"Goa, the Tropical Lusosphere, or (De)Constructing Portugeseness Elsewhere" in eTROPIC (July 2023)

Signs of the Portuguese

It had not been the first time that Chief Minister Pramod Sawant had called attention to what he deemed the deleterious effects of colonialism in Goa. One of the longest held European colonies in the world, Goa was under the Portuguese from 1510 to 1961; the region’s violent annexation by post-British India may have ousted the Portuguese but also circumvented and denied Goan self-emancipation, resulting in an ongoing colonialism. Strikingly, in 2021, Sawant declared that it was necessary to rebuild temples allegedly destroyed by the Portuguese, so as to “preserve Hindu Sanskriti and Mandir Sanskriti (Hindu culture and temple culture)” (Express New Service, 2021, par. 6). Yet, a year later, despite exhortations by Sawant’s administration to “citizens, NGOs, and historians” to provide evidence of the destruction of temples so they could be reconstructed, Goa’s Department of Archaeology reported that none had been forthcoming (Kamat, 2022, pars. 3-5). Not to be undone by this lack of corroboration, this year, Sawant stepped up his belated anticolonial rhetoric. Again linking his retributive aspirations to his belief that the colonizers had destroyed Hindu temples, the politician declared at a public event that 60 years after their departure, “the time had come to wipe out signs of the Portuguese” in totality (TNN, 2023, pars. 1-2).

As someone with a Portuguese name from a Goan family, this gives me pause. Lusophonic familial appellations mark Goans of Catholic heritage, who are a minority.  The Chief Minister’s statement is chilling, because there is no mistaking what the postcolonial remnant “signs of the Portuguese” are: it is us. In what follows, I seek to demonstrate the political purpose of constructing Goan Catholic identity as “other” in the contemporary moment while also considering how Portugueseness, as it develops beyond the metropole and in the tropical lusosphere, is an explicitly Goan identity.

The Crossing by R. Benedito Ferrão, 2023.

 

The Postcolonial Other

The Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) to which Sawant and his administration belong, is also the one currently at the helm of the Indian nation-state. Presently run by Prime Minister Narendra Modi, the party’s Hindu-supremacist and right-wing authoritarian fundamentalist (or Hindutva) praxis has escalated in the first decades of the 21^st century across India (Kalhan, 2023, 379). Resolved to establish a Hindu Rashtra (or state) in India (which already has a Hindu-majority population), India’s Hindu right has been supported financially by the diaspora (Kalhan, 2023, 338). In the meanwhile, contemporary postcolonial India, which is the world’s largest democracy ironically, has seen a rise in the persecution of minorities, including (but not limited to) Muslims, Dalits, members of tribal communities, and Christians (Hassan 2023). These subjects are regarded as impediments to the making of the Hindu Rashtra because of their identitarian divergence. As Saba Mahmood articulates it, minorities are those whose “difference (religious, racial, ethnic) poses an incipient threat to the identity of the nation that is grounded in the religious, linguistic, and cultural norms of the majority” (2015, 32).

Aligning himself with his party’s national politics around the creation of a Hindu Rashtra by advocating for “Hindu Sanskriti and Mandir Sanskriti (Hindu culture and temple culture),” Sawant’s crusade against remainders of colonial history execrates Goan Catholics, defined as they are by their Portuguese names. Simultaneously, such malignment of minorities has as much to do with religious chauvinism as it does with statecraft (or, perhaps, the deflection of its actual practice). As Vivek Menezes apprehends, the bogeyman of the Portuguese past is a “[distraction] in [Goa,] India’s smallest state, where governance has effectively collapsed ... Unemployment crested to nearly 17% in January [2023], and … remains double the rate of the rest of the country” (2023, par. 1). Evidently, the conflation of Iberian colonialism and Catholic identity in Goa functions as a convenient scapegoat. When Goan Catholicism is simply viewed as a product of Portuguese colonialism, one in which early converts are thought to have expressed no agency or choice, then Goan Catholics who continue to be of the faith postcolonially are easily construed as, both, colonial remnants (even apologists) and the other to a once-secular state that now hurtles towards exclusionary religious monolithicism.

Portugueseness in the Tropics, or Goan if in Goa

Although the roots of Catholicism in Goa may be pinned to the arrival of the Portuguese in South Asia a half-millennium ago, the religion has developed into a distinct regional form, one akin to, yet cleaved from, its Iberian likeness. Nowhere is this more tangible than in the construction of early churches in Goa by Goans. Builders of these churches imbibed European aesthetics from the sixteenth century on but remade them to employ locally sourced materials and for the edifices to endure tropical climatic conditions (Kandolkar, 2021). Moreover, such architectural developments were not solely discernable in Catholic church design, as domesticated European Renaissance influences even featured in Goa’s Brahmanical temple forms in the seventeenth century (Kanekar, 2018, 254). One wonders what Sawant might make of these signs of Portugueseness. In the case of churches, their displays of Goan domestications and reworkings of European built forms serve as indices of the localization of the faith and the instantiation of new ideas. Not just simulacra of Portuguese culture, they exist as their own manifestations of Goan ingenuity and agency within a colonial milieu. To state this differently, nothing in Goa, even if inspired by or contributed to by Portuguese colonialism, is Portuguese. In its tropical lusopheric form, it was and always will be Goan.

References

Express News Service. (2021, December 22). “Goa CM Pramod Sawant: Temples Destroyed by Portuguese Need to be Rebuilt to Preserve Hindu Culture.” The Indian Express. https://indianexpress.com/article/cities/goa/goa-temples-destroyed-portugese-hindu-culture-pramod-sawant-7684509/

Hassan, Tirana. (2023). “World Report 2023: India.” Human Rights Watch. https://www.hrw.org/world-report/2023/country-chapters/india

Kalhan, A. (2023). Tipping Point: A Short Political History of India. Routledge.

Kandolkar, V. P. (2021). “Rain in the Basilica: Protecting Goa’s Bom Jesus from the Ravages of Climate Change.” ETropic: Electronic Journal of Studies in the Tropics, 20(2), 95–113. https://doi.org/10.25120/etropic.20.2.2021.3814

Kanekar, A. (2018). “The Politics of Renovation: The Disappearing Architecture of Goa’s Brahmanical Temples.” In Joaquim Rodrigues dos Santos (Ed.), Preserving Transcultural Heritage: Your Way or My Way? Questions on Authenticity, Identity and Patrimonial Proceedings in the Safeguarding of Architectural Heritage Created in the Meetings of Cultures (pp. 253-263). Caleidoscópio

Mahmood, Saba. (2015). Religious Difference in a Secular Age: A Minority Report. Princeton University Press

Menezes, V. (2023, June 25). “Hidden Truths.” O Heraldo. https://www.heraldgoa.in/Edit/By-invitation/Hidden-Truths/206619

Shweta, K. (2022, December 6). “There’s Still no Data or Inputs on Temples Destroyed during the Portuguese Regime.” O Heraldo. https://www.heraldgoa.in/Goa/There%E2%80%99s-still-no-data-or-inputs-on-temples-destroyed-during-the-Portuguese-regime/197734

TNN. (2023, June 8). “Time to Wipe out Goa’s Portuguese Signs: CM Pramod Sawant.” The Times of India. https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/goa/time-to-wipe-out-goas-portuguese-signs-cm-pramod-sawant/articleshow/100832346.cms?from=mdr

From eTropic: Decolonizing the Tropics.

"Vamona Navelcar and the Art of Being Goan," Curatorial Talk at Fundação Oriente for GOA/PORTUGAL/MOZAMBIQUE: THE MANY LIVES OF VAMONA NAVELCAR (12 December 2017)

 

I was about to leave the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, when it caught my eye. 

Even before I turned around to see it in all its depth despite the signature monochromatism, I knew what it was. I was face to face with a painting by the Goan artist V. S. Gaitonde. My awe at seeing this canvas was only rivaled by the fact that I had to be this far away from Gaitonde’s homeland to view his work. Perhaps I will have the same reaction when I finally get to see one of F. N. Souza’s paintings. Perhaps like so many other Goans, I will never get to see one of F. N. Souza’s paintings on permanent display in a public place in Goa. 

Painting 4 (1962) by V. S. Gaitonde

A reporter asked me to relay a question to Vamona Navelcar in the lead up to this exhibition. She asked, “Mr. Navelcar, why is art important to you?” I want to ask this question of ourselves: “Why is art important to us?” And it is not that we do not hold art in high regard, but what is the art we know or don’t know, and why?

Chances are, if you were to hold up a copy of the Mona Lisa to the average student here in Goa, they would know the name of the painting, and even the name of its creator. Could we be confident that the same would be true were the exercise repeated with art by a Goan artist, living or dead? I want to dwell on the irony here of our evident awareness of a painting from the sixteenth century, but not of art of past or contemporary Goan provenance. 

Now, there is one exception to the lack of public knowledge of Goan artists, and that would be Mario de Miranda, the ubiquity of whose art is legend. 

And as much as I enjoy the late de Miranda’s art, one must ask what gives rise to its popularity? Is it because it produces and reinforces popular notions of Goa as a land of pleasure for the consumption of others? Equally, if Goans today are unaware of Goan art, is it because its appreciation is not accorded value in, among other things, the education system? It is no huge revelation to say that Goa’s place in the national imaginary is that of a pleasure periphery or a cinematic backdrop. And then there is the continued thrust of nationalist politics that narrowly define Goan and Indian identities. Accordingly, how does the public educational curriculum participate in such mainstream representations and ideologies to the detriment of the specificity of Goan art, history, literature, and other forms of local knowledge that are diverse and multifarious in their own right? Can Goan art have a place in the public imagination of and by Goans if the region itself is imagined, sometimes even by Goans themselves, as incapable of being anything more than a canvas of limited shades?

Enter Vamona Ananta Sinai Navelcar. 

Born in Pomburpa in the late 1920s, he was given a scholarship to study art in Lisbon during the time of the Estado Novo, while Goa was still an overseas territory of Portugal. As decolonization broke out the world over, affecting Goa as well, Vamona’s position as a Goan living in Portugal placed him in jeopardy. Around the time of the transfer of Goa between Portugal and India, Vamona decided to start life anew as an instructor in Mozambique where, again, the politics of decoloniality were to follow him, resulting in his incarceration. Upon his release, he returned to Portugal which in the 1970s was in the throes of the Carnation Revolution. The artist of three continents then finally made his way back to Goa in the 1980s, having lived here ever since.

You can read more about Vamona’s life in the book that accompanies this exhibition, and some of its contributors will share their work shortly. But even from this short description, what must become clear is not only the richness of this artist’s life, but how it has actually spanned, really, multiple lifetimes across the Lusophonic world and its connected histories. Yet, though the exhibition is titled Goa/Portugal/Mozambique: The Many Lives of Vamona Navelcar, its contents have not been displayed in order of creation to mark the regions of their origin, nor have they been laid out according to the cultural markers that might tie the art to specific places. On the one hand, what sets this exhibition apart from others that have showcased Vamona’s work is that it contains some of the oldest pieces in existence in Goa today by this artist and are from practically every decade since the 1950s. On the other hand, the exhibition hopes to highlight the cultural influences of Goa, Portugal, and Mozambique in the artist’s oeuvre as they appear at different points in his life – the figure of an African woman from his time in Goa or even a sari-clad mother cradling her child from when the artist lived in Lisbon. Or the influence of the Portuguese poet Pessoa, Vamona’s muse who was with him despite his departure from Portugal. 

This is something one can read about in the companion book, which follows a similar reasoning as the exhibition. In addition to a series of works by various contributors who were invited to reflect upon the artworks in the exhibition, the book also contains a graphic novella that uses Vamona’s art and the locations of his life. The book also brings together a few previously published essays on Vamona, working as a hybrid text that may serve as a reference to the artist’s life and legacy.

At the same time as Vamona’s story is Asian, European, and African, it is also distinctly Goan. In this, the artist’s story is that of so many other Goans who have made lives in other parts of the world, traveled back to Goa, and ferried cultural influences across the globe while at the same time being influenced by their own journeys. Vamona’s art not only makes visible a Goa connected to other points on the globe, but a Goa that has many worlds within it. We often forget that in addition to Goans living outside of Goa, the Lusophonic circuit also brought, and continues to bring, people from its other worlds to Goa.

In the sixteenth century, Goa was one of the sites on the slave route from Portuguese Africa, and the descendants of enslaved Black people continue to exist in our midst. And to this day Goans maintain their ties with Portugal as football fans, European transnationals, and job-seekers. For my own part, perhaps I was drawn to Vamona’s work because it spoke to my own family’s history. As a third-generation child of the Goan diaspora, it was only a few years ago that I was able to visit the last resting place of the grandmother I never met because she was buried in Africa. Several of you have similar pluri-continental stories. 

Assumption (1952) by Angelo da Fonseca

As Goans, why is the art that someone like Vamona creates important to us? It is not solely because it colors our imagination or broadens our horizons. It is more than just the work of a rich mind, it is a depiction of our realities. It does not just show us a world that was, but the many worlds that make Goa what it is. To this end, I will again cite the similar importance of Souza, Gaitonde, and add Angelo da Fonseca. I might also point out of this historic trinity, that it should not escape our attention that they are all men.

Yet, it was really the efforts of Ivy da Fonseca that returned Angelo da Fonseca’s work to Goa and made it available to the Goan public. The Xavier Trindade archive, which surrounds us now, was similarly secured. Many contemporary Goans artists, women and men, continue to shape how we see ourselves and our land. Anant Pai is present today. But I am pleased to say that were I to list all the names of artists presently working in Goa, we would be here all evening. Instead, I will name the few I have had the pleasure of meeting: Viraj Naik, Conrad Pinto, Karishma D’Souza, Yolanda D’souza, Angela Ferrão, Savia Viegas, Alexyz, and Vanessa de Sa. In naming these artists alongside Goa’s historic greats, and the living legend Vamona Navelcar, it is to ask us to take cognizance of the legacies we may have lost and those we can still maintain. If art allows us the possibility of seeing ourselves in our complex histories and ways of being, then it does so best by being part of our public dialogue, by being in our public spaces – and this can only happen through our support of the arts.

Vamona paints nearly every day. A remarkable feat for someone who is almost 90 years of age. That he does so despite the limited recognition that has come his way in his own homeland speaks to the importance this artist sees in the worlds he depicts, the stories he needs to tell. For us, it should serve as a reminder that art is not just a pleasing image or a vestment of value, but the very ways in which life is given its due.