On the last day of 2022, I received an invitation to participate in a four-day dialogue on climate action and interfaith peacebuilding at the Fireflies Intercultural Centre in Bangalore. I was excited to begin the new year thinking about how these seemingly disparate strands of work — aimed at addressing the climate crisis and religious conflict — would come together. The optimist in me welcomed the opportunity to approach these challenges using a new lens.
I found some answers and even more questions when the dialogue was eventually held from February 17 to 20 on the Fireflies campus, which is maintained by the Pipal Tree Trust and called “an ashram without a guru”. It is difficult to conclude whether these insights were enabled by the human design of the programme, or the green and tranquil surroundings.
Author Amitav Ghosh’s talk at the Mathrubhumi International Festival of Letters in Trivandrum earlier this year introduced me to the idea that Gautama Buddha’s enlightenment under the Bodhi tree can be seen as a “trans-species encounter”, one involving the Buddha and the Bodhi tree, rather than a human achievement. The idea struck a chord with me because it opened up the possibility to reflect on the hard distinction that is made between sentient beings and non-sentient entities, and how this distinction informs our ethical choices and negotiations regarding consumption.
Perhaps it’s not necessary or even viable to separate ourselves so neatly from nature. After all, we derive nourishment from plant and animal sources. More than half of the human body is made up of water. We also have microbes inside us that enable digestion and fight diseases. Moreover, the evolutionary history of the earth is a humbling reminder that we have non-human ancestors and we still have much in common with other animals especially mammals.
This is easy to grasp but matters get complicated when questions of faith enter the picture: What do religious scriptures have to say about the relationship between humans and other species? Is my life or yours inherently more valuable than the life of a tree or a butterfly, a goat or a crocodile? How can we assess value? To what extent is our response to such questions based on whether we pray to a creator God, or recognise only the law of causes and consequences? Why do people who believe in multiple lifetimes aspire for a human birth?
The dialogue had people from different walks of life — activism, peacebuilding, dance, music, therapy, yoga, intuitive herbalism, academics, entrepreneurship, farming, social justice and education. This diversity catalysed a rich exchange of ideas but some participants expressed reservations about the attempt to have a conversation around climate justice and communal harmony without digging deep into the systemic reasons that have brought us where we are.
What I took away from the dialogue is that there will never be a perfect programme design to address all needs but that should not stop us from
starting somewhere and keeping ourselves open to feedback — even criticism — so that we can learn, grow and change. As we do this, it is critical to look at the word “dialogue” itself and ask ourselves if it is any different
from a seminar, conference or boardroom meeting in terms of power dynamics. It is not enough to sit in a circle and assume that the seating arrangement will flatten hierarchies on its own.
Human beings bring more than words, gestures, vibes, moods, attire and accessories to a dialogue. Our trauma accompanies us. There are people who find comfort in rituals, and people who feel triggered by them. Our communication styles are influenced by our upbringing. Some of us feel unheard and excluded, even insulted. Some of us have a compulsion to take up space even when we have nothing much to contribute to the group.
How can we honour the self and the collective in a healthy manner, without fear or guilt driving our choices? Can we trust others to make similar choices, and try not to judge them? What is the space for emotion alongside data, reason and ideology in a dialogue? What can we learn from our reactions to people who speak from a place of being marginalised or oppressed? Do we feel threatened, responsible, defensive? Do we listen, dismiss, or sneer?
The dialogue led to all this churning in formally designed sessions, and during the free-flowing banter over meals and coffee breaks. There was a guided walk woven around stories about the sculptures on campus inspired from various faith traditions. There were opportunities for quiet time, singing, dancing, meditation, and connecting with the intelligence of the plant world through a somatic immersion. Perhaps any quest to explore our interconnectedness with fellow humans and other species is incomplete unless we try to understand and embrace our own selves — especially parts that seem ugly or undesirable.