“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.

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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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