Tag Archives: women

Women, Violence and the Silences: 1984

© Pippa Virdee 2024

Forty years ago, Delhi witnessed some of the worst violence since 1947. It was the events of October-November 1984, that prompted Urvashi Butalia to revisit the Partition of 1947 and to excavate the history of the violence that was perpetrated towards women. Both 1947 and 1984 have left indelible scars on the people and region. The opening in her book, The Other Side of Silence (1998), is worth quoting detail:

“Then, in October 1984 the prime minister, Indira Gandhi, was assassinated by her security guards, both Sikhs. For days afterwards Sikhs all over India were attacked in an orgy of violence and revenge. Many homes were destroyed and thousands died. In the outlying suburbs of Delhi more than three thousand were killed, often by being doused in kerosene and then set alight. They died horrible, macabre deaths. Black burn marks on the ground showed where their bodies had lain. The government – now headed by Mrs Gandhi’s son Rajiv remained indifferent, but several citizens’ groups came together to provide relief, food and shelter. I was among the hundreds of people who worked in these groups. Every day, while we were distributing food and blankets, compiling lists of the dead and missing, and helping with compensation claims, we listened to the stories of the people who had suffered. Often older people, who had come to Delhi as refugees in 1947, would remember that they had been through a similar terror before. ‘We didn’t think it could happen to us in our own country,’ they would say. This is like Partition again.” (Page 4-5) “It took 1984 to make me understand how ever-present Partition was in our lives too, to recognize that it could not be so easily put away inside the covers of history books. I could no longer pretend that this was a history that belonged to another time, to someone else.” (page 6)

But history keeps repeating itself, again and again. In 1984, people still had fresh memories of 1947, and so those three days of carnage evoked the spectre of Partition once again. Yet each time this happens, there is collective amnesia and each time there is no justice for the “chief sufferers”, the women who bear the brunt of political-communal violence. Below are a selection of articles and abstracts available on the subject and organised chronologically. At the end, there is a recent documentary by The Quint on “The Kaurs of 1984” which brings to the fore the accounts of the women who endured this and who have continued their fight for justice. .

The Justice G.T. Nanavati commission was a one-man commission, a retired Judge of the Supreme Court of India, appointed by the National Democratic Alliance (NDA) government in May 2000, to investigate the “killing of innocent Sikhs” during the 1984 anti-Sikh riots. The report was finally published in 2005.

Mander, Harsh. “Conflict and Suffering: Survivors of Carnages in 1984 and 2002.” Economic and Political Weekly (2010): 57-65. Even through these were separated by 18 years of history, there is tragically a great deal in common between the communal massacres that played out on the streets of Delhi in 1984 and in settlements and bye-lanes across Gujarat in 2002. This paper documents some of the findings of the research conducted with survivors of these two major pogroms over more than a year in the widows’ colony established by the Delhi government in Tilak Vihar and in four of the worst-hit district of Gujarat. It examines the paths of suffering, renegotiation and healing separately for the direct victims and the vicariously affected.

Kaur, Ravinder. “Wound, Waste, History Rereading 1984.” Economic and Political Weekly (2014): 34-38. Wounds are expected to heal. Our very conception of victims and victimhood is based on this hopeful axiom. But not all wounds heal, some remain in a constant state of decay, degenerate, and ultimately risk turning into waste too. It is this possibility of waste that this article explores. The 1984 violence is one of those historical wounds that has neither faded from public memory nor fully healed. At the heart of this unhealing wound is the question of justice that has long been denied to the victims. The judicial affidavits prepared in early 1985 not only narrate the violence that unfolded systematically, but three decades later testify to the inability of the state apparatus to help heal its wounded citizens

Saluja, Anshu. 2015. “Engaging with Women’s Words and Their Silences: Mapping 1984 and Its Aftermath.” Sikh Formations 11 (3): 343–65. doi:10.1080/17448727.2015.1102554. In studying the 1984 pogrom and its aftermath, I have attempted to capture the voices of women of succeeding generations of the victim families and to gauge some sense of the arduous path which these women have had to tread on. In the present paper, I have examined and assessed the ways and means which women survivors of the 1984 pogrom have relied on to cope with their sense of trauma and hurt, and to negotiate everyday existence. In accounts seeking to document and map the experiences of trauma survivors, the themes which they raise and the issues that they speak of are taken into cognisance, while the gaps in their speech often remain unnoticed and unexplained. But these silences and gaps need to be recognised and highlighted as much as the speech of the survivors. Women survivors of 1984 also do not speak of their own agency, leaving it mostly unarticulated in words. Gauging a sense of this requires going beyond the words that are spoken and attempting, even if tentatively, to unravel and interpret the silences.

Kaur, Ishmeet. “Narrating the Experience: Oral Histories and Testimonies of the 1984 anti-Sikh Carnage Victims.” Journal of Punjab Studies 23 (2016). http://giss.org/jsps_vol_23/6_kaur.pdf This essay attempts to understand the word “testimony” and asks how oral histories can also become testimonial. It considers how new histories can unfold from oral accounts of the victims in the context of 1984 anti-Sikh carnage in Delhi. It argues that formal testimonies may misrepresent events by diminishing the gravity of the violence experienced by the victims, while oral narrations may be considered useful historical sources. As a case study, we consider selected affidavits submitted to Nanavati Commission in 2000, as well as oral narratives of the survivors recorded during a field visit to the Tilak Vihar widow’s colony in April 2015.

Arora, Kamal. “Legacies of violence: Sikh women in Delhi’s” Widow Colony”.” PhD diss., University of British Columbia, 2017. https://open.library.ubc.ca/soa/cIRcle/collections/ubctheses/24/items/1.0343994 This dissertation examines how Sikh women who survived the anti-Sikh massacre in 1984 in Delhi, India, cope with the long-term legacies of violence and trauma amid the backdrop of the urban space of the city. After the assassination of then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi by her Sikh bodyguards, approximately thirty-five hundred Sikh men were killed in October and November 1984. Many of the survivors, Sikh widows and their families, were relocated shortly after to the “Widow Colony,” a designated slum also known as Tilak Vihar, within the boundary of Tilak Nagar in West Delhi, as a means of rehabilitation and compensation. The work arises from fieldwork carried out between December 2012 and March 2014. I begin by discussing in depth the space of the Widow Colony and its relation to the rest of the city of Delhi. I then analyze the events of the 1984 massacre through the narratives of Sikh widows and how they remember their experiences of violence. I discuss how violence can have long-term ramifications for everyday life in arenas such as kinship networks, economic stability, health and wellness, and social life. These experiences are further amplified by gender, caste, and class. I also examine the impact of the stigma of widowhood in this community. This research seeks to interrogate how memories of violence inform, and are constituted by, embodied, affective practices carried out in a gendered space produced by the state. I argue that Sikh widows cope with long-term trauma by creating new forms of sociality and memory through their everyday lives and religious practices in the Widow Colony. The memory of the 1984 violence figures heavily among the Sikh diaspora. Thus, I also explore the relationship between the Widow Colony and Sikhs in the transnational arena.

Arora, Kamal, ““I Get Peace:” Gender and Religious Life in a Delhi Gurdwara” Religions 11, no. 3: 135 2020. https://doi.org/10.3390/rel11030135 In October and November of 1984, after the assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi by her Sikh bodyguards, approximately 3500 Sikh men were killed in Delhi, India. Many of the survivors—Sikh widows and their kin—were relocated thereafter to the “Widow Colony”, also known as Tilak Vihar, within the boundary of Tilak Nagar in West Delhi, as a means of rehabilitation and compensation. Within this colony lies the Shaheedganj Gurdwara, frequented by widows and their families. Based on ethnographic fieldwork, I explore the intersections between violence, widowhood, and gendered religious practice in this place of worship. Memories of violence and experiences of widowhood inform and intersect with embodied religious practices in this place. I argue that the gurdwara is primarily a female place; although male-administered, it is a place that, through women’s practices, becomes a gendered counterpublic, allowing women a place to socialize and heal in an area where there is little public space for women to gather. The gurdwara has been re-appropriated away from formal religious practice by these widows, functioning as a place that enables the subversive exchange of local knowledges and viewpoints and a repository of shared experiences that reifies and reclaims gendered loss.

Agarwal, Yamini. Urban Marginalization, Exclusion and Education-the Widows’ Colony in Delhi. Bonn: Max-Weber-Stiftung-Deutsche Geisteswissenschaftliche Institute im Ausland, 2020. This paper examines the many exclusions and marginalities experienced in urban neighbourhoods which are formed as a result of communal violence. It draws on an ethnographic study of Tilak Vihar, also known as the Colony of Widows, where the survivors of the 1984 anti-Sikh violence were resettled. By examining their life histories, the paper explores how women survivors have been caught up in a vicious circle of poverty and lack of educational and occupational opportunities due to their location in a highly stigmatized and gendered space. This has affected the education of their children, as reflected in limited school choices and poverty forcing young people to drop out of schools to fend for their families. The paper also looks into the role of community groups in Tilak Vihar, which have become the main source of support for families given the retreat of the state from this space. The paper underscores the everyday violence that survivors experience due to their gender and spatial location.

Saluja, Anshu. “Gendered Erasures in Memory: Silencing of Cases of Sexual Violence in 1984.” Sikh Formations 20 (3): 149–63, 2024. doi:10.1080/17448727.2024.2384843. In this paper, I have addressed the issue of sexual violence in the specific context of the 1984 anti-Sikh carnage in Delhi. Though a significant number of cases of sexual assault took place in Delhi in November 1984, they have largely remained shrouded in obscurity. I have attempted to analyse the reasons, prompting a near total silence on these instances. In undertaking this inquiry, the paper reflects on the selective, and often disempowering, nature of memory-making and preservation. It goes on to ask the critical question: what constitutes legitimate memory?

Kaur, Jasleen, and Vinita Mohindra. “Spectral Wounds of 1984: Sikh Massacre in Harpreet Kaur’s The Widow Colony: India’s Unsettled Settlement.” Sikh Formations, March, 1–11, 2024. doi:10.1080/17448727.2024.2321416. In 1984, Sikhs were massacred following the assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. Cultural expressions attempt to foreground the haunting legacies of this genocide. This paper explores Harpreet Kaur’s documentary, The Widow Colony- India’s Unsettled Settlement which unfolds as trauma testimony of the understudied conflict, contextualizing the spectral wounds of Sikh widows and their struggle for survival. Using hauntology and postmemory as critical lens, this article examines the spectral wounds of 1984 Sikh genocide. It also focuses on the gendered dimensions of violence against Sikh women by enunciating their doubly victimized sensibility through their experiences of shame, trauma and suffering.

Kaur, Jasleen, and Vinita Mohindra. “(Un)Dead Past of 1984 Sikh Massacre in Jaspreet Singh’s Helium.” Sikh Formations, September, 1–19, 2024. doi:10.1080/17448727.2024.2408859. Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s assassination followed the 1984 state-sanctioned massacre of Sikhs. This historical violence haunts survivors, and its mediation in cultural texts reshapes the interplay between history and memory, voicing forgotten narratives. However, the complex historical agency and collective silences on the 1984 Sikh genocide leave its cultural and literary representations undertheorized. Jaspreet Singh’s Helium (2013), serving as a cultural archive, delves into the haunting legacies of this genocide, highlighting its role in memorializing historical loss. Applying hauntology and Agamben’s homo sacer, this article investigates how spectral wounds reveal dystopic violence, excluding Sikhs from legal protection.

The Kaurs of 1984. Quint Documentary.

Leap of faith

It has been a while since I’ve had a chance to post something substantial on my Blog, for the pressures of term-time mean that there are few opportunities to sit down and ponder. However, today was 29th February and I wanted to post something, even if something small. I got my inspiration this morning, when I opened my email to find an editorial on the various Lit.Fests taking place in Pakistan recently, but hidden within this was a lament about women’s position in Pakistan and their battle against “suffocating patriarchy”. On the other hand, here in the UK, I was always told that on the 29th February, women can propose marriage! 

While there are hardly any bars on women proposing marriage on any other day of the year, traditionally this was considered here the “man’s” job/role. To be honest, I had never looked into where this myth came from, until today, when to my surprise, I discovered that this comes from a 5th century Irish tradition, also known as Ladies’ Privilege or Bachelor’s Day. The legend is that Saint Brigid of Kildare complained to Saint Patrick that women sometimes had to wait too long to marry because the men were too slow! In response, Saint Patrick decreed that on the extra day of a leap year, women could propose to men.

As we bid farewell to February, and welcome March, we will also celebrate international women’s day. The lived reality is that wherever you are, there is discrimination, oppression, intolerance, and worse. Take a leap of faith and believe in yourself, be the change you want to see. 

Leap Year Poem
BY MOTHER GOOSE
Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November.
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting February alone,
And that has twenty-eight days clear
And twenty-nine in each leap year.

Remembering Partition in the Punjab – podcast

Earlier in the summer I recorded a podcast with Realms of Memory. There are two episodes for those interested in understanding more about the history of Partition, especially how it impacted the Punjab. The talk was based on my book, ‘From the Ashes of 1947: Reimagining Partition’ published by Cambridge University Press (2018). In the podcast I also discuss some of the recent changes that have taken place in the study in Partition.

You can listen to the podcast via most streaming sites, or via Realms of Memory

Remembering Partition in the Punjab: Part 1

Remembering Partition in the Punjab: Part 2

My Body My Choice/Mera Jism Meri Marzi

Facing the waves at an undisclosed location, (c) Pippa Virdee, 2015.

The Evolution of “My Body, My Choice” By Lily Patterson, Voicesofgenz, Jul 27, 2020

An iconic tagline for feminists and activists across the globe, “My Body, My Choice” has packed a powerful punch in the fight for equality and, more specifically, womxn’s rights. Starting in the 1970s, the phrase was unofficially coined as a mantra belonging to the gender equality movement and was commonly heard at protests in a number of countries. Starting in the late 20th century, “My Body, My Choice” became words of empowerment and retaliation, particularly in the battle for reproductive rights and accessible abortions. In response to the oppression facing womxn and their reproductive power, feminists and protestors continue to use this phrase as a battle cry, an expression of the importance of bodily autonomy. Naturally, this response isn’t well-received by everyone, and is particularly opposed by pro-life supporters and government officials with anti-abortion agendas. As you can imagine, it isn’t exactly a popular mantra with sexists either. Regardless, “My Body, My Choice” continues to be an expression of the rights womxn deserve, and it is still consistently used in the battle for gender equality.

These words of strength have found their way around the world, and international chants for reproductive freedom and equality have rung proud. In a number of countries around the world, this tagline is met with brutal criticism. In recent months, womxn in Pakistan have been organizing marches and taking a stand against the injustices facing them in daily life. The phrase “Mera Jism Meri Marzi” (meaning “My Body, My Choice”) has made its home in the streets of Pakistan as activists demanding equality practically shout it from the rooftops. In Pakistan, this mantra holds true to its original intentions and is utilized as a powerful retaliation to sexist societal ideals and the archaic patriarchy. Other countries, including Zambia, England, Austria, Turkey, and more, have recently followed suit in chanting “My Body My Choice” as a bold statement about reproductive rights, gender equality, and other feminist ideals. The original intention of this tagline is described by Rameeza Ahmed, a journalist who covered the marches happening in Pakistan. “Whether she chooses to follow a certain religion or whether she chooses to walk around proudly without any clothes, it is her right to do as she wants and nobody else has a right to prevent her from exercising her choice,” states Ahmed.[Read complete article: https://www.voicesofgenz.com/post-1/the-evolution-of-my-body-my-choice]

my body. my choice written by Samantha Francesca, October 2017

I’ve never felt so much anger before towards anyone.
Have you ever looked someone in the eye and have them tell you that you should’ve kept the child that was planted in you by a stranger who drugged and ****** you?
Have you wiped the tears of a woman in despair because she was ***** and told she wasn’t allowed to get an abortion?
Have you curled up in a ball, trying to figure out who to tell about your personal experience of ****** assault and ****?
Tell me, person who says abortion is a sin and that it is relative to the holocaust, will my ****** support me?
Will my ****** pay for doctors visits?
Will my ****** pay the medicals bills for giving birth?
Will my ****** pay child support?
**** no and don’t tell me that I should always save the child.
Excuse me if I don’t want to carry my ******’s child inside of me.
My body. My choice.
MY BODY. MY CHOICE.

With abortion heading back to the Supreme Court, is it time to retire the ‘my body, my choice’ slogan? By Elizabeth Lanphier in The Conversation, 4 August 2021.

The slogan “my body, my choice” has been a feature of the reproductive rights movement in the U.S. and around the world since at least the 1960s. It’s now shorthand for concepts like bodily autonomy and self-determination. In the context of reproductive rights, “my body, my choice” asserts freedom from external control – specifically government control – over one’s reproductive choices.

It makes sense that “my body, my choice” gained steam in the years leading up to Roe v. Wade – a time when reproductive rights activists were fighting for the government to stay out of abortion decisions. Roe did just that by determining that abortion is a private choice between a pregnant person and their physician.

As a private matter, the Supreme Court determined that the government cannot interfere with one’s right to an abortion prior to fetal viability. In so doing, Roe established what philosophers call a “negative liberty,” or freedom from something. This freedom from interference was a crucial step toward reproductive rights in the U.S.

But in the decades since Roe, various states have taken steps to whittle away at the constitutionally protected right to abortion. “My body, my choice” frequently appears on signs at protests against abortion restrictions and in social media campaigns like #MyBodyMyChoice. [Read complete piece which discusses the philosophical and ethical debates around access and right to health care: https://theconversation.com/with-abortion-heading-back-to-the-supreme-court-is-it-time-to-retire-the-my-body-my-choice-slogan-163770]

City Monument – Masjid Mubarak Begum, Chawri Bazar

Like a wounded fairy tale. It is among Delhi’s most melancholic souvenirs. One of the domes no longer exists. The missing portion is wrapped in a …

City Monument – Masjid Mubarak Begum, Chawri Bazar

The shame of work

This morning I came across a newsflash on the BBC about “The risqué business of selling underwear in Pakistan”, which serves as a click bait because the article-proper is titled “Pakistan: The man trying to improve women’s underwear”. Its content immediately resonated with me. The quotes from female workers therein took me back to the research I did on the women, who worked for Pakistan International Airline (PIA) in 1960s. The factory in-focus, where they are making the garments, is based in Faisalabad (Lyallpur), a city I know well because of my own doctoral research, while the business was started by a Leicester born businessman. Leicester/DMU where I work, is city renowned for its garment factories and indeed DMU has long pioneered research in the increasingly sophisticated lingerie industry.

The interesting element is of course that in Pakistan, women’s undergarments are either on full display in congested stalls in busy bazaars, where a majority of women shop (buying, most likely, from a man) or they are curiously hidden (veiled) behind the blackened windows in fancy shopping malls. This stark class disparity is also symbolic of a cultural disparity in a society where working women of the sub-urban informal sector in r-urban areas, rarely have the luxury to be veiled, while the newly middle-class women, of families with the means to be pious, are more prone to and secluded in world of purdah.

The focus of the said article is about comfort and ensuring that women have access to underwear garments that are fit for purpose – and not just for optics. The fact that society treats these necessities in life as taboo, something to be embarrassed about and to snigger at because we are unsure how to respond, is a fine example of how a patriarchal society works to keep women confined in both public and private spaces.

When I was doing my research on PIA, the airline was established in 1955 in part to meet the needs of keeping East and West Pakistan connected, it was obvious that to get it off the ground, it needed staff, male and female. I was intrigued by the women who worked for PIA in the 1950s and 1960s, what motivated them, what their background was, given that in this still-more socially conservative age, women working as “airhostesses” or cabin crew were yet-more objectified, with age/size/marital status being important to the job. So, it was not surprising when such women encountered reluctance from the family members. 

These quotes from the BBC article could have been from the women I spoke with: (1) “We had two people who came back and said their families do not want them to work in an undergarment factory.” (2) “My father instantly refused…I had to ask him to let me go and see for myself and if…I don’t like the atmosphere at the factory, I won’t accept the job.”

Women who wanted to work for PIA endured similar sentiments. Families were reluctant or worse at their sisters/daughters working in this “forward” industry and the potential shame. But this was the 1950s/60s, and many of these women were away from home, flying high and experiencing a completely different world. In their taking off, they were breaking new ground, pioneering and enabling others to work in professions other than the usual “respectable” teaching/medicine. And so, to read these quotes from women today, 60 years later and working for a factory that is making undergarments is emblematic of how Pakistan has rolled on the road of more piety and rituals, as a ruse for rule; cover for control.

Faisalabad/Lyallpur is the third largest city in Pakistan, after Karachi and Lahore, and is the hub of the textile industry. It is often referred to as the Manchester of Pakistan. Following the Partition of British India, the city witnessed mass movement of people, both those who left for India and the large number of refugees that transformed this colonial town into the city that it is today. When I was doing my research on the city in the early-2000s, it was a conservative city despite the vast wealth being generated in its bazaars; 20 years on, it continues to be so, perhaps because of the new capital and its renewed performance of customs and commodification of shame.

Read further:

Pippa Virdee, ‘Women and Pakistan International Airlines in Ayub Khan’s Pakistan’, The International History Review, 2019, 41:6, 1341-1366, DOI: 10.1080/07075332.2018.1472622

Saher Baloch, ‘Pakistan: The man trying to improve women’s underwear’, BBC News, 13 June 2021. https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-57268691.

Women at Leisure

Enjoying being carefree at the GT Road dabba

I came across this article recently which immediately caught my eye because we rarely see these images kinds of images of women in the everyday, enjoying the public spaces the same way that men do.

Dipanjali Singh, ‘The Right to Rest: Women at Leisure’, The India Forum, 26 March 2021.

A woman at leisure is a rare sighting. Snatched at moments of rest between responsibilities, leisure marks the absence of prescribed duties and emerges as a space for expressing and curating subjecthoods beyond impositions and dictations.

Surabhi Yadav’s Instagram-based photo-project Basanti: Women at Leisure makes visible women’s leisure in all of its glorious heterogeneity. Surabhi writes about the “goddesses of small things” who find leisure beyond straitjacketed renderings of emancipation. In her work, women wash themselves off definitions which require them to act in this way or that, and are seen splayed out in the sun with a book-covered-face quieting the harsh rays, painting their toenails, posing meticulously for a candid picture, or simply letting down their hair while plonked up on a tree.

Read the full article.

Revolution in their blood

Harinder Bindu and Sonia Mann have become prominent faces at the ongoing farmers’ movement. Both Bindu and Mann’s fathers were gunned down by Khalistanis during the militancy in Punjab, in the early 1990s. “What does this society think of women? This society’s Manusmriti, its religious institutions, and its other institutions, they think that ‘Women have no wisdom. They should be kept under our shoes,’” Bindu said. “But we say ‘No.’ Women are equal to men and they too have the right to struggle. For a life of equality, for a good life, they should fight.” “They [the government] are the ones operating like terrorists,” Mann said. “They are the ones shooting cold water [from water canons] at us and our elders, throwing tear gas at them, and hurting them [elders].” Shahid Tantray reports. Camera by CK Vijayakumar and Tantray. #FarmersProtest