seen as one route toward social mobility and challenging caste violence. Gail Omvedt, a Dalit scholar, identifies Shahu Maharaj of Kolhapur as the harbinger of this process. While being staunchly against untouchability and instituting policies of positive affirmation (reservation) he did much to challenge caste violence. However “the desire to be considered a kshatriya meant accepting many brahmanic norms; it meant accepting sanskritic rituals, and it gave sanction to all the similar efforts going on throughout the Marathi-speaking areas whereby ‘Maratha’ and those of similar caste were encouraged to consider themselves kshatriyas…use the Gayatri mantra, use vedokta rituals and so forth”. The result of this move was to weaken the critique of Brahmanism and shift the focus of the battle toward the brahmans. It was this strategic mistake that caused Dr. Ambedkar to clarify to young Marathas that “you are against brahmans but not brahmanism; we are against brahmanism”. Indeed, from the plethora of Maratha samaj in Goa we can see that this trend has had some influence in our State among the dalit groups here.

An anti-brahmanical ideology twines the two factors of class and caste to move away from the casteist strategy of blindly identifying a single or couple of caste groups as the enemy. Employing such an ideology we realise that among the Goan Catholic the all-encompassing terms of bamon[4] and chardo don’t capture sociological reality. They are merely umbrellas that club dominant bamons and chardos with the dalit bamons and chardos in the same group. By erasing the difference between the so-called ‘first class’ and ‘second-class’ bamon and chardo we erase also the clarity that the interests of these two groups are not the same. The ‘first-class’ group has more in common with each other and with the Saraswats and the Dessais[5], than with their ‘second-class’ compatriots. However, by placing them in one group, we create the illusion that they have common interests. One has only to take up this analytical lens and use it to explore the dynamics of the Goan upheaval (fitna) to realise how things clearly fall in place after one has done so. The cobwebs are swept clean and the logics for associations (i.e. GBA) are as clear as day.

When asked to define who was a ‘Dalit’, a Dalit scholar remarked that a Dalit is one who practices equality. Sanskritisation is a process that stands at counter to the realization of a Dalit identity. Among the Hindu, the process encourages one to mimic sanskritic ritual and identify with it. What this implies is a lack of respect for one’s own position and an acceptance of the hierarchies that Brahmanism sets up. In the current political context, it also encourages dalit groups to see themselves as opposed to those who are not Sanskritised. Thus, rather than fighting for radical equality that destroys caste and class hierarchies, these dalit groups become the foot-soldiers for Hindutva, a logic that privileges upper-caste norms. Like foot-soldiers, it is these who die on the battle-field allowing the generals to gather the spoils. Among the Catholic too, Sanskritisation plays a role, as the ‘first-class’ among them accept Sanskritic virtues as defining both the qualities of Indian-ness, as well as the marker of ‘high culture’. This acceptance of Sanskritic virtues can coexist with their ‘Western’ ethos, since Brahmanisation exists in a symbiotic relationship with Western imperialism. For the ‘second-class’ among the upper-caste groups, and the dalit Catholic, mimicry of their Sanskritised co-religionists ensures that they expend money in conspicuous consumption, as they try to become the bhatcars[6] of old.

It is possible that the Saraswat may control most of the significant institutions in our State and define what high culture is. But this is possible only because of the active support of other caste groups, and the unquestioning attitude of the dalit. The Dalit route would be not to attack the Saraswat (and thereby become casteist) but to attack the inequalities within the system. The Dalit route would set up parallel goals, the achievement of which will signify social mobility and achievement. In other words, the Dalit agenda in Goa would involve lending support to the ongoing fitna and demand transparent and accountable governance and public institutions. It would set up an alternate cultural framework that does not celebrate what is given to us as high culture. Above all, it will be based on respect. Those who come in its way, we will have to deal with.

(Published in the Gomantak Time, 25 March 2009)

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[1] Saraswat or Gawd Saraswat Brahman is the dominant Brahmin caste in Goa.

[2] Chardo is a Catholic dominant caste that sees itself as Kshatriyas.

[3] I distinguish here between dalit (a person who is oppressed) and Dalit (a person who possesses Dalit consciousness).

[4] Bamon is the Konkani version for Brahmin, in particular I am making reference here to the Catholic Brahmin.

[5] Dessais are another dominant caste group in Goa, seen as Kshatriya.

[6] Bhatcar is the Konkani term for land-lord.