Bell the frauds

Anger is destructive. Anger is also self-motivating. If you have your head firmly on your shoulders, one can challenge anger into constructive work. That’s why I have never been frightened of the truth. Be it in my writing, or circumstance. Good, bad, ugly. Similarly, I’ve never been afraid of people who indulge in arm-twisting and goondagiri, by getting their cronies to make threatening crank calls. Like the ones I received soon after last week’s `And another playboy head rolls.’

Recently, I was up-face with an ugly truth. That of a desensitised class of people, who believe that anything and everything, has a price tag. Including our history.

Years ago, my first encounter with the churches of Old Goa, as a child gazing stupefied at the bodily remains of St Francis Xavier, had reduced me to tears. Not in fright. But in awe. I have, since then, believed in miracles, and in the infinite mercy of a higher force.

So, quite naturally then, I have a strange attachment for things that are old. Old churches being one such sentiment. The magnificent gild of mute gold reflecting beams of sunlight - like a slice of heaven, the scents of the ancient saints gazing timelessly into space, the sheer poetry of construction meeting talent, coaxed into curves and corners by labour-roughened fingers, old vestments and frescos telling a story.. Long after I was home, the visuals would remain in my mind, playing up in my dreams, colouring the values of spirituality that were just beginning to form. A trip to Old Goa still moves me to tears, but alas, the tears now are tinged with the colour of anger and helplessness. Not at Old Goa in particular. But at the idea of what greed has done to most of our churches in Goa. And the vultures waiting to prey, prod and abet this greed, with possibilities of making more money.

It is this same greed that allows a 400-year-old church to be stripped off her history, for the seemingly growing needs of her flocks. Consequently, we have extensions coming up which has no bearing on the previous structure, or worse, when an entire church is taken apart, stone by stone, to be replaced with ugly scars on once perfectly balanced landscapes.

However, I am further appalled with another issue that borders on the criminal. This is an issue you and I have to stand up for, if we consider ourselves sons and daughters of the soil. Mere lip service will not ensure that the wealth of our foregone past be safe against unscrupulous elements who are hell-bent on raping whatever little is left of our age-old symbols of religious relics. The honour of history - our history - has today landed in the personal coffers of people who have no respect for our heritage. I’m sure they have no respect even for their own history or background. To add injury to this insult, these same unscrupulous persons have used political clout, sometimes even force, backed by black money, to siphon valuable pieces of artifacts from churches and private homes, through the gift of bullying. Which translates into money force. Thus, systematically derobing churches off altars, crystal chandeliers, vestments, candle-stands, intricately carved ivory or wooden statues, coins, crosses and other valuable brick-a-bracks, valued at crores of rupees in the antiques market. If not bought for a piddly sum of money, then the same has been stolen from old houses to be sold in the black market. I know a couple of persons, who boast a personal stock of church property, allegedly bought from those who are willing to sell their souls for money. The treasure, I am given to understand, is stashed away at their own personal addresses at different places in Goa. Those who have seen the booty, have come home and wept. Those who do not know? Well, it’s time to wake up and cry over your ignorance, for while you slept, rouges made merry with relics that were once worshipped in holy places, by men of honour.

Speaking to a couple of friends, who apparently all know the level of corruption that has affected the mortal keepers of religion, and the Pharisees willing to trade for a few pieces of silver, their silence comes to me as betrayal. Not because these intellectuals were incapable of protecting the last vestiges of our heritage. Not because of our apparent intellectual bankruptcy in applying laws to stop this vandalism. Not because of our emotional inadequacy in using reason and rationalisation, to preserve what we so rightly say, belongs to the future generations. I am pained, at a deeper level, because unconsciously, we have all been party to this rape, by virtue of being reduced to mute by-standers. Our silence has let money-hungry brokers go about making mockery of our cultural and religious ancestry. It is vandalism of the spirit. And no man or woman should stand and let somebody rob you of your belief. And of what ethically belongs to the future. Or better still, in a museum, since the churches are also alleged to be party to this senseless historical strip tease.

Of course, it is ghastly enough that we have allowed this corruption to occur. Not that it should end with the money-brokers. Greed perpetuates more greed. Tomorrow if money cannot buy you, or your history, it will be at knifepoint. What will you do then, dear reader?

I do not know if the old fills you with nostalgia. It does to me. I have always been fascinated with old houses, old furniture, the smell of varnish, the gilt of gold, the arts of the natives working with their rudimentary tools, creating magic, breathing life into what other’s consider mere decorations. Mere sentimentality to those who buy their friendships and acquaintances with money. Fortunately, I have been blessed with friends who also feel about the old like I do. And when I voiced my outrage to other committed people, I discovered that they cared too. But sadly, this emotion has not materialised into action. Making us all guilty of lip-service. For our silence has abetted the crime. Leading the criminal to prostitute all that our history stands for. A price in the black market.

I spoke to the so-called activists. Sure, there were murmurs of dissent. But that’s not enough. We make issues out of non-issues. We use our own yardsticks to define an issue, beat our tins and then discard them. For a price?

Where are the voices, when we need them the most? Where are the opinion makers who otherwise hoo-haa over fences and setbacks, to decorate public parks? Where are the analysts who systematically predict which political party will hog the hustings? Or whether Parrikar will last another term or go down the drain. Are we morally corrupt that we have forgotten our roots? Is money finally, the only decisive factor of our existence? In other words, are we a bunch of FRAUDS?

I understand that politics has today defiled even our places of worship. Worse, when politically affiliated people, mask their dirty intentions with words of fake sympathy. All of us know the bickering and politics that ruined the good work of a few dedicated people who put together the Christian Art Museum at Rachol. All of us also know that certain frauds have been pressurising funds affected churches to sell off their wealth, for a pittance in return. I have every reason to believe that those few who have siphoned valuable symbols of art to stock their own personal collections, have done so to feed their own pockets, rather than for the good of preservation. What does one understand about heritage, when one’s own personal history stinks of moral, spiritual and ethical corruption. What do we do in the face of this obvious depravity? Hang the Judas who goes in the guise of a lamb. Unless you act, and act soon, as a collective people directed towards preservation of our values - and that of our ancestors who helped transform these values into priceless objects - much is destined to be lost. And lost for good. So, who bells these vicious frauds first?

Ethel Da Costa
October  2, 2002

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