“How do you laugh at untrammeled power? Either you are completely terrorized by it, or you completely delegitimize its authority by laughing in its face and doing the most absurd things.” COMMUNITY Experimentalism in the Face of Fascism “How do you laugh at untrammeled power? Either you are completely terrorized by it, or you completely delegitimize its authority by laughing in its face and doing the most absurd things.” VOL. 1 INTERVIEW AUTHOR AUTHOR AUTHOR Watch the interview on YouTube or IGTV. ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Watch the interview on YouTube or IGTV. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Interview Chennai 7th Sep 2020 Interview Chennai Sociolinguistics Avant-Garde Form Experimental Methods Dalit Literature Dalit Histories Indian Fascism Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam Tamil Tigers Auto-Fiction Bhima Koregaon Marxist Theory André Breton Absurdity Explanation Affect Translation Tamil Eelam Personal History Failure Narrative Structure Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. RECOMMENDED: The Orders Were to Rape You: Tigresses in the Tamil Eelam Struggle , the newest book by Meena Kandasamy (Navayana, 2021). More Fiction & Poetry: Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5

A live performance for the launch of SAAG's Volume 2, also celebrating the release of Rajna Swaminathan's new record “Apertures” at the Soapbox Gallery in Brooklyn. Swaminathan (mrudangam/vocals) performed as part of the Vagabonds trio with Ganavya (vocals) and Utsav Lal (piano). COMMUNITY “Apertures” with the Vagabonds Trio Rajna Swaminathan · Utsav Lal · Ganavya A live performance for the launch of SAAG's Volume 2, also celebrating the release of Rajna Swaminathan's new record “Apertures” at the Soapbox Gallery in Brooklyn. Swaminathan (mrudangam/vocals) performed as part of the Vagabonds trio with Ganavya (vocals) and Utsav Lal (piano). On May 12th, 2023, SAAG hosted a launch event for Vol. 2 at the Soapbox Gallery in Brooklyn, for which we were delighted to present the experimental and deeply moving musical compositions of the Vagabonds Trio: Rajna Swaminathan (mrudangam/voice), Ganavya (voice), and Utsav Lal (piano) who we had the pleasure of collaborating with a second time after his opening performance for In Grief, In Solidarity . They were joined partway by Miles Okazaki (guitar). To showcase musicians with such incredible musical range, a commitment to radicalism and social justice as expressed in the lyricism and melodies, and a deep rigor and discipline with their craft, was a true honor. We hope you enjoy the recording of the live event and the improvisational way it shifted from the respective discographies of each member of the trio, shifting seamlessly from several languages, including Tamil, English, Urdu, and more. Most of all, the performance celebrates the release of Rajna Swaminathan's new album Apertures (Ropeadope, Apr 28th), available to buy or stream now . ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 A live performance by experimental Rajna Swaminathan, Ganavya & Utsav Lal. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Live Brooklyn Experimental Music Jazz mrudangam Rajna Swaminathan Apertures Ganavya Utsav Lal Launch Event Contemporary Music Ropeadope Miles Okazaki Event RAJNA SWAMINATHAN is an acclaimed mrudangam artist, composer, and scholar. One of only a few women who play the mrudangam professionally, Rajna has extensive experience performing in the Karnatik music, bharatanatyam, and New York's jazz music scenes, developing experimental approaches to improvising on the mrudangam, piano, and voice. Her ensemble RAJAS has been received with much critical acclaim on both Of Agency and Abstraction (Biophilia Records, 2019) and Apertures (Ropeadope, 2023). Rajna has composed for the JACK Quartet, Del Sol Quartet, the Los Angeles Philharmonic, and played with Amir ElSaffar, Vijay Iyer, among many others. Rajna is an Assistant Professor of Music at UC Irvine's Claire Trevor School of the Arts. She holds a PhD in Creative Practice and Critical Inquiry from the Department of Music at Harvard. UTSAV LAL is an Indian-American pianist-composer often known as the "Raga Pianist". Hailed by numerous media outlets as a ground-breaking performer, Lal has performed solo at the Carnegie Hall, Southbank Centre, Kennedy Center, Steinway Hall, among others, and honored as a Young Steinway Artist, amongst others. He has collaborated with Martin Hayes, Dennis Cahill, Winifred Horan, Australian Contemporary Circus Theatre CIRCA, Talvin Singh, George Brooks, Rajna Swaminathan, and has 7 solo records, including a historic world’s first album on the microtonal Fluid Piano (2016). Lal holds degrees in Contemporary Improvisation from the New England Conservatory of Music, and Jazz from the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland. GANAVYA DORAISWAMY is a critically-acclaimed vocalist, composer, and multidisciplinary scholar at the nexus of South Indian vocal styles & jazz/contemporary music. She is a co-founder of the We Have Voice Collective . Her recent works include composition and vocals for the film this body is so impermanent... (2021, dir. Peter Sellars); a 64-hour piece titled Atlas Unlimited: Acts VII - X (2019) continuously generated from the narrative of Zakaria Almoutlak, a Syrian with refugee status; Daughter of a Temple (2019), a 56’51” composed piece that drew from Alice Coltrane-Turiyasangitananda’s Monument Eternal ; composition and vocals for Vimalakirti Nirdesa Sutra Chapter 7: The Goddess (2019, dir. Peter Sellars); collaborations with Wayne Shorter & Esperanza Spalding for the opera Iphigenia ; and How To Cure A Ghost: The Album , songs made from Fariha Roisin’s poetry. She holds graduate degrees in ethnomusicology from UCLA, and Creative Practice and Critical Inquiry from Harvard. Her most recent album is Sister Idea (Ropeadope, 2023) with bassist and composer Munir Hossn. Live Brooklyn 19th May 2023 On That Note: Quintet 25th APR Between Notes: An Improvisational Set 5th JUN FLUX · Natasha Noorani Unplugged: "Choro" 5th DEC

Aruna D’Souza’s latest book, Imperfect Solidarities, asserts that despite alliances, relations, or understanding, solidarity can remain imperfect and imbalanced; however, if pursued collectively, it’s worth fighting for. BOOKS & ARTS Provocations on Empathy Clare Patrick Aruna D’Souza’s latest book, Imperfect Solidarities, asserts that despite alliances, relations, or understanding, solidarity can remain imperfect and imbalanced; however, if pursued collectively, it’s worth fighting for. Near the end of Imperfect Solidarities (Floating Opera Press, 2024), Aruna D’Souza quotes her child’s frank question: “How can you not end up loving something that you have to take care of?” In D’Souza’s latest book, presented as a collection of essays on art and literature, the writer and art historian contemplates these prescient and recurring questions through formal and contextual analysis. Reflecting on the now and fairly recent past, she navigates the reader through buzzwords and emotional sinkholes while offering reflections “developed from looking.” Almost journal-like, this collection halts, pokes, and condemns as much as it seeks, weeps, and oscillates. D’Souza calls forth iterations of solidarity found in the work of artists including Felix Gonzalez-Torres and Stephanie Syjuco, as well as writers such as Amitav Ghosh, Dylan Robinson, and Édouard Glissant. She further positions contemporary instances of conflict, specifically her remote witnessing of the genocide in Gaza, as impetus for critical engagement, grounding it in her practice of art critique. Is it possible, today, to not consume and be consumed by the fraught tensions playing out on almost every continent? Beneath a fingertip lies a deluge of information, horror, so-called “debate”, and virtue signalling. While Palestine's ongoing oppression has long been and continues to be discussed, the events since 7 October 2023 rightly encourage renewed thinking. When newsfeeds are ceaselessly refreshing and every new story hangs like a heavy shadow, D’Souza articulates the stuffy stagnation of being on this side of witnessing. Yet, with her text, she encourages recognition and reckoning. In the face of overwhelm, she motivates critique as a strategy of response: “My horror gives way to analysis, not only of the geopolitical situation itself, but of the way ordinary people are responding to what is unfolding.” Imperfect Solidarities is, as she offers, “a tentative gesture” towards how global solidarities can be invoked to compel care and action, however imperfectly. But how could anyone write, now ? What more can be said? Why isn’t what has been said enough? In the collection’s first essay, “Grief, Fear, and Palestine, or Why Now?”, D'Souza condemns complacency as a byproduct of familiarity. Outlining the co-dependence of the US and Israel, she acknowledges, “as a US taxpayer, I am funding the atrocities happening in Gaza every day.” By this admission, to invoke solidarity must, therefore, definitively be enacted despite and because of this entanglement. If silence is taken as implicit acceptance, then surely it is to actively encourage, too. To take time, to write, and to analyze, becomes D’Souza’s method of engagement. Sitting with her pages, the familiar formula of visual analysis and exhibition reviewing is strangely comforting. Using examples in art and literature, she outlines strategies for refusal found in creative output, exploring how others have contemplated empathy through conflict. Through this structure, she is able to draw out parallels that highlight how art(work) can model different strategies of solidarity. This focus is significant to Gaza, because, as historian and critic TJ Demos points out, “by targeting the cultural infrastructure of Palestinian identity, this violence [by Israel], which could be termed aestheticide, destroys collective ways of knowing and feeling, breaks connections between generations, history, and nationhood, and thus contributes to Israel’s genocidal project of complete erasure.” Teju Cole, attempting to contend with this loss after his visit to Palestine in 2014, also draws throughlines back to creation: “Photography cannot capture this sorrow, but it can perhaps relay back the facts on the ground. It can make visible graves, olive trees, refuse, roofs, concrete, barricades, and the bodies of people. And what is described by the camera can be an opening to what else this ground has endured, and to what its situation demands.” Although neither Gaza’s artists nor its cultural histories are the core focus of the book, the titular motif of an imperfect solidarity is often returned to with Gaza implied. Thinking in dialogue, D’Souza uses other, perhaps more familiar, examples for readers to find a cultural grounding around her core thesis of solidarity across conflicts. While loss spirals and genocidal powers contort themselves in new ways to evade complicity, she encourages the reader not to turn inwards to the point of inaction, but to continue, perhaps also creatively—despite imperfections or imbalanced alliances. “I dream of a world in which we act not from love,” she declares, “but from something much more difficult: an obligation to care for each other whether or not we empathize with them.” The essay “Mistranslation and Revolution” invites reflection on language as a site of resistance. While D’Souza acknowledges that “sitting with incomprehension is an uncomfortable act”, she offers obfuscation as a methodology for solidarity, levity, and perhaps solace. Incorporating an analysis of Amitav Ghosh’s vast novel Sea of Poppies (2008) — a historical saga on colonial resistance in India—she notes how language is employed in establishing power through (mis)translation and (mis)understanding. This is particularly evident in how character relationships are set out. Language is central to the navigation of relating between characters, so much so that Ghosh describes, through his narrator, how new dialects are evolved through use and how understanding transcends commonality. Showing her reader exactly how Ghosh achieves this, she quotes the book’s narrator, who describes: “a motley tongue, spoken nowhere but on the water, whose words were as varied as the port’s traffic, an anarchic medley of Portuguese calaluzes and Kerala pattimars, Arab booms and Bengal paunch-ways, Malay proas and Tamil catamarans, Hindusthani pulwars and English snows—yet beneath the surface of this farrago of sound, meaning flowed as freely as the currents beneath the crowded press of boats.” In the gaps and improvisations resulting from (mis)communication, Ghosh demonstrates a freedom in the space which finding (un)commonality creates. Thinking through the construction of language through its structures, D’Souza acknowledges its leakiness, and how comprehension and connection often require transcending direct translation. In her analysis of Ghosh’s text, she draws on how language can be an imperfect access point or even a protective barrier across differences. Pushing this point home, she offers: “Communication through the thicket of mistranslation is an act of generosity.” And yet, I pause on certain words D’Souza uses—‘siege’, ‘negligence’, ‘allies’, ‘incomprehension’, ‘unruliness’—and struggle to get beyond how language has still felt so futile as of late. In an article titled “ Acts of Language ”, author Isabella Hammad discusses the weaponizing of words through the increasingly contentious topic of ‘free speech’ in the USA . Warning against essentialism, she reminds us that: “Bombs were not made of language, and they certainly were not metaphors.” Yet, what of language that is weaponized, where certain realities are overruled, classified away, filed, and manoeuvred around within documents, as in the case of the numerous ICJ rulings or green card removals? What of legal terminologies and judicial standards that are warped and bent to persecute a manufactured villain? Focusing on the difficult and thorny work of comprehending the ‘now’, personal interpretation is central to the work of this book. By incorporating Ghosh’s strategies for communication across and in spite of differences, D’Souza reminds the reader of the fallibility of language. Invoking its futility, she encourages that “to be able to act together without full comprehension, is to be able to float on the seas of change.” Similarly instructive is artist and writer Fargo Nissim Tbakhi’s essay “Notes on Craft: Writing in the Hour of Genocide”, where he acknowledges the importance of writing as a way to make sense of traumatic events. Despite being in “the long middle of revolution”, writing becomes a tool for action; a way to witness and begin the process of comprehension. Courtesy of the author. Although Imperfect Solidarities offers a broad focus on art too, decidedly few illustrations are presented alongside the text . As a result, D’Souza makes room for thinking about imagery without a continuous re-posting of images. One artwork included is a still from Stephanie Syjuco’s video work, Block Out the Sun (Shield) (2019). The work is captioned as a photographic intervention and included in the essay ‘Connecting through Opacity’, in which D’Souza summons Glissant’s seminal text ‘On Opacity’ from his book Poetics of Relation (1990). In this text, Glissant makes a case for abstraction and the opaque as a mode of engagement. D’Souza applies this concept to artworks where artists refuse to make themselves, or their work, understandable to the hegemonic (white) gaze. D’Souza’s reading of Syjuco’s work emphasizes how disrupting colonial documentation can be an act of care. The work connects Western tropes of looking-as-learning with an expectation of access—like textbook botanical drawings, anatomy models, and the extremes of restitution debates on human remains trapped in European museum vaults. The included still from Syjuco’s five-minute video shows an archival black-and-white group portrait, covered by the artist’s hands. The photograph follows a typical format of colonial documenting: an assembly of people posed stiffly before a foreign gaze. While enough of the figures can be seen, locating the image as ethnographic objectification, Syjuco’s hands perform a critical intervention of care. The artist challenges the use of photography to dehumanise—a technique Teju Cole neatly articulates as ‘weaponized’—through colonial methods of recording, categorizing, and labeling. By discussing this work in relation to opacity, D’Souza links Syjuco’s intervention as creating a reparative barrier. Through contextual analysis, D’Souza further examines how Syjuco affirms opacity through masking, in the present, against archival record. By covering “unwilling subjects’ faces and bodies, [Syjuco is] shielding them from our prying looks.” Bringing the act of repair into the present, D’Souza emphasizes the implication of complicity ( our looking), and the act of interception as shielding or abstraction. She shows how Syjuco’s work is a visual recalibration—where critical analysis can draw out space to think through new solidarities across past and present interactions. D’Souza brings in two more creative works which specifically utilize what she terms ‘ungraspable’—intentionally obscuring direct comprehension using abstraction—to explore opacity as resistance. The first is Felix Gonzales-Torres’ quietly heart-wrenching, replenishable installations from the 1994 exhibition Travelling , created as the artist was nearing the end of his life in his battle with AIDs. Visitors were allowed to both consume and even take the works in this exhibition, activating the cycle of loss and return through objects acting as metaphor. The restraint and simplicity of these pieces encompass the methods of opaque meaning-making Gonzales-Torres is so cherished for. The second work is Dylan Robinson’s text Hungry Listening: Resonant Theory for Indigenous Sound Studies , in which Robinson instructs “the non-Indigenous, settler, ally, or xwelítem readers to stop reading” at precise points, in order to retain Indigenous sovereignty and sanctity of ritual. Noting a number of devices that reinforce opacity in Robinson’s work, D’Souza highlights that even with the text’s title, “Robinson positions settler forms of listening, too, as a kind of voracious demand for transparency”. Both Gonzales-Torres’ and Robinson’s productions of opacity exemplify a mode of refusal—for Gonzales-Torres, using objects as symbolic placeholders, and for Robinson, using instructional writing to challenge entitlement and expectation. D’Souza includes opacity as a proposition for solidarity without the expectation of empathy, wondering “what sort of solidarities and alliances we might form on the basis of such mutual respect, one in which we acknowledge our right not to translate ourselves into terms that another may understand.” Through engaging artworks, she weaves in questions of agency, autonomy, and perspective in self-presentation for a public gaze. Syjuco’s and Robinson’s works invoke opacity through restriction, which D’Souza then uses to discuss who can engage, how engagement is possible, and who works should be for. D’Souza explores a number of other artworks in the book, ranging across themes of revolution, whiteness, connection, and difference. Her discussions centre creativity and its resulting forms—novels, video art, installation, exhibition curation—to explore different manifestations or strategies of empathy and solidarity. In doing so, she invites readers to view the creative act as a method to temper anxieties.. Reading Imperfect Solidarities in dialogue with Tbakhi’s ‘long middle’ situates it within the now. When D’Souza asks, “Are there ways to sit with the unknowability?”, she continually embeds encouragement for collective thought, to work through provocations on knowledge and access. She further highlights the potential for new interpretations of them by re-looking through the lens of seeking solidarity. Especially today, while it may often feel easier to fall into overwhelm, this collection is a reminder of the critical work which exists, and many ongoing, bolstering conversations that can be revisited. By gathering work for analysis in Imperfect Solidarities , the book seeks out strategies for ongoing engagement—from finding playful gaps in language to creating protective opacities. In ‘Coda’, D’Souza returns finally to the question of care. Taking a cue from her child—who learns to ‘care’ through the repeated actions required of looking after their pet (feeding, cleaning, playing)—she asserts that by caring, love can be fostered in time. But, she states: “care must come before love.” Cautioning against idealism, she reminds us that “care is [still] infinitely harder than love, because it often requires us to act in spite of our empathy, rather than because of it”. This is a deliberate and telling final note. Imperfect Solidarities ultimately asserts that despite our alliances, relations or understandings of and with each other, solidarity will always remain somewhat imperfect and imbalanced. But, if it is continued to be sought collectively, it’s worth fighting for.∎ ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 "Rug" (2018), Silkscreen printing and unraveling on silk, courtesy of Areen. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Review Paris Grief Depictions of Grief In Grief In Solidarity Palestine The Urgent Call of Palestine Mistranslation and Revolution photography Archival Practice Archives Ethnography ethnographic objectification Colonialism On Opacity Art Activism Movement Strategy Activist Media Unknowability Doubt Felix Gonzales-Torres Teju Cole Art as Solidarity Strategies of Solidarity Colonial Documentation Stephanie Syjuco Fargo Nissim Tbakhi Isabella Hammad Improvisation Resistance Language as Resistance Imagery TJ Demos Aestheticide Édouard Glissant Essay Essayistic Practice Care Work CLARE PATRICK is an independent curator and writer who hails from Cape Town. Formerly at NXTHVN , the Norval Foundation , and the Paris College of Art , she currently works at Atelier 11 Paris and No! Wahala Magazine . Her work has been featured in Art Throb , Contemporary And , Vogue , and The New York Times . Review Paris 13th Aug 2025 AREEN is a Palestinian textile artist currently living in Dubai. She earned her bachelor's degree in Textile Design and Art in 2018. Drawing on embroidery as a tradition from the Levant region, Areen plays with technologies and multimedia to experiment with the idea of transparency and reversing the function of a material. On That Note: Heading 5 23rd OCT Heading 5 23rd Oct Heading 5 23rd Oct

Behind the façade of idyllic island paradise, Maldivians navigate a drug epidemic of huge proportions. FEATURES Battles and Banishments: Gender & Heroin Addiction in Maldives AUTHOR AUTHOR AUTHOR Behind the façade of idyllic island paradise, Maldivians navigate a drug epidemic of huge proportions. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Reportage Maldives Malé Addiction Drug Epidemic Rehabilitation Drug Trade Tourism Maafushi Prison Gender Violence Trauma Intimate Partner Violence Poverty Longform Change NDA People’s Majlis Hands Together State Repression Hanimaadhoo Detoxification Center Malé’s drug cafés Dhivehi Brown Sugar Heroin Substance Abuse Relapse 2011 Drugs Act 2004 Tsunami Himmafushi Rehabilitation Center NGOs Prison Structural Frameworks Detention Drug-Related Arrests Zuvaanun National Drug Agency National Dangerous Drugs Control Board Sri Lanka Banishment Police Action Internationalism Class Public Space Low-Income Workers Urban/Rural Humanitarian Crisis Local Politics Health Workers Gender Investigative Journalism Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. DISPATCH Reportage Maldives 28th Feb 2023 Maldives has a long history of substance abuse. Its 1,192 coral islands lie at the intersection of major historical global sea routes in the Indian Ocean. Historically, traders from all over the world brought all kinds of illicit substances to its shores. Yet the archipelago has never been a producer or manufacturing point for illicit drugs. According to state official reports, it wasn’t until the early 1970s that Maldives opened for tourism, and a steady market for drugs began to develop in the Maldives. As the tourism industry began to boom in Malé, and people traveled from all over the world to enjoy its breathtakingly beautiful beaches, the demand for illicit drugs soared. Malé’s geographic location made it the ideal drop-off point for all kinds of drugs—among them cheap, low-grade heroin called “brown sugar.” Walking down the street, it is common to come across at least one woman high on brown sugar. What gives her away are her vacant expression and comatose demeanor. Even as nearly a third of the country’s population or at least one member of a family struggles with substance abuse, women tend to face greater ostracization and social exclusion. This is not to say that women in the Maldives do not struggle with drug abuse. During a crackdown on Malé’s (in)famous drug cafés last year, police arrested 65 women and 14 children. In fact, many Maldivians would have, at some point, viewed a moralistic YouTube video of such a woman on social media. The women in these videos are meant to serve as a cautionary tale against the wayward social behaviors and tendencies that lead to a life of substance abuse, destitution, and misery. If the social stigma around seeking harm reduction for substance use wasn’t enough, such representations of women addicts end up stigmatizing them even more. The stories of women who end up abusing heroin—or brown sugar, as it is more commonly called—are diverse, yet they share a common thread of desperation, growing addiction, and a feeling of helplessness. One such story is Zulaikha’s (names have been changed to protect anonymity). A 38-year-old Maldivian woman who, in another life, successfully pursued a career in modeling. She now lives on a scantily-populated island of a Northern atoll, but back in the day, she was known for her exceptional beauty and talents in the creative arts. A few months ago, she knew she had hit rock bottom when she walked up to someone on the street and said (in Dhivehi): “Excuse me, can I please have a tenner for food?” The person she had asked for money turned to look at her and they both recognized each other. Zulaikha had gone to high school with them. As her old classmate’s eyes followed a line of cigarette burn marks on her arms, Zulaikha’s face turned ashen. The stories of women who end up abusing heroin—or brown sugar, as it is more commonly called—are diverse, yet they share a common thread of desperation, growing addiction, and a feeling of helplessness. Back in high school, Zulaikha was someone younger students could count on to stand up to their bullies. Her classmates fondly recall her compassionate and empathetic conduct with those younger than her. She stood up for justice and the values that mattered to her the most, and was widely admired for it. But Zulaikha’s adolescent years were marked with notoriety after she began using heroin at such a young age. Soon after high school ended, she gave birth to a child and then checked into rehab. She relapsed several times, after which she moved away from her family’s house and began living with her partner on a Northern island. The man she lived with was physically and mentally abusive. At one point, in a fit of rage, he beat her senseless with a hammer. Despite the constant threat of physical violence, Zulaikha refused to leave her partner, who is also a heroin abuser. Deprived of the care she needed from her family, she insists that she preferred living with the person she also terms her abuser. Zulaikha’s story is like that of several women who, after becoming heavily dependent on substances, are abandoned by their families. People in the Maldives frequently associate women’s addiction with sex work. It is after the drug dependency kicks in that the actual cycle of abuse begins. After women addicts are abandoned by their families, many end up moving in with partners who also abuse drugs and them too. The plentiful supply of drugs in the region, combined with limited support to recover, means that the chances of an ex-user relapsing are high. Stories of women who managed to end their dependency on heroin and rebuild their lives are, in fact, painfully rare. They end up falling deeper and deeper into addiction, while their circumstances inhibit them from breaking patterns of drug abuse. In situations like these, family support is pivotal in enabling women to get back on their feet. Cycles of Addiction As a young undergraduate student in Malé in the early 2000s, Maryam had jumped at the chance to study abroad. The twenty-something was academically gifted and creative, and she believed the experience would open up several opportunities for her. It was during her time abroad with a cohort of heroin users from back home that she began using. She recalls that her time abroad was an incredibly vulnerable period for her. Away from her family and the security of home, she began using drugs experimentally, but soon became addicted to heroin. After returning to Malé, she remained hopelessly addicted. Her dreams and ambitions were no longer possibilities for her, and she became estranged from family and friends. A few months after she was turned away from home, Maryam was using heroin at a café frequented by criminal gangs involved with the drug trade, when the police raided the place and arrested her. Before the enactment of the 2011 Drugs Act, people arrested for drug use were often sentenced to spend as many as 25 years in prison, regardless of the quantity or potency of drugs in possession. It would not be a stretch to estimate that over 90 percent of all criminal cases in the Maldives are drug-related. Shortly after Maryam started serving her sentence in Maafushi prison in 2004, the devastating Indian Ocean tsunami hit. The recently constructed women’s wing where Maryam was being kept suffered severe damage. She incurred several injuries while trying to flee from the tidal swell and was subsequently sent home. After recovering from her injuries, she started using heroin again, but this time around, she was able to rely on her family. Her mother, Maryam recalls, was relentless in her efforts to get her off drugs. Maryam began to alternate between periods of staying clean and abusing heroin. Despite her protestations, her family sent her to the Himmafushi Rehabilitation Center several times to recover. During one of her drug abuse stints, she was arrested for drug possession, but managed to avoid a prison sentence because of her confession. Before the enactment of the 2011 Drugs Act, people arrested for drug use were often sentenced to spend as many as 25 years in prison, regardless of the quantity or potency of drugs in possession. It would not be a stretch to estimate that over 90 percent of all criminal cases in the Maldives are drug-related. Maryam’s recovery at the Himmafushi Rehabilitation Center was slow and interrupted by relapses, but the place was somewhere she could return to safely. This feeling of security and care began to help her thrive at the center. Maryam recalls her spells there as restful. Eventually, she developed a passion for helping other drug addicts overcome their patterns of abuse. She thrived in the company of other women who were also recovering addicts, and collaborated with them on several projects. When she returned to the rehab center for a third time, she decided to put her plans into motion. In collaboration with an NGO for vulnerable women and drug addicts, Maryam worked on building a safe space for vulnerable social groups within the rehab center. She also ran several vocational programs and capacity-building workshops. Things had begun to look up for Maryam. She was doing something that she believed in and regained her youthful confidence. After settling down and getting married in 2010, Maryam gave birth to a daughter. Her life seemed perfect—till it wasn’t. Three years after her daughter’s birth, Maryam’s marriage soured. Depressed and despondent, she returned to using heroin. It wasn’t long till she was arrested during a drug bust for a third time. This time, she was sentenced to imprisonment. “My relationship with my child suffered because of this,” she said sorrowfully. “It’s like I’m a stranger to my own child and there’s no way to gain back the time I’ve lost.” After three years of serving time in prison, she was released on parole. This time around, Maryam’s family decided to send her to India for treatment. She got better there and returned to her family a healthier and happier person. Since her return from treatment, she admits that she still struggles to stay sober and hold on to relationships. Her time in prison had greatly impacted her mental health and made her reticent and reluctant to talk to strangers or new acquaintances. As Maryam continues to attempt to get to know and care for her daughter, she treads a delicate balance of resentment and relapse. Facing a wicked system Zulaikha remembers her stay at Himmafushi Rehabilitation Center differently. A regular returnee at the center, she did not have the network of family and financial support that Maryam relied on, and faced several obstacles along the way. In fact, Zulaikha insists that she did not benefit from rehab in the slightest. She would prefer to stay with a partner she admits is abusive towards her. The reason for that, she elaborates, is that there are no alternatives for women who lack an emotional and material support base in the form of family or wealth. There are no state-run or community-run shelters for vulnerable women looking for a safe space, and neither are there any detoxification or rehabilitation facilities available to them. Most women jailed for drug-related offenses often end up there for refusing to complete their treatment at the rehabilitation facility. Zulaikha remembers the facility itself as lacking the necessary infrastructure and support for recovering addicts. The Himmafushi Rehab Center houses recovering men and women who are supposed to always be segregated. Women are told to stay within the confines of a small compound within the larger Himmafushi Rehab Center and are not allowed any outdoors time. Over at the men’s enclosure, the rehab center organizes outdoor activities and classes, but women are barred from participating in them. Zulaikha’s misgivings about the rehab center have been repeated by several other recovering addicts as well, which suggests that the rehab center is severely lacking in essential facilities for the recovering addicts. Even though the Drugs Act of 2011 mandates separate recovery centers for men, women, and juveniles, so far there has been no work on building separate centers. Hence, everyone gets sent to the Himmafushi Rehab Center. The clinicians and staff at the center follow a Therapeutic Community Program which aims to focus on recovery through lifestyle changes, and not simply abstinence from drugs. Yet the center’s facilities are stretched painfully thin. Prisons too are choked with people arrested for drug possession—almost 99 per cent of all criminal cases are drug-related, after all—and these are the conditions which have forced lawmakers to reform laws pertaining to drug abuse. Yet reform work is painfully slow, hence the problems accompanying drug abuse fester and worsen over time. One of the most frequently cited problems is one of alienation—from care and support networks, as well as fellow recovering addicts. In the 1990s, there were no custodial buildings for women arrested on drug-related charges. So, when Fatima was arrested in Malé and sent to jail, she was put in a small isolation cell with another woman who became the first Maldivian woman sentenced to imprisonment for drug possession. Both women were suffering from withdrawals and ill health, but since Fatima was the younger one, the prison authorities tasked her with caring for her fellow inmate. Fatima’s own condition deteriorated while she tried her best to help the woman in jail with her. The woman was undergoing severe withdrawals and needed medical attention, but none was available. Instead, she died an agonizing death within 48 hours of her sentencing, while a dehydrated and listless Fatima watched her suffer helplessly. The sight is etched in her memory forever, she says. The prison authorities hushed up the matter, while Fatima says she was left alone in the cell to tend to her psychological and physical scars. When Fatima was arrested in Malé and sent to jail, she was put in a small isolation cell with another woman who became the first Maldivian woman sentenced to imprisonment for drug possession. Both women were suffering from withdrawals and ill health, but since Fatima was the younger one, the prison authorities tasked her with caring for her fellow inmate. Life hadn’t always been unkind to Fatima. Her family was wealthy, and she had led a comfortable life. It was the early 1990s and she was barely out of her teens, gullible and eager to explore the world. She jumped at the chance to try heroin with her older friends, thoroughly convinced that she would never get addicted. By the time she became aware of her drug dependency, it was too late. When her family found out about her condition, they arranged to send her abroad for two years to recover. They also made her sever ties with the friends she used heroin with. In 1994, Fatima returned to Malé and, within no time, began using heroin again. That's when everything went downhill, she recalls. Shooting heroin was the only priority in life, she says. Her memories of youth all involve using heroin with friends at restaurants and other places. This was a time when heroin was not that common—this was not brown sugar—and most people were unaware of its effects on people. This is how they got away with using the drug in public and remained socially functional. But it wasn’t long before she was picked up by the police in a drug bust and sent to jail. That is where she met the inmate who passed away from withdrawals. In the aftermath of the whole episode, Fatima was “banished” to an island instead of a prison. Historically, the term “banishment” has referred to the commonly prescribed punishment of internal exile to one of the many Maldives islands. Banishment as punishment was finally repealed in 2015 after the enactment of a new Penal Code. However, for Fatima, the punishment of banishment entailed being sent to live among a close-knit community of locals on an island in the south of the Maldives. There, she suffered from loneliness and isolation. The local people shunned anyone sent there in exile, especially if it was for drug-related offenses. Fatima was neither welcomed nor acknowledged in the community and she lived as an outcast in the eyes of the island residents. “I was scorned and ridiculed,” she recalls. “Women struggling with addiction are not acceptable in this society.” “Back in the 1990s,” she says, “the inhabited islands were destitute places.” The islanders had limited access to drinking water and electricity, and had to struggle to make ends meet. This felt like a rude jolt to Fatima, who had been accustomed to a life of luxury and gratification her entire life. She recalls those days as a never-ending spiral into tedium, with no one to keep her company, save for occasional telephone calls from her family, which she received at the singular telephone booth on the island. Thoroughly bored and miserable, she attempted to find ways to numb her pain, but could not, and that made her desire drugs even more. After her sentence ended, she returned to her family in Malé. There, her mental health deteriorated significantly and she started using heroin again. She began feeling resentful towards her family, friends, and even her daughter. Anger and rage festered beneath her attempts to regain control of her life, and she found herself unable to share her feelings with anyone, even those closest to her. Refusing to give up or give in, Fatima reached out to rehab centers locally and abroad for help in recovering. The experience of treatment abroad was markedly different from back home. She terms the Maldivian rehabilitation program “the Garfield program, since their clients are programmed to eat, sleep and repeat.” At the rehab centers in the Maldives, she adds, recovering addicts are called to a meeting every morning, but the goals or takeaways from that meeting aren’t clear to anyone. While the men were allowed to engage in (albeit a limited number of) activities, the women addicts were left alone in their quarters. The counselors were not properly trained or certified, and most of their clients chose not to open up and be honest about their drug use with them. The way Fatima describes her experience makes it appear as if rehab is a place where one goes to escape a jail conviction, get away from annoying family members, or is just somewhere you can mentally check out and go through the motions day after day. Either way, there is no measurable positive outcome. Her time in rehab centers abroad was quite different. The day was filled with a long list of activities and tasks to complete. The recovering addicts would work hard at these tasks from sunrise to late evening, which included yoga and cooking classes. Fatima says her self-esteem improved greatly during her time there. The clients at rehab (abroad) were encouraged to journal their feelings and experiences daily, she says, and this would help them arrive at new insights into the nexus between their mental health and addiction. Fatima says these activities helped her recognize the obsessive-compulsive tendencies that she has had since her childhood (even though she had never been formally diagnosed). The Scale of the Drug Epidemic There are several detox and rehabilitation centers operated by the government across the Maldivian archipelago, but only two of them are currently being used to help drug addicts recover. Close to half of the country‘s population is below 25 years of age, and at least half of that population is addicted to brown sugar. Such is the notoriety of the Maldivian youth, that the term for youth, which is “ zuvaanun,” has a negative connotation. It is commonly deployed to accuse someone of miscreancy or addiction. Suppose you hear of a road accident caused by a speeding motorbike, or see someone getting mugged on a street: as the average Maldivian, chances are that you will shake your head and cuss at those rapscallion zuvaanun. Throughout the late 1980s and 1990s, society in Malé was undergoing a radical shift. The islands were opening up to the outside world and people were bringing in all kinds of new (mostly western) ideas and ways of life to the country. The population of the capital city boomed as residents of other islands flocked to Malé in search of higher education and basic services that were boosted by the then-burgeoning tourism industry. They dreamed of a life where they would get greater access to amenities and opportunities to better their lives. Despite the influx of so many people, or perhaps because of it, some communities and generations clung to their traditions and roots. Their children were expected to diligently study, find stable jobs, marry, and spend their lives working and raising a family. Yet the generations growing up in the 1980s and 1990s faced a more tumultuous time. Some call them a generation that was lost in between an unprecedented cultural shift. Combined with the skyrocketing demand and supply of drugs on the tiny islands, it was easy to fall prey to drug addiction. Given the massive scale of the drug problem, it is shocking that there are so few resources to help tackle it. In the centers that are operational, recovering addicts share that medical treatment is lacking, counseling is substandard and ineffective, and that the whole program is woefully incompetent. In February 2021, a client seeking treatment at the Hanimaadhoo Detoxification Center passed away from severe withdrawals after not receiving medical attention. The center was subsequently shut down. Recently, on 14 November 2021, local media reported that a client who had just returned to Malé from a detoxification center was found dead in an abandoned home after succumbing to a drug overdose. The government body tasked with the management of detoxification and drug treatment centers is the National Drug Agency (NDA) of the Maldives. Among journalists and related staff, there is much talk of inaction, incompetence, and even accusations of corruption plaguing this institution. The Sri Lankan counterpart to the Maldivian NDA, the National Dangerous Drugs Control Board, runs programs for addicts in 11 prisons, while managing four treatment centers in heavily populated areas. The Sri Lankan drug control body also engages with thirteen private treatment and rehabilitation centers where clients can seek services for payment. Some Maldivian addicts who can afford treatment abroad frequently enroll in treatment centers in Sri Lanka, India, and Malaysia. But most drug addicts are poor and cannot afford to go abroad for treatment. In February 2021, a client seeking treatment at the Hanimaadhoo Detoxification Center passed away from severe withdrawals after not receiving medical attention. The center was subsequently shut down. Recently, the health minister of the Maldives was called to the parliament regarding an enquiry on the obstacles faced in finding solutions to the Maldives’ drug problem. The health minister stated that there was no quick solution to the large issue, and that the relevant authorities do not know the way forward. He mentioned the lack of research on drug abuse as one of the problems. However, he acknowledged that drugs and drug addiction are the most severe twin crises the country is facing today. Change NDA and Hands Together are two movements launched by recovering addicts and members of their families and communities. Both movements have been calling for reforms in the NDA. Though the movements lack numbers in their demonstrations and protests, their members are vocal and persistent. Last year, they submitted a “Change NDA 2020” petition to the People’s Majlis with over 1,000 signatures, prompting a mass inspection of all rehabilitation and detoxification centers being run by the NDA. This petition also resulted in heavy scrutiny of the organization, and the operations of the NDA were shifted from the Gender Ministry to the Health Ministry, with a new chairman appointed. Citizen engagement efforts and advocacy initiatives, along with transnational solidarity campaigns among recovering drug addicts, can help provide the impetus necessary to push the government towards action. It is not enough to rely on the goodwill of authorities who themselves admit to state collusion with drug cartels operating in the region. At present, most detoxification centers in the country are closed and there is no headway in improving the rehab infrastructure and facilities for recovering addicts. While there is talk of the government bringing on board a foreign private company to design a new, more effective rehabilitation and detoxification program, people on the ground know not to put too much faith in these talks of plans. At the end of the day, those who suffer through drug abuse and its related problems rely on the solidarity of family members, friends, and organizations to help them navigate an otherwise incredibly dehumanizing system.∎ Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Next Up:

In December 2020, four of our founding editors discussed the origins of the South Asian Avant-Garde, what drew so many of us from our varied backgrounds to the thematic core of the avant-garde from an internationalist, leftist perspective, and where we hoped to go in the future. | · INTERACTIVE Live · Virtual FLUX · A Panel on SAAG, So Far In December 2020, four of our founding editors discussed the origins of the South Asian Avant-Garde, what drew so many of us from our varied backgrounds to the thematic core of the avant-garde from an internationalist, leftist perspective, and where we hoped to go in the future. Watch the event in full on IGTV. FLUX: An Evening in Dissent For our first virtual event, in December of 2020, the SAAG founding editors looked to what we had managed to establish thus far—as a project begun in the pandemic with a diverse collective—and what we hoped to accomplish in the future. Aishwarya Kumar moderated a panel with fellow editors Kartika Budhwar, Shreyas R Krishnan, and Nur Nasreen Ibrahim to discuss our early interview series as well as reporting, fiction, comics, zines, and the broader community-building efforts that motivated us and continue to. Jaishri Abichandani's Art Studio Tour Kshama Sawant & Nikil Saval: A panel on US left electoralism, COVID-19, recent victories, & lasting problems. Natasha Noorani's Live Performance of "Choro" Bhavik Lathia & Jaya Sundaresh: A panel on the US Left & its relationship with media in the wake of Bernie Sanders' loss. Tarfia Faizullah: Poetry Reading Rajiv Mohabir: Poetry Reading DJ Kiran: A Celebratory Set SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Live Virtual The Editors FLUX Global The Local and Global Internationalist Perspective Pitching Craft Submitting Operations The Editor's Craft Editing Avant-Garde Origins Avant-Garde Traditions Avant-Garde Beginnings in India Experimental Methods Aamer Hussein Zines Comics Magazine Culture Anthology Traditions Reportage Activist Media Iowa St. Louis Hybrid Karachi Kadak Collective Pitches Ethos Interview Series Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 5th Dec 2020 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

For the editorial team, FLUX was an event about the immense shifts frequent whiplash of ideas, norms and political realities we were experiencing; wearily towing vessels we knew were obsolete day in and day out. INTERACTIVE FLUX · A Preface Divya Nayar · Kamil Ahsan · Vishakha Darbha For the editorial team, FLUX was an event about the immense shifts frequent whiplash of ideas, norms and political realities we were experiencing; wearily towing vessels we knew were obsolete day in and day out. On Intent FLUX was held on 5th December 2020 during Volume 1 of SAAG. The event's discussions were largely in the context of US politics, with some exceptions, and thus focused more on American diasporic views than our content in general. For the editorial team, FLUX: An Evening in Dissent was about the immense shifts frequent whiplash of ideas, norms and political realities we were experiencing; wearily towing vessels we knew were obsolete day in and day out. Things that seemed, finally, ripe as they could ever be had suddenly turned utopian. A global pandemic that had stranded us all emotionally and psychically. A sense—despite the defeat of Donald Trump—of a heightened sociopolitical danger amongst the US Left in the wake of the historic progressive defeat of the Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren campaigns in the Democratic primaries. A dissipated progressive movement. Disillusionment with local and national politicians who reneged on promises to defund the police following a summer of protests after the killing of George Floyd. A media landscape monopolized by corporate elites. A lack of inaction on meaningful abolitionist goals, from prisons to detention centers, that had gotten mainstream attention in unprecedent fashion just weeks or months earlier. As the panels with Nikil Saval, Kshama Sawant, Bhavik Lathia, Jaya Rajamani discussed, this retrenchment of the centrist wing of the Democratic Party—the old guard, that had seemed tenuous for some time—was at the time asserting itself powerfully in the form of cabinet appointment announcements and a sense of unease that, truly, not much would change. What could we do whilst in eternal quarantine? Most crucially: where could we find optimism? We found it in media spaces, in the poetics of internationalism, in the attempts to think about capitalism & neoliberalism during a global pandemic in internationalist terms, whilst also being specific about what we wished to highlight about the American context. Whether it was housing rights protests in Philadelphia, protests to tax Amazon in Seattle, or harsh truths about the Left's failure to engage with key demographics based on statistics from the general election, even the demoralizing moment gave us a great deal to be honest about. Meanwhile, those in other countries offered great succor and support in community building. All of this was reflected in the design system by Divya Nayar & videography by Vishakha Darbha that allowed the event to move smoothly. The background generative artwork shown above was created by Designer Neha Mathew was literally evokes fluid topography: the sense of the grounds shifting beneath our feet heightening our sense of change and even danger. Scroll below to subscribe to our newsletter today & get exclusive news about our upcoming in-person and virtual events. Navigate through FLUX: An Evening in Dissent through the links below, or watch the full event on YouTube or IGTV ( Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 ) Natasha Noorani's Live Performance of "Choro" Jaishri Abichandani's Art Studio Tour Kshama Sawant & Nikil Saval: A panel on US left electoralism, COVID-19, recent victories, & lasting problems. Tarfia Faizullah: Poetry Reading Bhavik Lathia & Jaya Sundaresh: A panel on the US Left & its relationship with media in the wake of Bernie Sanders' loss. Rajiv Mohabir: Poetry Reading SAAG, So Far: A Panel with the Editors DJ Kiran: A Celebratory Set ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Generative artwork by Neha Mathew. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Event The Editors 2020 US Election US North American Diaspora Internationalism Crisis The Disillusionment of the Left Post-George Floyd Moment Defund the Police Racial Justice Pandemic COVID-19 FLUX Internationalist Solidarity Literary Solidarity Nikil Saval Kshama Sawant Natasha Noorani Darakshan Raja Jaya Rajamani Bhavik Lathia Tarfia Faizullah Rajiv Mohabir Divya Nayar, formerly Design Director at SAAG, is a multi-disciplinary artist and designer currently at Code and Theory. She is based in Queens. KAMIL AHSAN is an environmental historian at Yale, a Franke Fellow in Science and the Humanities, and the founder of SAAG. He is an essayist and critic currently based in New Haven, Lahore, and New York. VISHAKHA DARBHA is a multimedia journalist, currently an Associate Producer on The New York Times Opinion audio team, formerly with The Atlantic, Mother Jones, Vox , and Grist . She is based in New York. Event The Editors 5th Dec 2020 On That Note: Heading 5 23rd OCT Heading 5 23rd Oct Heading 5 23rd Oct

Seeking a home beyond Europe and South Asia could provide, Amrita Sher-Gil wrestled with a duality of being that reflected in her oeuvre. A Spivakian reading of her 1935 work Group of Three Girls sees Sher-Gil as an accomplice in perpetuating the Orientalist gaze she faced while trying to prove her prowess to Western audiences unable to view her art as equal. BOOKS & ARTS Speaking Through the Subaltern Vamika Sinha Seeking a home beyond Europe and South Asia could provide, Amrita Sher-Gil wrestled with a duality of being that reflected in her oeuvre. A Spivakian reading of her 1935 work Group of Three Girls sees Sher-Gil as an accomplice in perpetuating the Orientalist gaze she faced while trying to prove her prowess to Western audiences unable to view her art as equal. Group of Three Girls is widely considered one of Amrita Sher-Gil’s masterpieces. The 1935 artwork has become increasingly popular over the years as a symbol of Indian feminism, while Sher-Gil herself has gained more international recognition and seen an increase in art market capitalization. In the South Asian subcontinent, she has become canonical and even adopted into the Indian state’s official historical national narrative. A major road in central Delhi is named Amrita Shergill Marg, while her works are labeled national “art treasures” that “cannot be taken out of the country.” Sher-Gil’s elevated status, especially through Group of Three Girls , was influenced by the academic boom of postcolonial and intersectional feminist methodologies around the 1990s, which have trickled into the mainstream. A central scholar driving that boom has certainly been Indian theorist Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, whose seminal 1988 essay , “Can the Subaltern Speak?” critiques how Western intellectual discourse perpetuates and constructs the “Other,” or the “subaltern” subject. Spivak insists, however, on the subaltern’s heterogeneity—that it is not a monolith, but endlessly diverse, stratified, and therefore unstable. This idea was clearly a precursor to Kimberlé Crenshaw’s introduction to “intersectionality” in 1989. The term “subaltern” gets bandied about regularly. Spivak’s theory has been elevated to near-pop status in online and academic discourses, but is the subaltern still a useful term? Is Spivak still relevant when her own status as a global public intellectual has suffered the arrows of critiques like caste-blindness and complicity with capitalist pandering? Remember that strange Aesop ad? However, a debate on Spivak as a figurehead is not on today’s table. If the term “subaltern” has been propelled into ubiquity to the point of irony and satirical smirking, we can continue to test its value on different canvases. Today, that is Amrita Sher-Gil’s, specifically her painting, Group of Three Girls . In this work, Sher-Gil transmits a vulnerable period of India’s past, through her privileged Indo-European body, onto the rural Indian women depicted on her canvas. By ventriloquizing lower-class female Indian bodies to express and cope with her own feelings of cultural alienation and dislocation, she becomes a subaltern speaking through another subaltern. Is this problematic or a genuine act of solidarity—an attempt to connect with the pain of others? This Spivakian reading of Sher-Gil’s work attempts to expose a more nuanced interpretation of the painting as a complex ethical problem. More widely, it situates Group of Three Girls as a cultural object both embedded within and symbolic of the fragile, unstable historiography of the Indian nation—once a subaltern state tussling between colonialism and nationalism, on the cusp of partition and independence. Sher-Gil as Subaltern? Born in Budapest to a Hungarian opera singer and a Sikh aristocrat-scholar who was “one of the first photographers of South Asia,” Sher-Gil did most of her artistic training in Italy and France. According to Linda Nochlin’s iconic 1971 essay “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?”, Sher-Gil possessed all the crucial factors needed to achieve success as a female artist: formal European art training, a well-networked artistic family and peer circle, money, mobility and independence, and the mentorship of older, more powerful male artists. But she was also plagued by a crisis of belonging. In Group of Three Girls, three Indian women, dressed modestly in Punjabi salwar kameez outfits, sit in front of a jute-brown background. Their hair is mostly hidden by their dupattas. Their clothes are largely plain, though the material looks gauzy, even diaphanous, thanks to Sher-Gil’s long, languid brushstrokes. Influenced by post-Impressionism , she paints the women in solid, vivid colors. One wears vibrant pistachio green, the other a pulsating saffron, while the final dons a deep vermilion. None of the subjects meet the viewer’s eyes. Their gazes are faraway and downcast, evoking resigned melancholy, or perhaps the strangely beatific expression of the serenity in accepting defeat. The women do not touch or look at each other, as if each was pasted separately in a collage. While the colors and brushstrokes teem with warmth and dynamism, the figures themselves appear frozen, alienated, and emotionally distanced: “together…yet alone,” in the words of art historian Giles Tillotson . A light from outside the image casts shadows on the wall behind them. One’s immediate urge may be to code the subjects as lower-class, oppressed Indian women upon seeing their simple, traditional clothing and mute, passive, and despondent stances. This reading is reinforced by two aspects from Sher-Gil’s previous paintings: first, Sher-Gil’s earlier use of shadows, such as in Self-Portrait as a Tahitian (1934), signified a looming, intrusive male presence, according to art historian Saloni Mathur. In Group of Three Girls, the shadows could symbolize the rigidities of patriarchy, particularly of impending marriage. The painting can further be contrasted with one of Sher-Gil’s earlier European works, Young Girls (1932), in which two women occupy a figuratively warmer space, their bodies angled towards each other, displaying an intimacy and closeness missing from Group of Three Girls. The two “young girls” appear as connected yet distinct people, given how elaborately they are painted, lending their dress, clothes, hair, and surroundings multiple depths of light and texture. In contrast, the women in Group of Three Girls , whose formal depiction is comparatively flatter, become more symbols than individuals. Instead of appearing as a particular group of women bound by a close relationship, the “three girls” become every group of women, isolated but bound only by the circumstances of being Indian, female, and subaltern. Amrita Sher-Gil, Young Girls , 1932, oil on canvas, 164 cm × 133 cm, National Gallery of Modern Art, New Delhi. But the subaltern itself is an “essentialist” or unfixed concept. Spivak highlights the slippages within the hierarchical, “taxonomic” categorizing of subaltern identities to demonstrate their relational nature—that they are always formed in relation to another individual or group's identity, ultimately rendering them unreliable. In other words, someone may be a subaltern in one context but an oppressor in another. For Sher-Gil, her half-whiteness, wealth, and European elite upbringing lent her enormous privilege in British India, making the rural subjects she painted subaltern in relation to her primarily via social class. Yet in the eyes of the West, up to decades after she died in 1941, Sher-Gil was herself subaltern via race, gender, and geography; she was a less relevant, less authentic woman of color who predominantly painted in and about a Third World colony. A Crisis of Belonging Group of Three Girls is the first painting Sher-Gil produced after leaving Europe in 1934 for a growingly anti-colonial India. Upon her arrival, she proclaimed her “artistic mission” was to “interpret the life of Indians, particularly the poor…silent images of infinite submission and patience…angular brown bodies, strangely beautiful in their ugliness.” Her painting was the first manifestation of this articulated desire to speak on behalf of the subaltern. Sher-Gil would go on to build on this painting’s style and subjects for the rest of her life, depicting Indian women and rural village scenes in flatter forms and hotter colors. Still, her “mission” reads as cliché and problematic today. Seeded firmly and formally in Group of Three Girls , it can be faulted in the same way as Michel Foucault and Gilles Deleuze’s writings were by Spivak in 1988, who criticized them for making marginalized peoples into a monolith, essentializing, aestheticizing, and further Othering “them”. Meanwhile, the two scholars maintained the elevation and centrality of their Western gazes while assigning virtue to the subaltern solely through their tragedy and oppression. This critique exposes how Sher-Gil denies Group of Three Girls ’ subjects a sense of individuality or agency. The green-clad woman’s hand is cut off from the frame. The red-clad woman’s left palm faces upwards, as if begging or in surrender. Through Sher-Gil’s downward, Westernized outsider gaze, the subjects are only brought together in a homogenizing representation of subaltern Indian women as downtrodden, helpless, and paralyzed. This reading is supported by Sher-Gil’s significant preoccupation with Paul Gauguin’s Tahiti paintings at the time, which she was riffing on in Self-Portrait as a Tahitian . Gauguin’s work itself has been heavily critiqued for his flat, Orientalist depictions of Tahitian women through a colonial, patriarchal gaze. The structure and output of such a dominant gaze play out similarly in Group of Three Girls, where Sher-Gil represents her subjects “in the singular, as archetypes of humanity,” as Mathur writes, “reproduc[ing]…Gauguin’s primitivist gesture.” Amrita Sher-Gil, Self-Portrait as a Tahitian , 1934, oil on canvas, 90 cm × 56 cm, Kiran Nadar Museum of Art, New Delhi. But Sher-Gil was not a complete outsider like Gauguin, as a half-Indian who had already spent much time in India before moving there at the end of 1934. It was both an exciting and painful homecoming. As Mathur notes , Sher-Gil “sought a point of entry into the cultural landscape…from the difficult position of standing partially outside it.” Sher-Gil felt India would offer her more belonging than a racist Europe—a Paris reviewer once diminished her as “an exquisite and mysterious little Hindu princess” who… “conjure[d] up the mysterious shores of the Ganges.” Yet she was simultaneously apprehensive about not fitting into the Indian cultural landscape. Indeed, as Mathur points out, “Sher-Gil’s early detractors in the subcontinent complained that her Indian portraiture ‘smel[t] of the west.’” For Mathur, it was precisely Sher-Gil’s “sense of fragmentation and cultural isolation” that drove her practice. The artist once reflected: ‘It may be that the sadness, the queer ugliness of the types I choose as my models…corresponds to...some inner trait in my nature…’” These models sometimes included Sher-Gil’s own servants. Grappling With Sher-Gil’s Legacy Art historians such as Geeta Kapur have criticized Sher-Gil’s “narcissistic” attempt to transmute her cultural crisis into catharsis by entwining and equating her pain with that of poorer Indians amid political and national turbulence. In Spivakian terms, Sher-Gil employed her dominant gaze to speak through the subaltern for her own benefit. But others have been more benevolent, foregrounding not the inequality between Sher-Gil and her subjects, but the points of solidarity instead. Writers like Mulk Raj Anand have emphasized how truly moved Sher-Gil was by the poverty and patriarchy blighting India at the time. Scholars such as Prachi Priyanka and Subir Rana have highlighted the influence of Gandhi and Nehru on her paintings. “Gandhi’s notion of Swaraj (self-rule), and Nehru’s concept of ‘Indianization’ ” seeped into works which, beginning with Group of Three Girls , Rana writes, were even considered for use by “Congress propaganda for village reconstruction.” The use of the saffron color in Group of Three Girls, which was eventually incorporated into the Indian national flag, is further evidence of Sher-Gil’s alignment with the Independence movement. She also used the red introduced in this painting more liberally and intentionally in later works, such as Woman on Charpai (1940), to represent women’s desires while conveying their repression. This use of what Rana calls “ semiotic color ” perhaps reflected a growing awareness and redressal of the flatter female representation she had begun in Group of Three Girls , possibly due to more intimacy with and time spent in India. Still, Sher-Gil’s work suffered from similar pitfalls as Gandhian philosophies: a sense of saviorism, romanticization, and Orientalization of a more authentic pre-colonial India, and a homogenizing class and caste-blindness. Spivak challenged “the ‘lie’ of global sisterhood between ‘First world’ and ‘Third world’ women… [while] highlight[ing] the failure of Indian nationalism to emancipate lower-class, subaltern women.” A Spivakian reading of Group of Three Girls neatly encapsulates this argument: Sher-Gil transplants her ‘First world’ gaze onto the Indian women subaltern to her while using the grammar of Indian anti-colonial nationalist ideologies. But it does nothing to speak for or help her subjects, beyond stimulating her own aspiration to transcend her displacement. In 2015, it was revealed that the women in the Group of Three Girls were actually Sher-Gil’s upper-class nieces, not subalterns, after all. But this knowledge did little to impact the painting’s narrativization. There was no rewriting, no uproar. Ultimately, the way the girls are painted remains the same. Yet the way we look at them—and the artist’s gaze upon them—can evolve. Retrospectively, Group of Three Girls is the catalyst for examining how Sher-Gil’s practice went on to “embod[y] the most painful paradoxes of a colonial modernity.” A common, knee-jerk contemporary reading of Group of Three Girls may find it admirable due to Sher-Gil’s mixed identity, or its romantic representation of “the Indian woman” as feminist and patriotic, or because the Indian state has adopted it as the pièce de resistance of the “mother of modern Indian art.” However, an engaged Spivakian reading reveals it to be a historical object emblematic of the tensions of pre-Independent India, revealing a methodology for analyzing the present. The beauty of this work lies not just in its artistry or the sense of relation it might evoke among Indian female viewers, but that it distills so much of the ethical, identity-based dilemmas interlocked at the heart of the Indian nation historically and today.∎ ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Amrita Sher-Gil, Group of Three Girls , 1935, oil on canvas, 99.5 x 73.5 cm, National Gallery of Modern Art, New Delhi. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Profile Lahore Punjab Amrita Sher-Gil Orientalism Western Gaze Europe South Asia Subaltern Studies Gayatri Spivak Anti-Colonialism Postcolonial Feminist Theory subjectivity saviorism indianization Gauguin Foucault 1935 Group of Three Girls Self-Portrait as a Tahitian Young Girls Feminism Feminist Art Practice femininity feminine Modernism Bauhaus Avant-Garde Traditions Paul Gauguin Deleuze Primitivism Modernity Postcolonialism Avant-Garde Form Semiotic Color Post-Impressionism Art History Art Criticism Criticism VAMIKA SINHA is an arts and culture journalist based in London. She is Deputy Editor at Wasafiri. Profile Lahore 8th Jul 2025 On That Note: Heading 5 23rd OCT Heading 5 23rd Oct Heading 5 23rd Oct

Three prominent Pakistani feminist activists convene with Associate Editor Nur Nasreen Ibrahim in the wake of the Motorway Incident in 2020. | · COMMUNITY Panel · Pakistan Pakistan's Feminist Wave: A Panel Three prominent Pakistani feminist activists convene with Associate Editor Nur Nasreen Ibrahim in the wake of the Motorway Incident in 2020. Watch the panel on YouTube or IGTV. After the motorway rape case in September 2020, SAAG convened a panel of prominent feminist activists to discuss why Pakistan has seen growing violence against women and marginalized communities, and what movement-building and strategies they are involved in at a particularly charged moment in Pakistani feminist activism. SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Panel Pakistan Feminist Organizing Women Democratic Front Motorway Incident Body Politics Women's Action Forum (WAF) Awami Workers Party Public Space Gender Violence Girls at Dhabas Khwaja Siras Nirbhaya Movement Organization Pashtun Tahafuz Movement Internationalist Perspective Postcolonial Feminist Theory Contradiction Movement Strategy Aurat March Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 27th Sep 2020 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

ARTIST Nur Danya Shamun NUR DANYA SHAMUN is a Maldivian abstract artist and interior designer. She is passionate about designing to mitigate and adapt to the impacts of climate change through assimilation and the creation of climate-responsive spaces. Her art uses mixed media and unconventional techniques such as impasto, sgraffito, and block printing. ARTIST WEBSITE INSTAGRAM TWITTER Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 LOAD MORE

A live performance for the launch of SAAG's Volume 2, also celebrating the release of Rajna Swaminathan's new record “Apertures” at the Soapbox Gallery in Brooklyn. Swaminathan (mrudangam/vocals) performed as part of the Vagabonds trio with Ganavya (vocals) and Utsav Lal (piano). COMMUNITY “Apertures” with the Vagabonds Trio A live performance for the launch of SAAG's Volume 2, also celebrating the release of Rajna Swaminathan's new record “Apertures” at the Soapbox Gallery in Brooklyn. Swaminathan (mrudangam/vocals) performed as part of the Vagabonds trio with Ganavya (vocals) and Utsav Lal (piano). VOL. 2 ISSUE 1 LIVE AUTHOR AUTHOR AUTHOR A live performance by experimental Rajna Swaminathan, Ganavya & Utsav Lal. ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 A live performance by experimental Rajna Swaminathan, Ganavya & Utsav Lal. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Live Brooklyn 19th May 2023 Live Brooklyn Experimental Music Jazz mrudangam Rajna Swaminathan Apertures Ganavya Utsav Lal Launch Event Contemporary Music Ropeadope Miles Okazaki Event Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. On May 12th, 2023, SAAG hosted a launch event for Vol. 2 at the Soapbox Gallery in Brooklyn, for which we were delighted to present the experimental and deeply moving musical compositions of the Vagabonds Trio: Rajna Swaminathan (mrudangam/voice), Ganavya (voice), and Utsav Lal (piano) who we had the pleasure of collaborating with a second time after his opening performance for In Grief, In Solidarity . They were joined partway by Miles Okazaki (guitar). To showcase musicians with such incredible musical range, a commitment to radicalism and social justice as expressed in the lyricism and melodies, and a deep rigor and discipline with their craft, was a true honor. We hope you enjoy the recording of the live event and the improvisational way it shifted from the respective discographies of each member of the trio, shifting seamlessly from several languages, including Tamil, English, Urdu, and more. Most of all, the performance celebrates the release of Rajna Swaminathan's new album Apertures (Ropeadope, Apr 28th), available to buy or stream now . More Fiction & Poetry: Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5

Gujarat’s Surat was the capital of the global diamond trade before the Russia-Ukraine war, but sanctions imposed on Russia’s diamond exports since 2022 have placed a sword to the throats of diamond workers in the collapsing industry’s headquarters. Mass layoffs and obscene wage cuts have led to dozens of labourers dying by suicide, leaving hundreds of their family members to cope without support from the Indian government. THE VERTICAL Expunging India's Diamond City AUTHOR AUTHOR AUTHOR Gujarat’s Surat was the capital of the global diamond trade before the Russia-Ukraine war, but sanctions imposed on Russia’s diamond exports since 2022 have placed a sword to the throats of diamond workers in the collapsing industry’s headquarters. Mass layoffs and obscene wage cuts have led to dozens of labourers dying by suicide, leaving hundreds of their family members to cope without support from the Indian government. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Reportage Surat Gujarat India Diamond Trade Russia-Ukraine Conflict War Trade Route Working Class Labour Rights Banned Raw Materials Mental Health Suicide Layoffs G7 European Union Sanctions Unemployment Epidemic Global Crisis Supply Chain Luxury Market Consumer Spending Diamond Workers Union Trade Unions Government Neglect Inaction Economic Security Narendra Modi Industrialization Health Crisis Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. DISPATCH Reportage Surat 2nd Apr 2025 Roshan, 20, remembers his father, Ram Nagina Singh , as a hardworking man who spent decades polishing diamonds that would glitter in luxury stores across the world. But this October, Singh’s life came to a devastating halt. Based in the western Indian city of Surat, he once earned a comfortable salary of ₹60,000-₹70,000 ($800-$900) a month but was soon barely scraping by on ₹10,000-₹12,000 ($120-$150) as the city’s diamond industry buckled under immense economic pressures. The stress proved too much. Singh took his own life, hanging himself from the ceiling fan in his bedroom. Roshan is still grappling with his father’s sudden death. “My father didn’t say much, but we knew he was under immense stress,” Roshan recalled. “There was no work in the company, and he wasn’t receiving his wages or bonuses. He used to come home and talk about it, but we didn’t realise the depth of his despair until it was too late.” Singh’s story is tragically common. He is one of at least 65 diamond workers in Surat who have died by suicide in the past 16 months as financial hardships have deepened following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022. For decades, Surat has been the world’s epicenter for diamond polishing, employing over 600,000 workers . However, since the onset of the war, sanctions targeting Russia —one of the largest exporters of rough diamonds— have sent shockwaves through the city’s once-thriving diamond industry. Both the supply of raw materials and the demand for polished Russian diamonds have drastically decreased. The European Union and G7 nations have implemented strict bans on Russian diamonds, including those routed through intermediary countries. This has severely disrupted the flow of raw diamonds to India’s factories, leaving thousands of workers in Surat unemployed and struggling to survive. The crisis has had a ripple effect, leading to widespread layoffs , wage cuts, and—tragically—suicides. A Suicide Epidemic Like Roshan, Jayantibhai’s world fell apart three months ago when her 28-year-old son, Mikunj, took his own life after losing his job. Once a diamond polisher, Mikunj had been out of work for over three months. Unable to secure another job as Surat’s diamond industry crumbled, he grew increasingly depressed. His sudden death left a gaping void in the family. “He never said anything to us,” Jayantibhai said. “What can we do now? He was our only son.” Without Mikunj, the family is struggling. At 60, Jayantibhai is too frail to work. She has already survived two heart attacks and relied on her son’s income to support the household. Her daughter-in-law, Rupali, has also stopped working. She used to tutor children from home, earning just enough to contribute. After Mikunj’s death, she withdrew entirely. “We needed him,” Jayantibhai said, her eyes welling up. “Now we are left to fend for ourselves, praying for help.” Her plight mirrors that of dozens of other families in Surat, staring at an uncertain future. Beyond the economic toll, the ongoing crisis in the diamond industry has triggered a significant mental health crisis among workers. The stress of unemployment and an uncertain future has pushed many to their breaking point. “Yes there are thoughts in my mind about suicide,” says Gohil Vijaybhai, another struggling diamond worker. For Vijaybhai, the past two years have been a relentless search for work. Once a steady earner in Surat’s diamond industry, he now moves from one labour site to another, hoping to make ₹500-700 ($6-8) per day. His company shut down when the economic slowdown, fuelled by the Russia-Ukraine war, cut off the supply of rough diamonds. “I’ve been doing this for 11 years, but now there’s nothing,” he shared. His income, once around ₹30,000 ($360) a month, has evaporated, leaving him in debt and unable to pay for necessities like rent and his children’s school fees. His three children, ranging from kindergarten to fifth grade, are now at risk of being forced out of school. “I told the school to wait for six or seven months for the fees,” he said, though he knows the money is unlikely to come. Without stable work, his family of seven depends on sporadic daily wages, and his debt continues to mount. “What can a single labourer do?” he asked. “We take out loans just to survive.” As his financial troubles deepen, Vijaybhai admits to feeling overwhelmed by despair. “When someone is under this much tension, what would he do? Suicide, right?” he asked. He is not alone; many diamond workers in Surat find themselves caught between a failing industry and rising debts. Deepak Rajendrabhai Purani, a diamond worker for over 10 years, describes the stark reality workers like him face. “I used to earn ₹25,000-₹27,000 ($300-$350) a month, but now I’m lucky if I make ₹15,000 ($180),” he said. “Some months, there is no work at all, and I have been sitting at home for weeks without any income.” Deepak, who lives in Surat with his parents, wife, and young son, is contemplating leaving the diamond industry but does not know where to turn after working there for so long. “I don’t know anything else. But how can I continue like this? We have bills to pay, mouths to feed, and no government support.” Deepak’s father, who once sold samosas from a cycle, is now bedridden with asthma. His brother, also a diamond worker, is one of the few fortunate ones who still has steady work. But Deepak knows this could change at any moment. “The companies keep only as many workers as they need,” he explained. “If there is no work, they tell us not to come in the next day. It’s as simple as that.” “There are no bombs thrown at us directly,” he added, “but this [Russia-Ukraine] war has killed us.” A Global Crisis Turning the Tide on Surat With disruptions in the supply of rough diamonds from Russia, many factories in Surat have either shut down or significantly scaled back their operations . This has left thousands of diamond workers, many of whom have spent decades in the industry, struggling to make ends meet. India’s diamond sector plays a vital role in the global diamond supply chain, with approximately 80% of the world's rough diamonds being cut and polished in the country. Surat, in particular, is the epicenter of this labour-intensive industry. However, the glitter of diamonds hides the harsh realities many of these workers face—low wages, erratic work conditions, and almost no social safety net. While Surat’s diamond workers have borne the brunt of this crisis, the impacts of the sanctions and war have rippled across the global diamond trade. India's diamond exports have experienced a steep decline, plummeting by 28% in the fiscal year 2024, and are projected to fall further, reaching their lowest levels in a decade. Luxury markets in the U.S. and Europe, traditionally strong buyers of diamonds, have also contracted as consumer spending patterns shift in response to economic uncertainties. Rising inflation has curbed discretionary spending , with more buyers focusing on essentials rather than luxury purchases. This trend has further depressed demand for polished diamonds, exacerbating the crisis for workers in Surat who depend on robust global sales. The price of rough diamonds has also skyrocketed due to supply shortages, making it harder for manufacturers to remain profitable. Factories in Surat and other diamond hubs have had to make tough decisions—either lay off workers or shut down altogether. A Helpless Union and Government Neglect As the number of suicides among diamond workers continues to rise, the local Diamond Workers Union has launched a helpline to provide emotional and financial support. Since its inception in July, the helpline number has received around 1800 distress calls. "We have saved lives," said Zilriya Rameshbhai, the president of the union, recounting how workers on the brink of suicide reached out for help. The union also provides temporary relief to struggling workers by paying school fees, supplying food, and helping them manage debt. Unfortunately, such measures are not enough to lift Vijaybhai and others like him out of financial distress. Despite its best efforts, the union is overwhelmed by demand and constrained by limited resources. “[The] union is doing what they can,” Vijaybhai said, “but we need the government to listen.” Many workers feel abandoned by the government, which has yet to meaningfully address the crisis. The Indian government, typically focused on bolstering exports to strengthen the economy, has done little to provide immediate relief to the struggling diamond sector, according to workers. Jayantibhai, who lives in Amroli, a suburb of Surat, is frustrated by the lack of response from the authorities. “They are dead silent. [PM] Modi considers Gujarat his home, but how can he not listen to our plight?” she asked bitterly. “We have tried contacting the party’s office, but nobody listens. We are just forgotten.” Other workers share this frustration. “The government isn’t talking about the diamond industry,” said Deepak. “If they were, we wouldn’t be in this mess. Workers are roaming around without jobs, and nobody is doing anything.” Government inaction has intensified feelings of helplessness among diamond workers. Ramesh Bhai, the president of the local union, stated that they have repeatedly requested an economic relief package to support both the industry and its employees, but their appeals have gone unanswered. “There is no support from the government,” he said. “All the workers have been left on their own. Nobody cares how much we have contributed to the growth of the state and country’s economy.” He also mentioned the union's proposal to establish a special board including workers, factory owners, and government representatives to address the industry's challenges, but there has been no progress on that front either. With no relief in sight, the future of Surat’s diamond industry remains uncertain. While some workers hope for improvement, others are less optimistic. “There is no guarantee that the diamond industry will see growth again,” said Deepak. “We are all just waiting and watching, but we don’t know what will happen. The future seems bleak.” For workers like Roshan, who lost his father to the industry’s collapse, the pain is still raw. Yet, he remains determined to stay in Surat, the city he has called home for over 20 years. “Everything is here,” he said. “After what happened to my father, I just hope that things get better.”∎ Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Next Up:

FICTION EDITOR Rita Banerjee Rita Banerjee is a multi-genre, transnationalist writer and author of CREDO, Echo in Four Beats, Cracklers at Night, a nd A Night with Kali . She is co-founder and Executive Creative Director of the Cambridge Writers’ Workshop, and she is joining Warren Wilson College as the new Director of the MFA Program for Writers and as an Assistant Professor of Creative Writing. FICTION EDITOR WEBSITE INSTAGRAM TWITTER Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 LOAD MORE