“Celebrating
Smitu”
On April 24, 2009, a celebration of the life of Smitu
Kothari was held in Washington, D.C. View the program here. Those
attending included Smitu's 11-year-old daughter Emma along with her mother
Karen McGuinness; Smitu’s relative Shaileshi Kothary; and
scholars/activists who knew Smitu from various points in his life.
The "program" for the event centered on formal and informal remarks
celebrating Smitu. Some of those are posted below (in the order of the
program). Some photos from the event are also included at the end of this post.
_______________________
Remarks by Robin Broad
Thoughts of Smitu. Memories, some might
say. But they do not feel like memories to me. They feel
current, real…. For me, Smitu lives. He lives as my loved friend, as our
loved friend, as my brother, as my teacher.
He lives in my dogwood tree that was just starting to bud on
March 23 and is now in full bloom. Smitu loves that dogwood tree. He
visited us -- often a few times a year, and almost always including once year
in April -- perfectly timed for the dogwood to be in some stage of bloom. Most
folks take photos of people standing in front of the
dogwood tree. Smitu did that (and made my husband John take photos of
Smitu and me in front of the tree - photos I now cherish). But in typical
Smitu style, he also crouched down under the dogwood tree, and took
multiple photos looking up into the canopy of dogwood-blossoms. Some of
the photos look like snowflakes, some like stars…. I say “in
typical Smitu-style” -- because, as you well know, he always figures out
a different way of seeing and of viewing.
(I
wonder: did Smitu try to teach all of us how to see things differently?)
Smitu lives for me, sitting at my kitchen table. When I
think of Smitu, I think of staying up late and talking. It was always
around our kitchen table. Staying up late with Smitu was a ritual. We had
certain foods -- foods that took a long time to eat: hummus, smoked trout,
cheese, olives, almonds, fruit. We made a ritual of eating and of
speaking: Certain topics in certain orders. The professional. The
political. The spiritual….Smitu is one of the very-very few people in the
world with whom I talked about the spiritual, one of the very-very few people
who really knows me on all levels.
(I
wonder: do we all feel that way about Smitu? That he knows us as few others
can?)
And we talked about the personal too. About
dreams. And about cares and concerns. Some topics were requisite –
India, for example. We always spoke about India. We always planned my
yet-to-materialize real trips to India. (For the record, my trip to India
for the World Social Forum was not considered a “real trip” to
India.) It was in India, according to Smitu, where I would understand
myself as he understood me.
(I
wonder: did we all dream of India with Smitu? Did we all dream of understanding
ourselves as he understands us?)
And always, always, always: we talked about Emma. Or
rather, I listened as Smitu talked about Emma. Smitu always had stories
he wanted to share about Emma – stories about what Emma was doing… about
what Emma was up to… about some conversation he had recently had with
Emma. Smitu loves talking about Emma. He created many things in his life,
but Emma was the creation of which he was most proud. Of which he is
most proud.
Emma: It means so much to me -- as someone who loves
your Dad – to have you here with us on this spring evening in April, when
the dogwoods are in full bloom. I see your father in your eyes. I see him
in your smile. I want you to know how much he talked about you… how
much he loves you…. I want you to know that he carries you deep inside of
him, at his core. And I want you to know – as I am sure you do -- that
you carry him within you, deep inside of you…as well as in your eyes and
in your smile.
Emma, your Dad always talked about how I needed to
meet you. So thank you for coming here today so that I could meet you.
And thank you, Karen, for coming with Emma.
Let me also reach out, across the ocean, to send hugs of
strength and of health to Bindia… dear, dear Bindia, Smitu’s
beloved Bindia.
For me, Smitu lives – on this evening of a new moon,
with my dogwood in full bloom.
Dr. Robin Broad
Professor
International Development Program
School of International Service
American University
Washington, D.C. 20016-8071 USA
email: broad.au@verizon.net
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Remarks by Juliette Majot
A few weeks ago, friends of Smitu’s on the West coast
gathered at my house in Berkeley, and we shared many stories about Smitu and
our love for him. A great many of the stories contained bits about Smitu
falling asleep at the oddest moments – as was his habit. Or at least he
appeared to fall asleep. I, for one, never quite believed it because he
didn’t seem to miss what was being said while he dozed.
We have so many shared experiences with Smitu. How many
share this one? I am conversing with Smitu, and I have just set forth a fine
example of garbled, unsifted, unformed, not distilled, messy, undisciplined,
half-baked and possibly spurious thinking. Smitu pauses, for just one second,
and then responds with a full, measured, and elegant response, while at the
same time somehow convincing me that this is precisely what I had meant to say
in the first place.
Smitu mesmerized us. He encouraged us all to take risks
because he made us feel that risk taking was safe, and risk aversion dangerous.
He held us together through an uncanny ability to make sense of our
non-sense! How many times have we been in a room full of people who are,
apparently, all losing our train of thought at the same time. We are completely
at sea, and are eyes then, like those of passengers in a life boat, turn their
hopeful gaze to Smitu, confident he will steer us safely to shore?
Smitu taught us the extraordinary power of care and
patience, because he was a very careful and patient man. Care for a
movement, and care for each one of us. Patience with the formation of ideas,
with his students, with his friends. He had the strength that only
careful people can claim, and the patience required for sustained perseverance.
With Smitu, one always had the impression that there was
something left unsaid. That there was more to come, and that when Smitu was
ready to say it, he would. Or no, perhaps, it was that things were unheard,
that one could always listen more carefully to Smitu. There was more to be
voiced, more to be listened to.
Smitu was always about voice. All kinds of voice. The
voices of the powerful, the elite, the marginalized, the silenced and the
overamplified. He cared about the emanation of voice. Whose voice was it
and what was their purpose and meaning? Who were they talking to? Who was
listening and why? How was voice used? Who benefited, and who did not?
And there was his own beautiful voice, the round, deep,
resonant baritone, questioning, compelling, serious and devilishly mischievous,
always critical, only self consciously cynical.
I first heard his voice in 1989 in Washington DC at an
international forum of NGOs gathered to assess what was then known as the MDB
Campaign – the campaign to reform multilateral development banks. There
were about 200 people there, and my friend Angela Gennino and I were there
interviewing everyone we could find for World Rivers Review, asking them what
they thought about the effectiveness of the campaign. Smitu told us it
hadn’t been very effective and went on to explain why it needed to be
radicalized. That began a dialogue and a friendship that has lasted 20 years
(even despite his refusal to let us name his column in our newsletter, “In
Situ with Smitu”.
Last year, I interviewed Smitu on the topic of Global Civil
Society. “Juliette”, he said, carefully and patiently,
“aren’t you going to interrogate the idea that it even
exists?” (He did not believe that it did.) He slowly found his way round
to a theme that had begun to be common in our conversations.
“What are our structures of accountability, what do we
need to do differently? I think there is enough wisdom out there now, and
enough learning, and enough people with the self-confidence of being
honest. There is a reflective capacity that hasn’t been
tapped. We are always moving and changing things and not stepping back
and critically evaluating ourselves and our peers in the context in which we
live and work. I feel this so much also because of what we have helped to
build over the last 20 or 30 years – there is just not enough to show for
it. We need to step back and be critically self-reflective about some of
this stuff. This discussion about global civil society (I felt him
grimace as he used the term) reinforces in me the need to do that. “
With Smitu, one always had the impression that there was
something left unsaid. That there was more to come, and that when Smitu was
ready to say it, he would. Or no, perhaps, it was that things were unheard,
that one could always listen more carefully. There was more to be voiced, there
was more to listen to. There is always more, and I will continue to look for
it, and find it in Smitu’s work and in the work he has left for us to do.
Juliette Majot
Berkeley, CA
Email: jmmajot@gmail.com
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Remarks by John Cavanagh
Some people close their eyes when they talk because they
have no idea what they are about to say. But, there is a small group of
people who close their eyes when they are digging into some deep, inner
reservoir of wisdom to select a few gems to share with the listener. This
is how I remember Smitu, closing his eyes and tossing out gem after gem.
In this U.S. culture which is indifferent to wisdom, I
cherish it. Which is part of why I cherished Smitu. His wisdom got
to the root of the problem. Ninety percent of what we call
“development,” Smitu knew was rubbish. He said so. His
wisdom was rooted in the peoples’ struggles in which he was a participant
and leader.
Fifteen years ago, Smitu wrote a chapter in a book that I
co-edited called Beyond Bretton Woods: Alternatives to the Global Economic
Order. I have a copy of the book here for Emma, and it includes
chapters by such illustrious people as Lori Udall, Robin Broad, the new
Congressman from the Philippines Walden Bello, Danny Weiss’s father
Peter, and there is a great chapter by Smitu. I’m not going to read
the entire chapter, but instead have selected 3 sentences of Smitu wisdom:
“The
struggle is a massive one. It is nothing short of reversing the conquest
of society by
the economy; of restoring the ethic of self-limitation; of recognizing that
positive values are not just
material acquisitions but dignity, an integration of an ecological politics,
and a respect for deepening democracy. Development is not
feasible without listening to our conscience, without restoring an
ethics to economics and development, without
restoring a symbiotic relationship with nature, without being relevant in what
we do to the last person in this country and to mother earth.”
Thank you.
John Cavanagh
Director
Institute for Policy Studies
Washington, D.C.
Email: jcavanagh@igc.org
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Remarks and Music by Lori
Udall
I met Smitu
in 1986 on my first trip to India. I was immediately struck by his intellect,
compassion, and how he generously gave his time and advice to help me
strategize about my trip around India.
Much later in
1990, he and I were together in Japan on a speaking tour that exposed the
Narmada Dam projects in India and the World Bank’s impacts on
communities, human rights and the environment around Asia. Also with us were
Narmada Bacho Andolan activist Shripad Dharmadikary, Yukio Tanaka of Friends of
the Earth Japan, and Grainne Ryder of TERRA in Thailand.
On that trip
I discovered that Smitu had a wonderful singing voice. I will always remember
sitting in the evenings after dinner with hosts and endless discussions on
development, environment and human rights, we would often go around the table
and sings songs from our homes. His Hindi songs were deep, soulful and from the
heart, and have stayed with me all these years.
So I decided
to honor Smitu tonight with a song from a 60’s activist-- Phil Ochs called
“When I’m Gone”.
If there is
one thing that Smitu would have wanted… it is for all of us to continue
fighting the good fight.
When I’m Gone
By Phil Ochs
There’s no place in this world where I’ll belong
when I’m gone
And I won’t know the right from the wrong when
I’m gone
And you won’t find me singing on this song when
I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here
I won’t breathe the bracing air when I’m gone
I won’t even worry about my cares when I’m gone
Won’t be asked to do my share when I’m gone
So I’ll guess I’ll have to do it while I’m
here
I won’t be running from the rain when I’m gone
And I can’t even suffer any pain when I’m gone
There’s nothing I can lose or I can gain when
I’m gone
So I’ll guess I’ll have to do it while I’m
here
Won’t see the golden of the sun when I’m gone
The night and the morning will be one when I’m gone
Can’t sing louder than the guns when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here
My days won’t be dances of delight when I’m gone
The sands will be shifting from my sight when I’m gone
Can’t add my name to fight when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here
I won’t be laughing at the lies when I’m gone
I can’t question how or when or why when I’m
gone
Can’t live proud enough to die when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.
Lori Udall
Email: lludall@earthlink.net
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