Dr. Simran Jeet Singh is a scholar of South Asian Religions, Islamophobia, race/racialization and religion, and Sikh traditions. He is also a noted activist, applying scholarship to social justice issues around race, racial profiling, anti-Muslim and anti-Sikh hatred and violence.
He has taught at Trinity University, Columbia University, Union Theological Seminary, and New York University. Dr. Singh’s public writings on religion, race, Sikhi, and Islamophobia have appeared in major news outlets (including the Washington Post, CNN, Huffington Post, and Religion News Service, where he is a regular columnist); he has appeared on television and documentary programs; and he serves the Interfaith Advisory Board Committee of New York State. In 2014, was invited to address President Obama and other members of government about Sikhs; in 2015, he similarly was invited to address the Pentagon.
His list of awards for this work is impressive:
In 2018, Dr. Singh won the Harvard Divinity School Alumni/Alumnae Council selected him as a 2018 Peter J. Gomes Memorial honoree, an award which “recognizes distinguished HDS alumni whose excellence in life, work, and service pays homage to the mission and values of Peter J. Gomes STB ’68 and Harvard Divinity School.”
In 2018, he was named a “faith leader to watch” by the Center for American Progress; in 2017, he was named Educator of the Year by the Dialogue Institute for the Southwest.
In 2016, he won the Walter Wink Scholar-Activist Award from Auburn Seminary, which “recognizes courageous individuals who dedicate their lives to advocating for justice and peace in our world.”
Dr. Singh’s scholarship and activism demonstrate how and why religious literacy is necessary. We’re so honored to have him help kick off our month of events!
Starting Thursday, September 26, the Religion Department is hosting a (long) month of events centered on religious literacy! We’re marking the launch of the Certificate in Religious Literacy for Professions, the first undergraduate certificate of its kind in the U.S., with an all-star lineup of guest speakers, panels, and faculty forums.
Follow us on Facebook for event information. Check into the hashtag #RelLitUVM on Twitter and Instagram for live-tweets, related content, and photos. Or–better yet!–come to any or all events in person: they’re free and open to the public.
Over the summer I was given the great opportunity to work as a Government Affairs Intern at the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR-Chicago). CAIR-Chicago is a local chapter of a national non-profit organization whose mission is to defend civil rights, promote tolerance, and fight bigotry. At CAIR-Chicago, our Civil Rights Department provides legal services for members of the Chicagoland Muslim community, mostly focusing on immigration cases relating to the current administration’s limitations on travel and immigration status for Muslims. The pro-bono legal services at CAIR-Chicago provides protections for Chicago’s Muslim community in the face of discrimination on the basis of race, religion, or ethnicity.
My first week on the job was
interesting, to say the least. We were preparing for our Taste of Ramadan iftar and spent the week
hanging up streamers and balloons to decorate our office for the event. While
the arts and crafts time was a great way to get to know my fellow interns
without feeling as though we were interrupting the workflow, I was nervous that
the entire internship would be busy work and the negative clichés you always
hear about internships- coffee, cleaning, photocopying, etc. Over the following
weeks, I began receiving legitimate work to do and started to feel as though my
time and effort was producing valuable work.
As a Government Affairs intern, my work mainly focused on civic engagement and policy research in addition to writing articles for our online publication. The bulk of my policy research dealt with the Illinois General Assembly where I compiled a list of relevant legislation that has been introduced or passed this year in both chambers of the Assembly. Most notably, the General Assembly passed landmark legislation relating to women’s reproductive rights, marijuana decriminalization and legalization, and employment civil rights.
Throughout the summer, the Government Affairs team and I planned a few events for the general public. First, we held viewing parties for the DNC debates in June and July where we wrote profiles on each of the 23 prospective nominees. We also made an appearance at Chicago’s World Refugee celebration in June where we participated in a march and set up a table to pass out information and “Know Your Rights” pamphlets ahead of the ICE raids in Chicago. In addition to these minor events that we participated in, we planned a larger event at the end of the summer called “Bridging the Gap: Conversations Between Politicians and People.” We invited local politicians from Illinois to have a panel discussion regarding issues that directly impact the Muslim community in Chicago. Although some of our guests never showed up, we were fortunate to have a Congressman from the Illinois General Assembly and a representative from a state Senator’s office in attendance. The state Representative, who had a long career before his appointment as a rabbi and an activist, brought a fresh perspective to our conversation and provided him the opportunity to speak to a politically underrepresented community that CAIR supports.
Beyond the day-to-day work at CAIR, the
interns participated in a series of “Immersion Days” where department heads
would teach us about a specific topic of interest to them. The most fascinating
and inspiring Immersion Day that I attended was at the West Side Justice Center
where we met members of the Black Panther Party and the Rainbow Coalition.
These men, some of whom founded the Chicago chapter, took us on a tour of their
exhibit which featured posters, newspapers, and documents from the founding
days of the party with Fred Hampton at the helm. This immersion day was one of
the best experiences I have ever had the privilege of attending and I learned
so much about the underground history of my city.
Along with meeting some incredibly
inspirational people, I also had one of the most challenging experiences of my
life when an organization of former white supremacists and Neo-Nazis attended a
two-day workshop at our office. In small groups, we discussed various questions
relating to media coverage of terrorism and extremism and ultimately relating
those biases to the experiences of our diverse group. After spending several
hours talking to a former white supremacist in my group, I learned that in his
past he committed hate crimes against Jewish people and synagogues. As a young
Jewish woman, I immediately felt defenseless and terrified, never mind the fact
that I had to wake up the next morning and sit at a table with this man for
another 7 hours. The next day I walked into our office—putting all of my
reservations aside— only to thoroughly enjoy our second day, including taking
our “formers” to the local masjid to observe the midday salah.
Overall, my internship at CAIR-Chicago
was a wonderful opportunity for me in both my personal and academic life. CAIR
fostered an incredibly welcoming and friendly work environment where I met wonderful
people of all different backgrounds, ideologies, and experiences. I learned so
much about the incredible diversity in thought, practice, and belief within the
worldwide Muslim community, and became friends with some inspiring and
passionate young adults. My time at CAIR was significantly elevated by all of
the intelligent, hard-working, and friendly people that I met along the way,
and I still feel incredibly grateful for the opportunity.
Earlier this summer I had the opportunity to visit “The Jeweled Isle,” a major exhibition of Sri Lankan art at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Exhibitions of Sri Lankan art in the U.S. are few and far between; to my knowledge, this is only the third exhibition devoted exclusively to the art of Sri Lanka. The first, in 1992-93 at the Sackler Gallery in Washington, DC, focused exclusively on Hindu and Buddhist sculpture, while the second, the 2003 “Guardian of the Flame” exhibition at the Phoenix Art Museum, was limited to Buddhist artifacts. The LACMA exhibition, which opened last December and closed in early July (2019), presents a much broader focus, highlighting the interactions of the diverse communities, ethnicities, and religious identities that have taken root on the island over the past three millennia. This globalized perspective is effectively evoked by the first image that appears at the entrance to the exhibit: the island’s silhouette superimposed at the center of a web-like pattern that simultaneously evokes a network of global connections, and the facets of a jewel, one of the island’s natural resources that has captured the attention of traders and colonizers.
Sign at exhibit entrance. (All photographs are mine, unless otherwise indicated; Los Angeles County Museum of Art, June 2019)Display of 21 precious gems from Sri Lanka.
The power of “jewels” is one of the key organizing themes that run throughout the exhibit, linking the human attraction to precious gemstones with two foundational forms of Buddhist practice: taking refuge in the “triple gem” of the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha, and activities centered on the Buddha’s bodily relics, which have long been symbolically and physically linked with precious stones. Buddha relics are typically enclosed in two different kinds of containers, both of which appear throughout the exhibit: in the massive relic monuments (stupas) that spatially and ritually define important Sri Lankan Buddhist devotional sites (displayed here on palm-leaf manuscript covers and as captured by 19th-century colonial photographers), and in stupa-shaped reliquaries, which are either permanently enshrined in stupas or serve as moveable relic containers for devotional purposes. Several examples of reliquaries, labeled “votive stupas,” appear throughout the exhibit, dating from the 2nd-3rd century to the 19th century.
Rock crystal reliquary, 2nd-3rd cent.Ivory reliquary, 17th-18th cent. Ebony reliquary, 19th cent.Two illustrated palm-leaf manuscript covers (inside surface); the top pair (18th-19th cent.) are wood overlaid with inscribed silver; the bottom pair (19th cent.) are painted wood. Both include depictions of the 16 great pilgrimage sites associated with the tradition of Gotama Buddha’s three visits to the island; the upper set also depicts the bodhisattva’s encounter with 24 previous Buddhas prior to his final rebirth as Siddhartha, and the first seven weeks after his enlightenment. Together they illustrate the extended life of the Buddha, beginning with his first aspiration to Buddhahood countless ages ago, his three visits to the island during his lifetime, and his post-death connection to sixteen places across the island where his physical relics continue to mediate his presence in the world.Detail, showing (above) the bodhisattva’s encounter with previous Buddhas and (below) the first seven weeks following his enlightenment at Bodhgaya.Detail from gallery card.
These containers for precious materials evoke another key theme threading throughout the exhibition: the island itself as a physical container, bounded by water, and defined by the comings and goings of different groups of people throughout its long history. As the gallery card provided for the gemstone exhibit notes, in the early centuries of the Common Era the island was known as “Ratnadvipa” (Island of Gems), and legends developed that the gems found there originated from the tears of the Buddha, or of Adam and Eve. Medieval Christian and Islamic texts preserve a tradition that it was the site of Paradise. The island, with its strategic location for global trade and valuable natural resources and commodities (e.g., spices, gems, rubber, coffee, tea), has exerted a powerful centripetal force, attracting diverse groups of outsiders defined by a multiplicity of identity markers (including racial, ethnic, linguistic, and religious differences). Sinhalas, the largest ethnic group in Sri Lanka, trace their origins to North India, and the traditional account of their migration to the island is closely linked to the life of the Buddha: Vijaya, their legendary progenitor, is said to have set foot on the island on the day of Gotama Buddha’s parinibbāna (final passing away). Tamils, who are predominantly Hindu, constitute the second largest ethnic group, and they trace their origins to groups of settlers from South India. Other ethnic groups include the Väddas, an indigenous group whose ancestors are regarded as predating the arrival of the Sinhalas; Moors, descended from Arab-speaking traders, who are predominantly Muslim; and Malays, also predominantly Muslim, whose ancestors came from the Malay Archipelago. Sri Lanka was also populated by three successive groups of European colonizers, beginning with the Portuguese in the early 16th century, followed be the Dutch in the 17th century, and finally the British who gained complete control of the island, then called Ceylon, in 1815 and ruled it as a British crown colony until its independence in 1948. The Burghers, a Eurasian community defined by links to a paternal ancestor of European descent, constitute an additional group.
All of these communities, with the exception of the Malays, are represented through the objects on display, most of which belong to the LACMA collection, supplemented by objects borrowed from a number of other museums, including the Victoria and Albert Museum in London and New York’s Metropolitan Museum. Without attempting to provide a detailed account of the impact of European colonial rule, or of the long history of inter-ethnic conflicts on island, the objects on display effectively evoke the complex interactions of diverse groups, pointing to moments of shared interest and appreciation, as well as contestation and social othering. This is accomplished through the curators’ choice of objects for display, the exhibition’s integrated spatial layout and unified aesthetic plan (designed by a prominent Los Angeles architecture firm), and the strategically placed signage, which provides essential historical and cultural information. I was particularly impressed by the use of 19th-century photographs strategically placed throughout the exhibit to highlight the impact of British colonial points of view, including their fascination with Buddhist archaeological sites, aspects of the natural environment, and “native” Sri Lankans represented by shots of humble villagers, as well as members of the Kandyan aristocracy, a group that lost power with the British conquest of Kandy in 1815. These photographic displays culminate near the end of the exhibition with a series of 20 photographs by Reg van Cuylenburg (1926-1988), a Sri Lankan photographer of Kandyan Sinhalese, English, and Dutch descent who toured the island from 1949-58, documenting people and places in the newly independent nation. It is revealing, I think, to compare the very formal and static character of the 19th-century photos with the vibrant and dynamic force of van Cuylenburg’s “Village Girls Bathing” (see below). A final sign at the end of the exhibit, titled “Buddhist Legacies and Island Memories,” makes a poignant contrast between the optimism that informed van Cuylenburg’s work, and the more recent history of ethnic conflict, concluding: “Among the greatest tragedies in Sri Lanka’s recent history is the civil war (1983-2009) that pitted Sinhalese Buddhists against Tamil Hindus, two groups that had coexisted and comingled for much of Sri Lanka’s history. It is unlikely that such a prolonged conflict could have been foreseen when Sri Lanka won its independence from Britain in 1948. Young Sri Lankans of that time, including the photographer Reg van Cuylenburg, reveled in optimism for the future of their island nation, which had been strewn for two millennia with the jewels of diverse communities, cultures, ethnicities, and religions.”
19th-cent. colonial photographs: “Villager Selling Plaintains, c. 1890. Photo from exhibition catalogue: Robert Brown, et al., The Jeweled Isle: Art from Sri Lanka (Los Angeles: LACMA, 2018). “Kandyan Chief,” Scowen & Co., c. 1880-90.Photographs displayed on wall near entrance to the exhibition, with introductory label.Reg van Cuylenburg, “Village Girls Bathing,” c. 1950-58.
Much could be said about the ways that the exhibit portrays the deep integration of “Buddhist” and “Hindu” religious practices in the lives of Sri Lankans, providing a visual counter-narrative to one of the enduring legacies of British rule in South Asia—a taxonomy of knowledge that represented “world religions” such as Buddhism and Hinduism as tightly organized and exclusive systems of belief that closely aligned with other exclusivist racial/ethnic and linguistic categories (e.g., Buddhist/Sinhala and Hindu/Tamil). This integrative approach is apparent in the prominent display of a series of 17th-18th-century painted wood panels from the LACMA collection, which most likely served as window or door panels in a Sri Lankan Buddhist temple (their original provenance is unknown; they came to the museum as a donation from the actor James Coburn). These depict major gods associated with Indian Brahmanical religion and planetary deities, as well as devotees and powerful local spirits. As the gallery card notes: “Sri Lankan Buddhist practices often involve honoring various deities who were originally assimilated from popular, folk, and Indian traditions in order to undergird Buddhism’s relevance to the everyday lives and goals of worshippers … [who] seek protection and benefits in their present lives, and the gods found throughout Buddhist temple complexes in Sri Lanka aid their efforts.” The two panels depicted below show the popular elephant-headed god Ganesha, and probably Shakra (Indra), who figures prominently in Theravada accounts of the Buddha’s life; a demonic spirit (commonly depicted as fierce guardians in Buddhist temples) and a female devotee are depicted in the lower registers of each panel.
Panel depicting Ganesha and a demonic spirit.Probably Shakra, king of the gods; in the background can be seen a large carved wooden mask (20th-century) of Maha Kola Sanni Yaksha, chief of the demonic spirits (yakshas), who are engaged in yaktovil healing rituals. UVM’s Fleming Museum has several Sri Lankan yaktovil masks, including a very rare 19th-century mask of Maha Kola Sanni Yaksha, now prominently displayed in the Fleming’s new gallery of Asian art; see my discussion of the mask here.
The final object in the exhibition might at first strike the viewer as incongruous, as it was created by Lewis deSoto, a contemporary artist of Cahuilla Native American ancestry. Titled “Paranirvana (Self Portrait),” it is a 26-foot inflatable image of the reclining Buddha with the artist’s own face. Like the inflatable lawn ornaments that appear during the holidays in the front yards of many American homes, it relies upon an electric fan to keep it inflated. As the nearby label notes, the sculpture’s inflation in the morning and its deflation at the close of the day calls to mind the rising and falling of “spiritual breath” (prana) in yogic practice, as well as the cycle of birth and death (samsara). It’s connection to Sri Lanka? It is inspired by the massive 12th-century reclining Buddha image at Gal Vihara, part of the Polonnaruwa temple complex in Sri Lanka. It seems particularly fitting that the last object in the exhibit simultaneously looks backward toward an ancient Sri Lankan Buddhist monument, and forward toward new globalized forms of Asian religious practice (yoga, as well as Buddhism in its multiple North American hybridized forms). And, once again, the curators have juxtaposed a final example of a British colonial gaze in the form of a 19th-century photograph of the Gal Vihara sculpture.
Joseph Lawton, photograph, “Reclining Buddha at Gal Vihara, 1870-71Lewis deSoto, painted vinyl infused with cloth, “Paranirvana (Self Portrait),” 2015
I feel very fortunate to have been able to undertake this academic pilgrimage to Los Angeles to view this remarkable exhibition, which has given me much to reflect upon. I also want to express my gratitude to Dr. Tushara Bindu Gude, co-curator, who very graciously walked me through the exhibition and gave me a better understanding of its genesis.
481 always has such a calming, supportive, and knowledgeable atmosphere and it has never ceased to inspire me as both a student and a critical thinker. The passion for knowledge and care for students is always palpable within the religion department building and I have always really appreciated that.
juliet duncan ’19
Why did you major in Religion?
I decided to major in religion after taking a course on Religion in Film and Television taught by Professor Andrus. I loved both sides of the course so much and it reminded me of the interest I had always hard towards those topics. I decided to continue taking film and religion courses afterwards and when it came time to choose a major I committed to both!
Where do you imagine yourself in 10 years?
I see myself working in television production in some form, utilizing the skills I gained as a religion major to adopt and critique different perspectives and be more thoughtful in the ways we both create and consume different narratives.
Imagine a first-year student has asked your advice about REL courses. What’s the one she shouldn’t dream about missing? Why?
I would say that a first- year student should make sure not to miss one of Professor Andrus’ Religion in Film and TV/Pop Culture classes because it relates more to your everyday life and allows you to see religious inspiration and thought in the secular world. It is a great introduction to religious studies for those that are not particularly religious or do not think they would be interested in it because it teaches you about the religious perspective while applying it to mundane/everyday actions/behaviors that you either don’t put much thought into or feel a strong connection to. It also demonstrates the power of storytelling across different medium and how those powers are mirrored in (or arguably stem from) religious tradition.
If you could write any book, what would it be?
If I were to write a book it would most likely be related to the social roles and influences of television in our everyday lives. Specifically, I would analyze the life expectations TV shows create for us as well as what we seek out in allowing a storytelling medium to become so intimately enmeshed in our lives.
Any fond memories of 481 Main Street you want to share?
My fondest memories at 481 Main all revolve around the professors there and the religion department in general. 481 always has such a calming, supportive, and knowledgeable atmosphere and it has never ceased to inspire me as both a student and a critical thinker. The passion for knowledge and care for students is always palpable within the religion department building and I have always really appreciated that.
On a campus consisting of massive, towering, and overwhelming structures with floor to ceiling windows and hyper-modern architecture, the Religion House has acted as a sanctum for me, precisely because it is just that, a house- a home.
quinn cosentino ’19
Why did you major in Religion?
My reasoning for choosing the major is a bit embarrassing, to be honest. When I was in high school, I was somewhat obsessed with the History Channel(or Pseudo-History Channel) show, Ancient Aliens.The show stoked a fascination in me for learning about diverse religious traditions and the cultural contexts that accompanied them. The show always lost me, though, at “it was aliens!” It was this fascination (minus the radical theory) that brought me to the Religion department my first semester, freshman year. What the Religion program offered me, however, was far more thought provoking than “fascination” and that is the reason I remained a Religion major. Passions I never knew I had, such as investigating gender and race theory, were fostered through this program and it has made me the complex thinker I am today.
Where do you imagine yourself in 10 years?
In ten years, I picture myself as a museum curator, working on projects that relate to gender theory and racialization. More specifically, I hope that I will hold a position that relates to colonialism and sainthood and saints in America. This has been the focus of the major research project I conducted in the Religion Department and it will undoubtedly follow me into my graduate program, and (with any luck) into my career. On a more personal note, I will be able to afford a dog and a mortgage.
Imagine a first-year student has asked your advice about REL courses. What’s the one she shouldn’t dream about missing? Why?
Prior to Fall Semester, 2018, I would have said the most valuable class for me was “REL 224: Seeing the Sacred” which is about the role of visuality and visionary experience in the Christian tradition prior to the Early Modern period. That class was the most valuable for me, personally, and I want to plug it here because it is incredibly engaging (and Anne Clark is, of course, amazing). In the Fall of 2018, however, I entered into Ilyse Morgenstein-Fuerst’s “REL 297: Religion and Empire.” This class explored in incredible depth how gender, race, religion and science (to name a few) functioned to advance Empire from early colonialist efforts to today. I firmly believe this class changed the way I engage with the world on a professional and personal level. I believe every human being (let alone every religion student) should be required to take this course.
If you could write any book, what would it be?
I would definitely write a book about colonial saints and the role of sainthood in America as I mentioned earlier. I’ve also been very interested in the gender relations and expectations of Medieval and Early Modern Christianity. More specifically, I would write a book about medieval witch trials. I’ve had an informal goal for the past few years to write creatively and I’d like to write a book that’s less academic.
Any fond memories of 481 Main Street you want to share?
I don’t have any specific memories of 481 Main, but the building has played a significant role in my collegiate life. On a campus consisting of massive, towering, and overwhelming structures with floor to ceiling windows and hyper-modern architecture, the Religion House has acted as a sanctum for me, precisely because it is just that, a house- a home. I love it because, like me, it exists on the margins of the status quo (as does the religion major itself on a science-oriented campus). When I look back and reflect on my time as an undergraduate, I don’t think I’ll remember UVM; I’ll remember 481 Main Street and the countless amazing experiences I had there.
I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: declaring a religion major was the best thing I did at UVM.
-ABRA CLAWSON ’19
Why did you major in Religion?
It began as a quest for redemption.
I signed up for a religion class my first semester at UVM, hoping to get an introduction to something I had never studied in high school, and about which I knew nothing. The class frustrated me endlessly (why was the answer to every question “yes… and no”!?), but it was also my favorite of the semester. A year later, I decided to give religion another shot and took a second class, determined to do better than I had in my first semester. I realized that my religion professors were the ones I found the most compelling, and who pushed me the hardest but also made it clear that they believed in me. The classes were interesting, but the people were really what drew me in. By the end of sophomore year, I declared a minor (after finding out that I would get a super cool mug if I did).
Junior year came around, and I felt dissatisfied with some of my classes in other departments because I thought I was not being pushed to be critical of what I was studying. I was also in awe of the older religion students in my classes, because they said things that seemed so smart and important and different from my other classes. I wanted to take more classes with these people. I ended up transferring into “Religion and Secular Culture” the second week of the fall semester, declaring religion as my second major at the same time. From there, things just got better; I loved how the major built on and complicated what I learned elsewhere. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: declaring a religion major was the best thing I did at UVM.
Where do you imagine yourself in 10 years?
I could see myself going in a few directions over the next few years, so look for me: 1) working at a regional theatre in artistic management or sound design, or 2) living in another country doing research and creating multimedia projects.
Imagine a first-year student has asked your advice about REL courses. What’s the one she shouldn’t dream about missing? Why?
The senior seminars (“Religion and Secular Culture,” “Religion and Empire”) were my favorites! I would tell younger students not to be scared by a course number; the intro classes were the hardest anyway. My seminar papers are the assignments I’m most proud of at UVM, and both Professor Borchert and Professor Morgenstein Fuerst made them feel manageable. Those are also the classes where I got to know the other students the most, and where the department began to feel like a family. But really, just take at least one class in something you’ve never studied before, something out of your comfort zone. Also, don’t wait until senior year to take Religion 100.
If you could write any book, what would it be?
I’ve been obsessed with Shakespeare since 6thgrade, and I think it would be cool to work on a project about religion and Shakespeare which goes into the historical context of a few plays and their characters, and then takes a look at the way they have been produced over the years.
Any fond memories of 481 Main Street you want to share?
The ability to feel comfortable just stopping by anyprofessor’s office to ask a question or just to say hello. Running into people in the hallways and having conversations that spilled out of the classroom. The early mornings sitting on the couches before class.
As in years past, the 2019 Student Research Conference has quite a showing of Religion majors and minors! Students will give traditional conference papers, poster presentations, and a creative presentation that utilizes sound. Topics engage notions of idigeniety, imperialism, nationalism, sustainability, gender, race/racialization, sound, capitalism and tourism.
The Student Research Conference has a 12 year history at UVM and continues to grow in its scope, format, and impact. It is an all day event on Wednesday April 17 in the Davis center. We are really proud of our seven scheduled presenters. Join us if you can!
ABSTRACT: I was born in Vermont but I’m not a “Vermonter”. What is this statement based upon? and why do we have it? and what work is it doing knowingly or not? I attempt to trace the ideological process behind this identity claim—one that carries significant capital in terms of marketing and brand building but is also reflective of an American rural ideal that is racially and ethnically crafted and inherently gendered and nationalistic. I question why this identity is so celebrated and powerful in an effort to think about how imperialism and empire operate ideologically and economically. While Vermont appears to be a thriving “sustainable” agricultural state, it is structured to take for granted the patterns of marginalization and power that were inherent in the shaping of the identity. If we take for granted these markers of identity without critically assessing them, we will continue reiterating the hegemonic colonial metanarratives that are not “sustainable”, but are, as we know, harmful socially, environmentally, and economically.
ABSTRACT: The question of historical agency and sovereignty is one that cannot be easily answered, as history is dictated by agents of imperialism rather than their subjects; such is the case of the Abenaki, or Alnôbak. The Abenaki, as explained by Frederick Matthew Wiseman, are “the descendants of people who lived in Vermont, New Hampshire, and Western Maine ‘since time immemorial,’ as they said in 1766” (9). Despite their long history, spanning thousands of years in Northern America, Wiseman says that many White-Anglo settlers throughout Maine, Vermont, and New Hampshire assumed until the early twentieth century that the Abenaki had left, essentially exiled from—and Othered in—their own land. He specifically notes that “Anglo historians seem to lack research interest or tools to discover much about the Alnôbak of this time, so their lore is lacking” (118). This lack of interest in the native inhabitants of a since colonized land is not surprising, as acknowledging the original and sustained presence of a sovereign Native people could prove problematic for modern American government and legislation. Through this project, I will elucidate how the distinct yet deeply intertwined influences of race, religion, and science affected the Alnôbak and their interactions with Anglo-settlers, with an aim to understand how the Alnôbak express their agency in a colonized space.
ABSTRACT: Beyond simply a category of explanation, religion is a category of contestation. Despite the instability of the category of religion, governments worldwide participate in signifying what does and does not count in their laws and legal systems. The systems of law in France provide no exception. French laws reflect a desire to differentiate church and state, or laïcité. However, beneath the surface, particular institutions remain privileged. France is a country that claims secularity, yet within that secularity lies an institutional understanding of what religions are and what that means for the law. Legal systems in France are saturated with Catholic undertones, and laws regarding religion disproportionately affect minority religious communities under the masquerade of neutrality. Thus reflecting anxieties emerging from the encroaching “other” which are obscured by labels such as ‘Islamophobia.’ In this project, I examine legal efforts to differentiate religion and non-religion with a focus on recent court cases around school lunches and the rights of religious minorities.
ABSTRACT: Kagbeni, Nepal is a town which sits at a series of overlapping crossroads. With the restricted region of Upper Mustang to the north, and a popular pilgrimage site to the east, the town is constantly being shaped by globalization, religious and cultural identities, and tourism. I explore each of these forces in turn, centering my analysis around the mode of sound. This project combines anthropological methods of participant observation with theories from sound and religious studies in order to present a new way of understanding the forces shaping Kagbeni. How does sound claim space, and how does it reshape the communities who live in Kagbeni? In order to better answer these questions, I have curated a series of sound compositions to accompany this project. Each composition focuses on a theme: politics, religion, and tourism. Taken as a series, along with a written analysis of daily life in Kagbeni, these sound compositions draw attention to the ways that outsiders perceive the Loba community who lives there, and how these perceptions impact the lives of the Loba in turn.
ABSTRACT: In October, 2012, the Catholic Church canonized Kateri Tekakwitha, an Iroquois convert to Christianity who lived in the 17th Century in modern day New York and Quebec. The actual story of Kateri, colonial sainthood, and the missions of the French Jesuits, however, is one that illuminates a discursive warfare whereby Jesuit missionaries used sainthood to assert gender roles that they relegated to distinct racial groups. These gender roles perpetuated a traditional medieval discourse that justified imperial invasion. The martyrdom hagiographies and Jesuit Travelogues I investigated expose this discursive operation. Martyrs were portrayed as physically effeminate to highlight the brutality of the Iroquois as well as spiritually heroic and masculine to justify their control of the North American landscape (which was a feminine force that needed male protection). Other hagiographies operated to endow the Jesuits with a sense of collective identity with Old World Catholicism. This set them apart from and above their native neighbors who, in hagiographies, were often treated as objects to accentuate the white saint’s holiness, either as villains to overcome or as lost souls to convert.
Through motifs of martyrdom, Catholic collective identity and gendered landscape, the Jesuits created a mythic narrative that enforced a racialized state, glorifying white Christian identity and vilifying native identity. While this rhetoric created a nearly infallible conception of race (then and now), the Jesuits were challenged by the category of native saint. Native saints abandoned their indigeneity, but were still not considered to be on the same tier of perfection as European saints because of their inherent racial otherness. My project locates the discursive machinations behind the creation and maintenance of that racial otherness and, through investigating native sainthood, exposes the ultimate fallacy of race as an absolute, heterogeneous category.
ABSTRACT: Medieval manuscripts concerning the daily lives and miraculous experiences of living saints contain a great deal of information on how devout Catholics interpreted and understood religious practice and bodily suffering. These manuscripts were written by either the saints themselves, or a scribe and confessor of the saint. In this presentation I examine one such manuscript, Thomas of Cantimpré’s vita of Lutgard of Aywières, in order to understand how medieval fasting practices and conceptions of the body contributed to ideals of female piety in medieval England. In particular, I utilize feminist theories on medieval texts to explore how male scribes writing about female saints contributed to these ideals and thus reinforced gender norms within the catholic church. Based on the emphasis in these texts on Lutgard and other female saints taking on the role of Christ’s virgin bride, I argue that the emphasis placed on female bodily suffering depicted in these texts reflect a societal desire for a more passive female subject. My investigation of this case sheds light on how religious texts attempt to structure religious and social behavioral norms within a society as a whole.
ABSTRACT: The area that is now deemed as the state of Israel has a complex colonial history. From the Ottoman Empire to the British Empire, this region has always been occupied by a form of colonial power. Indigenous Bedouin people inhabited this region before and alongside these empires, and since Ottoman times have been treated as an internal colony of each empire. With this massively influential history, it should come as no surprise that Israel itself has now become a colonial state. In an exertion of its colonial might, Israel has maintained the internal colony status of indigenous Bedouin people through the decimation and claiming of their spaces.Through processes of imposing racialized, religious categories on Bedouins, the Israeli government defines them as people who are outside of the “normal” body politic, stripping them of rights and humanity. This dehumanization allows Israel to justify its claim to Bedouin spaces. In claiming Israeli authority over these spaces, the government subsequently redefines them as Jewish. The Israeli government imposes a strict definition of white Jewishness to place, completely undermining Bedouin cultures and lifestyles that are deeply tied to land they have inhabited for thousands of years.
It’s been a while since we posted, in large part because we have been busy. Here’s a snippet of some of what the Religion faculty have been up to! And, as always, be sure to follow us on Twitter and like us on Facebook for some real-time updates.
As you likely heard, Prof. Vicki Brennan won the 2018-2019 Dean’s Lecture Award, an acknowledgement of her significant research and pedagogical contributions to the field and UVM. The Award is described as:
The series was established in 1991 as a way to recognize and honor colleagues in the College of Arts and Sciences who have consistently demonstrated the ability to translate their professional knowledge and skill into exciting classroom experiences for their students — faculty who meet the challenge of being both excellent teachers and highly respected professionals in their own discipline. The Award is a celebration of the unusually high quality of our faculty and has become an important and treasured event each semester.
In January, Prof. Vicki Brennan gave the Dean’s Lecture. Her talk was titled “Exhibiting the Sacred: An Ethnography of Spirited Things.”
Breaking news includes that Prof. Vicki Brennan has just been named an inaugural fellow for the Luce Foundation-sponsored project Sacred Writes! This project aims to connect scholars of religion to various publics beyond their classrooms; Prof. Brennan will join an impressive cohort of leaders in the field of religion for a week-long intensive training session on public scholarship.
And, departmentally, we are excited to say that our newest initiative was recently passed by the Board of Trustees! We are launching an Undergraduate Certificate in Religious Literacy, the first of its kind in the nation. It is a program developed to address student demand for Religion courses beyond a major or minor; the Certificate has a related brand-new course “Religious Literacy,” currently in its first iteration. Stay tuned for more!
Looking across at the Mihintale Buddha. All photos taken by the author.
“So, the other tour guide was wrong, then?” one of our students asked from the back of the group. The branches of an enormous Bodhi tree stretched above us, the fence around it decorated with strings of Buddhist flags. Located in Anuradhapura, the tree is said to be one of the oldest in the world. It was the first Bodhi tree in Sri Lanka, planted using a branch from the tree in present-day India under which the Buddha reached enlightenment. The colors of the flags woven through the fences and branches were the subject of our discussion.
Our guide had just finished explaining the significance of the flag. Each color represented a different quality of the Buddha, he told the class. In his description, yellow was for the Buddha’s robes, orange for skin, and white for purity. The day before, a different tour guide in Polonnaruwa told us that the colors signified body parts of the Buddha. There, it was blue for eyes, orange for gums, white for teeth and bones, and red for blood. These colors come together in a final stripe to represent the Buddha’s multicolored aura.
Both men had authority as Sri Lankans and as official tour guides, yet the answers they provided conveyed the complications of searching for a single, “true” Sri Lankan reality.
Questions about the colors of monks’ robes elicited similarly mixed responses. One man in a small village near Kandy told us the differences in color is due to a monk’s status, with the head monk in the village wearing maroon while lower-status monks were orange. Days later beneath the Bodhi tree in Anuradhapura, the class was told that monks are just given whatever robes are available, and that the colors do not mean anything beyond what resources are offered. His answer also implied that some colors were more expensive to produce than others.
Taken aback by the contrast in the multitudes of answers from guides and locals we had talked to, some students immediately sought to find and label one answer as the “correct” one. They were asking questions which should have simple, concrete answers. Or so it seemed. This assumption is ultimately what led to the comment that one of the other guides had given us incorrect information the day before.
Later in the evening, after leaving the Bodhi tree behind, we clambered back onto our bus in order to drive to Mihintale. About a half hour’s drive from Anuradhapura, Mihintale is known as the site where Buddhism first came to Sri Lanka.
We were met in the parking lot by a monk who would be our tour guide, and would later be referred to as “everyone’s favorite.” He told us he was a “liberal, open minded” monk, and that he would answer any and all questions candidly.
The students immediately took to his openness, asking questions about the history of Mihintale, his own path as a monk, and the workings of the monastery. As our conversation continued over tea, he challenged some of the assumptions that students brought with them, especially about how and why people become monks. In our guide’s case, he had asked his mother to allow him to join the monastic community when he was 12 years old, going against his family’s wishes.
From the beginning, one of the goals of the UVM travel study course “Travel Writing in Sri Lanka” was to convey the various realities of this South Asian country and its people. In a country that has been involved in a 30-year civil conflict which ended barely a decade ago, it is especially important to acknowledge the differing experiences and stories of people living there. In addition, this context asks us to question why we hear certain kinds of answers, and maybe don’t hear others. Which histories are promoted, and which are pushed to the side as less valid – less “Sri Lankan”?
Over the course of our two weeks in Sri Lanka, this theme of stories and capital “T” Truth kept coming up. This culminated at the International Buddhist Museum in Kandy. As the Teaching Assistant for the travel writing class, I welcomed the opportunity to explore the museum by myself for an hour or so, while our class was observing and writing about the Temple of the Tooth complex across the street. As a religion major, I was intrigued by what information would be offered in the museum, and how it would connect to classes I have taken back in Vermont.
The first four rooms of the museum are all designed to explain the history of Buddhism in Sri Lanka, and the significance of various sites around the country. After traveling through this detailed description of Sri Lankan Buddhism, the visitor is expelled into the main hall, from which you can continue through the ground floor through rooms with artifacts from India, Nepal, Bhutan, Bangladesh, Afghanistan, and Pakistan. Or, you can walk up the central staircase to rooms on Thailand, Vietnam, Myanmar, Indonesia, Laos, Cambodia, Malaysia, China, Tibet, Japan, and Korea. This format of the museum in some ways mirrors the spread of Buddhism, and is accompanied by maps showing exactly how the different forms travelled across the continent. What was most interesting to me about this museum was the message conveyed about Buddhism which worked to give further authority to Buddhism in Sri Lanka specifically.
Take, for example, the single room containing objects from Nepal. Of the 15 or so pictures and items on display, the majority were from Lumbini, the birthplace of the Buddha. The introductory panel to the room stated that Theravada monks in Nepal are the most respected, although they consist of a much smaller population than the Tibetan or “Lamaist” monks. The only artefacts related to forms of Buddhism found in the Himalayas were a picture of Swayambhunath stupa and a model of Boudhanath stupa, both of which are in the Kathmandu valley. This dynamic stuck out to me because Theravada Buddhism is what exists in Sri Lanka, and is highlighted in the museum as being most important Nepal, even though it is the minority of Buddhists there. Thus, the museum seemed to be primarily an exercise of nationalism, even as it taught visitors about Buddhism throughout the world.
Museums are spaces which are widely assumed to be secular, objective, and authoritative – or close to it. The International Buddhist Museum calls each of these qualities into question. Walking its halls, I once again found myself questioning how and why certain Sri Lankan realities become more legitimate or popularized than others. Sri Lankan organizations often promote a unified national identity, yet little attention is given to the minority Tamil population that is predominantly Hindu. It has become a recurring discourse of “oh, and also…” which can be seen everywhere from the nation’s constitution (in reference to language and religion) to the conversations of people on the street. Yet in reality there is no single “Sri Lankan” way of life. This was made clear to our class again and again, with every contradicting explanation and every person we met.
Looking back, Mihintale was a turning point at which many students began to realize that they would never find the one capital-t True answer to their questions, and that a more interesting project is to look at the nature of the conflicting responses. Perhaps it was the openness of our favorite Monk-tour guide that allowed them to begin to shed their obsession with objectivity and their grip on Western frames of thinking. Perhaps it was the beauty of the dagobas and mountains at sundown. Either way, we left Mihintale with our energy refocused towards seeking out and accepting difference and small “t” contextual truths.
