By ATIBA ROUGIER, 7/24/2015. I am having a cup of Indian green tea on the veranda, reading the Stoic philosophy of antiquity, listening to the rain fall and the dogs bark in the distance. It is a beautiful thing to wake up and have nature greet you…the fresh smell of morning air and the wetness of the ground—something this New Yorker appreciates.
…I am currently sitting in the library going through the archives—today, I will focus on books primarily with photos of the disaster. There are many books documenting the health complications associated with the gas leak and its aftermath, physically, environmentally, and socially. I am interested in the ways in which the disaster lives in the everyday lives of the people of Bhopal thirty years later. I am interested in what it means to mourn a disaster that has taken the lives of many and continue to take many more lives, today. Is mourning something of the past marked at the moment of impact or can it be something that is continuous? Is mourning only “celebrated” once a year on the anniversary of the disaster or is it practiced daily? When there are disfigured bodies and faces as constant reminders of the past, is it ever possible to stop mourning? How does then then move on? Is Bhopal is a constant state of mourning? What does this mourning do to one’s psyche?
I came across a book sympathetically—I should really use the term empathetic here—written by a Japanese photographer, Ippei Momma, who stands in alliance with the victims of Bhopal and the fight against Union Carbide for justice and compensation. He came to Bhopal on the 100th day of the tragic accident on December 3rd, 1984. His photographs are all in black&white and like each photo taken from that epoch, they are haunting. The book is entitled Bhopal: The Silent Voice. This book/photographs is part of a Japanese collective that share empathy with the people of Bhopal because they too, endured such environmental pollution and poisoning by corporate companies.
I will not post photos of the patients’ that are visiting during clinic hours—as Natalie Portman’s character says to Clive Owen’s character in the in the film Closer (2002), “It’s a lie. It’s a bunch of sad strangers photographed beautifully, and… all the glittering assholes who appreciate art say it’s beautiful ’cause that’s what they wanna see. But the people in the photos are sad, and alone… But the pictures make the world seem beautiful, so… the exhibition is reassuring which makes it a lie, and everyone loves a big fat lie.” I am not interested in creating a visual spectacle. What I hope to accomplish is to raise awareness and invite each one of you to attempt to lead an accountable life—to yourself, your family, your friends, and the extended global community (the Socratic principle). Since there is a language barrier between the patients and me, I will interview the doctors, administrative staff, the librarian/archivist, and the clinic volunteers first, then I will have a translator aid in the patient interviews the following week. My method of study/practice is what institutional anthropology labels “participant observation”—basically, it means immersing yourself fully into the culture one is now part of.
The structure of the compound—or I should say, the architecture—promotes health and wellness. There is a rehabilitation/retreat essence to it. It is surrounded by trees and vegetation and one often feels like one is waking up and going to sleep in the rain forest. The sounds of birds, bees, insects and small animals is my soundtrack before bed and in the morning. Now, I understand why Thoreau went to Walden Pond—he needed to heal and maintain his sanity from an absurd world.
On my first day here I was invited to a picnic on Saturday (tomorrow), if it falls through, I will take a rickshaw to the Bhopal Museum…I am sure it will be quite an experience, stay tuned.
PS: Yesterday evening at dinner, I met our cook’ and her outgoing son, Jimmy, the bravery and utter indifference of children is something that adults should aspire to.
PPS: My first mosquito bite, fingers crossed it is nothing serious…but one cannot expect to research in these parts and not get bitten, correct? I caught it in between my palms, it is now resting in peace in mosquito heaven.
PPPS: In the manner of the letter exchange Marcus Cornelius Fronto and Marcus Aurelius, I will say that I slept poorly last night. I was awake until 5 in the morning, eating cereal, reading and listening to the sound of prayer from across the way. In this jet-lagged induced insomnia, I completed reading a book and started another—so when life gives you lemons, you squeeze them, add some sugar and water, and make lemonade.