The “Real” India Part I – Dalits

A long time ago, there was no caste system in India. Today, there is not supposed to be a caste system in India, as it was made illegal some time ago. But, as racism, sexism, and other forms of discrimination still exist all over the world, the caste system still exists in India. There are basically four castes, and these castes once determined one’s vocation in life, as well as those whom one could share a meal and marry. This has changed in some ways, but certainly not enough. Besides these four castes, there were – and still are – those without a caste called the “outcastes,” the untouchables, or, more commonly, the dalits. This is, in essence, a fifth caste, but in this discriminatory system, the people of this caste aren't even given the respect of having it defined that way. They are, truly, the "outcastes."

All of the volunteers assigned to India this year had read about and attempted to understand the caste system before arriving in the country, but, without witnessing and experiencing it, it's all very difficult to understand. And, as we are all placed in middle-class, Christian institutions, we have, so far, been sheltered from this part of India's "reality." But today, we got to see it. We traveled to a place called Bangarapet, about two hours from Bangalore, where there is a large population of dalits, as well as an organization that is working to empower them.

The first thing we did was meet with some women from the dalit community. As I walked into this room, where about 40 dalit women were sitting on the floor waiting for us, I was struck by how "normal" they all looked. I couldn’t tell they were poor. I couldn’t tell they were ostracized. I couldn't tell they were "outcastes" at all. I couldn’t tell they were any different from anyone else. I was in awe of their beautiful saris and smiling faces.

We took seats on the floor facing the women, and, through a translator, we asked them questions about the struggles they face on a day-to-day basis. I expected to hear them talk about malnourished children and unemployed husbands. But instead, every time we asked them about a struggle, they told us about a success. They didn't want to talk about unfair wages; they wanted to talk about how much their wages had gone up since becoming involved in this empowering organization. The women simply would not complain, and I was incredibly touched by this. Perhaps I'll even remember it the next time I get the urge.

In the end, the women were also given a chance to ask us questions. The first thing they wanted to know was how things in the U.S. compare to things in India, relative to these issues of caste discrimination. I spoke up first and said that, while we don’t have a caste system, we do have discrimination in many forms. And, like India, we see a growing gap between the rich and the poor in our country. We, too, have a government that often seems more concerned about making those rich people richer than giving the poor people a chance. As my words were translated, I couldn’t help but feel saddened. It was actually my lowest point of the day when I admitted to these women that, in the world’s wealthiest and most powerful country, these things go on too. The question is always "why?"

But we could not dwell. We thanked the women, and they thanked us. Then, with heavy hearts and our thoughts going in every direction, we moved on. Our next stop was a school that has been set up for child laborers. The Indian government estimates that there are over 20 million child laborers throughout the country. The practice is illegal, but families are desperate. When an “agent” comes around offering money to a family in exchange for their child(ren) to go to work in a factory or market, what choice do those families really have? It means one less mouth to feed and a few more rupees each month; truly, there’s no choice involved. And the question, again, is "why?" I asked that question over and over in my confused mind all day long.

Again, though, we had to be on the move. We had one more stop – the dalit village that the women had come from to meet us in Bangarapet earlier that morning. See, they don't even actually live in Bangarapet, but several kilometers away. We traveled on a treacherous road for almost an hour to make it to their village – the same treacherous road that the dalits living in the village have to travel when they need a hospital or if they want to go to school past fourth grade. When I started to become annoyed with the bumping and bouncing of our 9-seat Toyota, I had to remind myself that they either walk it or ride in a cart, and they do so not to go take pictures of a different life than what they know, but because they want to get an education or need to see a doctor.

We made it to the village, and it was a lot like I expected – run-down houses, dirty children, strange smells. But one thing I wasn’t prepared for was how happy all of the people were. It was the same realization I’d had when talking to the dalit women in the morning – they aren’t focused so much on their struggles. They do what they need to do to get by, and they take pride in what they do have – mostly each other.

As the sun began to set, we began to say goodbye. The young children did not want to let go of our hands. The grandmothers just stood there smiling and waving. One woman wanted so badly to serve us tea and a bite to eat. And as we traveled back to Bangarapet by that treacherous road, I did not know what to think. How is it that, in their incredible lack, they find something to give? How is it that, amidst their struggles, they stay so focused on their successes? How is it that, in a situation that seems hopeless to onlookers, they find hope and happiness? I don’t know…But I do know that, as well as destitute, the people of the dalit community we visited were brave, strong, and able to give the six of us gifts that we could not have received from our richest friends.