A well-respected family friend shared on her Facebook timeline an article in the Himalayan Times that posits how culture is the missing ingredient in healing cities after disasters. It cites, as an example, how the deadly earthquake in 2015 in Nepal became a sort of unifying force that brought people together to work towards rebuilding what was near and dear. Because what had been damaged were of value not only as structures but as cultural heritage, as marks of identity and as things that were alive.
As a resident of Kathmandu, I can fully attest to this. The city's temples and public squares are true communal social spaces as much as they are places of worship and subjects of awe for wide-eyed foreigners. They don't preserve a temple for the sake of preservation just because it's thousands of years old; they actually use their temples. That's how their sacred edifices remain alive to this day and that's why they rose up fast after they crumbled in the earthquake four years ago. If someone wants to touch an idol, people won't object just because it's over 2,500 years old. If someone wants to wash clothes in the water temple, they're free to do so. If a young couple wants to have an intimate time on the covered steps of the temple of Shiva and Parvati, away from parental scrutiny, the priests might even give their blessing.
A common problem I've noticed in a lot of European, South American, Middle-Eastern and (of course) Filipino "sacred" and "heritage" places is that they like to put what they consider holy inside glass boxes, accessible only to a privileged few. This way, the culture that might once have been built around an icon dies a slow death because people feel removed from it. And it isn't their fault. If it were me, I wouldn't repeatedly impose on myself to be in a place where I couldn't fully express my reverence because I'm not clean enough to touch something.
In Nepal, the story is different. A temple is a place for community even if religion is not strictly organised here as it is in a place like the Philippines. Take the Monkey Temple (Swayambhunath) as an example. Listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is a Tibetan Buddhist temple where monks and practising lay adherents to the faith revolve around a large stupa in meditation. However, it isn't limited to that. Religious Hindus also go there to maintain the structures, sell food and souvenirs, and feed monkeys. Couples go on dates there. Fitness enthusiasts climb its 400+ steep steps in the morning (just like my 80-year-old grandmother did when she came to visit). Astronomy/astrology fans go up there to stargaze on clear sky mid-nights. That's why when part of it was downed during the 2015 earthquake and there was a looming threat that UNESCO, who offered to fix it, would pry it open, the ordinary people of Kathmandu gave a big firm 'no' and decided to pool resources to fix it themselves. It was among the first places of worship in Nepal to recover after falling because the community came together. Because it's something part of them. Because it's an extension of what they know to be home, even if it does not directly represent the faith that they subscribe to.
