By Patricia Mukhim
Tourism in Meghalaya is in a state of flux. While tourists are pouring in, in droves every single day and in greater numbers on the weekends, the State’s ability to cater to this growing number of visitors is looking like a comedy of not so rare errors. On its part the State has created the Rural Tourism Development Society and encouraged communities at tourist destinations to form collectives and register themselves as co-operatives so that funds for developing tourism facilities can be channelled through those societies. This is a fair arrangement and in some villages it has worked very well. In other villages, however, the Rangbah Shnong is averse to the idea of such a society since he might not be elected to lead it. This sense of insecurity among village leaders about someone outshining them is what slows down the progress in most villages.
Nongjrong, famous for its sunrise, is a striking example of such lethargy to register the rural tourism society. As a result, there is no control over the number of footfalls per day; the costing is not adequate to generate enough income for developing the site and for creating employment. Misonwell Rangtong and his cousin Pamela Ryntong have taken on the responsibility to streamline the booming tourist footfalls at Nongjrong but they have also reached a point of fatigue since it is still a personal and not a collective effort. The community can only be involved once the Society is formalised and run professionally. This is the problem with putting the cart before the horse. A tourism destination is promoted before it is ready to take on the challenges. Imagine a tiny village with a few hundred residents being bombarded by hundreds of footfalls and that in the early morning hours when their sleep is rudely disrupted. So why are there no clear rules laid out that tourists wanting to experience the magic of the sunrise have to respect silence? Why the penchant for noise? Why the overnight drunken brawls and the loud music that rudely intrudes into the stillness of nature? A rural tourism society should be deliberating all this and more. Why are touristy villages so afraid of losing customers and therefore giving in to unreasonable demands of tourists?
What is however most upsetting is the clash among two or more villages over claims of a tourist destination. This week I visited the Dainthlen Falls at Sohra which has been out of bounds for tourists for nearly a year now. The place was deserted and some rough fencing was put up. A police personnel was posted there to prevent visitors from proceeding towards the waterfall. He explained that there is a clash between two villages both of who claim dominance over this famed waterfall. In the past when the idea of monetising the waterfall had not entered peoples’ minds, the Dainthlen Falls had its share of visitors, mostly locals. The moment the place turned commercial, greed entered the domain. That’s what tourism does to a society. It divides them. In a similar manner the Wei Sawdong, another waterfall close by too, is no longer open to tourists or locals. It’s the same fight for control since the money has started to come in. What is surprising is that the Syiem of Sohra – the chieftain who according to traditional practices presides over the Dorbar Raid and Dorbar Shnong is unable to resolve the conflict. The Khasi Hills District Council too has not considered its brief to resolve these contentious issues. The Sub-divisional officer, Sohra has tried to bring about a rapprochement but failed.
Then we have the Bull’s Trek in Mylliem (Khat-ar Mer) which had become a flourishing tourist destination and was well managed by the locals there. The trek takes visitors to the Wahniangleng river where people go fishing or just to breathe in the zephyr and do a bit of boating. Now that too is closed to tourists because there are two claimants to the place. Why can’t the two claimants discuss matters and take a middle path of sharing the income and agreeing to maintain the area for a better tourist experience. Actually the community there led by Lening Bareh had been running the circuit very well. The children who call themselves “green warriors” keep the place clean and green. In fact the income from there is used to fund the schooling of some of the poor students. That is now disrupted because the matter is in court. Until the place was left to itself no one cared about developing it. Now that it yields an income it is up for grabs.
This is where the word “community” in Khasi society is grossly misleading. According to leading sociologists who have explored the concept of community and have looked deeper to focus on the complex relationships, norms, and shared values that bind individuals together, a community is not just about physical proximity but also the emotional, social, and functional ties that shape the lives of its members. Emory Bogardus, best known for his work on the “social distance scale,” focuses on the psychological and social dimensions of community. He argues that a community is not just a geographical or physical entity but is also a social and emotional construct. He believed that individuals often perceive communities in terms of “social distance” — the perceived closeness or distance between people in a society.
Tribal societies have been defined by this very yardstick of social cohesion. But modernity seems to have snatched that sense of community from us. Bogardus says that a community is marked by a shared sense of belonging among people. This sense of belonging might be based on factors such as common values, norms, and interests, rather than simply living in the same physical area. In the view of Bogardus the more the “social distance” that exists between people, the less likely they are to form a true community. Hence people who belong to the same social class, share cultural backgrounds, or engage in similar activities may feel a stronger sense of connection, even if they don’t live in the same neighbourhood. The reality is that Khasi society is today divided by class and residence. Those living in cities are far removed from the problems and anxieties that plague their poorer cousins in the rural backwoods.
It would appear that our social skills, if we have any, are inadequate to meet the sort of complexities we live with today. Declining interpersonal trust has emerged as one of the greatest threats to Meghalaya’s future. Imagine the situation of two Dorbar Shnong exerting their claims over a waterfall and not being able to resolve the stand-off. What does that suggest? A breakdown in communication? An inability to see eye to eye any longer? A stand-off propelled by community arrogance or the ambitions of community leaders?
This brings us to the role of the MLAs and MDCs who should be wading through these problems with the people and trying to sort them out. If they cannot resolve such community conundrums and ease the tensions between two groups of the same ethnic mould then why do we wonder at what’s happening in Manipur? There too the problems did not erupt in a single day or month. It was fermenting for years but was never attended to until the wound festered and blew up into a conflagration. One sees no conflict management society coming up in a state that is rife with dissensions not with the “other” but within the community. Meghalaya might hit the Guinness Book of World Records as far as the number of pressure groups are concerned but these trigger conflicts; they have no social capital to resolve any conflict.
In the past social capital was what knitted us as a community. Today that thread is broken so let us not pretend to be “united” or of one mind on anything. That veil of pretence is better discarded and we should be doing some serious soul-searching, instead of romanticising our past and engaging only in dance and song and never ending rituals because we don’t have the moral courage to confront our demons!