Stanford Zent describes the ethnic boundaries and inter-group relationships of the Piaroa during their pre-colonial, postcolonial, and modern historical periods as generally, though not always, peaceful. His essay, published last year in an edited volume on indigenous mobility and migrations in Amazonia, provides a useful history of Piaroa inter-tribal social relations.

Mobility and Migration in Indigenous AmazoniaAfter establishing the theoretical background of his research, he dives into an analysis of Piaroa relations with other Indian tribes during the pre-contact period. He writes that the pre-colonial Piaroa appear to have had a lot of contact with surrounding groups. Evidence found in burial sites, pre-historic ornaments, surviving rock art, and other archaeological bits and pieces suggest that they had extensive inter-group contacts.

Their oral histories also imply that they had a lot of contacts with outsiders, but they appear, to judge by the stories, to have been complex interactions, alternately peaceful and symbiotic, then competitive and hostile. At times they traded, at other times they raided. They did have close, peaceful, trading relations with several large, neighboring groups, such as the Maipure and the Atures. Those tribes lived in the floodplains, while the Piaroa lived in the headwaters, of the same rivers. Statements by Piaroa sources differ as to whether they intermarried with those outside groups, some indicating they did and others that they did not.

Their pre-contact relations with other neighboring groups appear to have been not as friendly. The Piaroa may have had some physical conflicts with the Mako, the Yabarana, and the Mapoyo; without doubt they traded shamanistic witchcraft attacks back and forth. There are some records of physical hostilities with those groups before the European conquest.

The Piaroa, during the pre-conquest period, had a complex social organization, which included numerous clans associated with different areas in the Middle Orinoco territory where they lived. While the clans shared the same language, their physical characteristics appeared to have differed a bit. They did trade extensively.

When the Europeans arrived, the newcomers soon destroyed the more riverine societies, peoples who lived in villages that were easily accessible to slave raiding and warfare along the main waterways. The Piaroa were mostly spared from those genocidal attacks because they lived in headwaters areas, far from the Orinoco and its major tributaries, in places that were protected by thick jungles and small rivers with large rapids. The Piaroa also feared raids by traditional enemies from outside the Middle Orinoco region, predatory Indian groups such as the Caribs and the Arawak peoples.

The Piaroa were especially afraid of the diseases that newcomers brought into the forests of Venezuela, epidemics which wiped out other Indian populations. Their fear helped keep them isolated from outside contacts for many years. These fears prompted them to move still farther into inaccessible headwaters areas.

As the downstream tribes, the Atures and the Maipure, were exterminated, however, the survivors of those groups appear to have moved upstream to settle among the Piaroa bands and intermarry. In time, the Piaroa slowly began moving back downstream, occupying territories in the lower streams and river basins that other Indian groups had abandoned, or where they had been exterminated. As the Piaora territory expanded, it assimilated non-Piaroa into their growing communities.

“In any case,” Zent emphasizes, “the territorial expansion of Piaroa was accomplished by peaceful means, essentially through intermarriage and co-residence (p.179).” He argues that violence and destruction during the earlier conquest years fostered a lot of inter-ethnic difficulties, but the settling of the frontier allowed social relations to pacify and the peaceful expansion to take place.

In the modern period, starting about 1960, drastic changes occurred in Piaroa society. Missionaries from the New Tribes Mission penetrated their communities, and the Catholic Silesians established boarding schools in some of their villages. In the 1970s, the Piaroa migrated downriver, to be nearer health clinics, social welfare offices, and economic opportunities. By 1982, when the first census of Venezuelan Indians was conducted, most of the Piaroa communities were located along navigable rivers, and village populations were mostly over 50 people—much larger than the traditional hamlets of 25 to 30. By 1992, the peaceful migrations decreased, as the settlement patterns became more stabile.

These recent migrations caused crowding and stresses in the more urbanized communities. In addition, other peoples have settled among them. These conditions have fostered tensions and conflicts over access to land and resources. But as a result of their downstream migrations, the Piaroa have become successful traders of forest products and cash crops. At the same time, they have become consumers—electrical appliances, fabricated clothing, tools, cooking utensils, and the like.

Many other changes have permeated Piaroa villages in recent decades. The authority of the shamans, traditional leaders of the communities, has been taken over by younger and more Westernized leaders. Piaroa business people, civil servants, and political operatives are able to negotiate the intersections of local concerns with national and international forces better than their predecessors could have done. Inter-tribal organizations have sprung up to coordinate the resolution of common problems. Zent effectively summarizes for non-specialist readers the complexities of overlapping, interacting, and sometimes contradictory political organizations and social forces that seek to secure indigenous rights within a broader landscape of Venezuelan politics and society.

Zent, Stanford. 2009. “The Political Ecology of Ethnic Frontiers and Relations among the Piaroa of the Middle Orinoco.” In Mobility and Migration in Indigenous Amazonia: Contemporary Ethnoecological Perspectives, Edited by Miguel N. Alexiades, p. 167-194. New York: Berghahn Books

The BP oil rig blowout in the Gulf of Mexico frightened many coastal peoples, such as the Inuit, who are dependent on fish and other marine resources for their livelihoods. The concerns expressed in a number of Arctic communities back in May about plans to do seismic testing for possible gas and oil resources in Lancaster Sound have grown. An important Inuit community group is planning to challenge the plans in court.

Lancaster SoundNews stories last week reported that the Qikiqtani Inuit Association has served a notice to Christian Paradis, Canadian Federal Minister for Natural Resources, and to Daniel Shewchuk, Environment Minister for Nunavut, that the group intends to request an injunction which would prevent seismic testing this summer in Lancaster sound. The president of the group, Qkalik Eegeesiak, argues that local communities were not consulted properly.

The Inuit are especially concerned that the sound waves used in seismic testing could harm the whales, polar bears, walrus, and other wildlife of Lancaster Sound, a particularly rich area for sea life. Canadian Minister for the Environment, Jim Prentice, had initiated talks about turning the sound into a marine conservation area, but that stated goal appears to the local people to be quite contradictory to plans for gas and oil exploration.

The Inuit resent not having adequate discussions with the officials while they were planning for the seismic testing. Eegeesiak said that during meetings in four different communities, the Inuit were nearly unanimous in opposing testing. She said, further, that the communities and associations nearest the Lancaster Sound side of Baffin Island are strongly in favor of applying for the injunction. It will be filed in the Nunavut Court of Justice.

Ministers Shewchuk and Prentice are both downplaying the possible effects of the seismic testing, claiming that it would cause little harm to wildlife. Mr. Prentice adds that the process of assessing mineral resources is a routine part of preparing an area for designation as a park. The ship that is to do the testing is on its way to Lancaster Sound from Iceland.

Every year, a church in Santa Monica, California, hosts celebrations by immigrants from different Zapotec communities who seek to preserve the customs of their original villages. The Los Angeles Times ran an interesting story last Thursday about the changes in the church, St. Anne’s Church and Shrine, and the ways the Zapotec people from all over the West celebrate their annual festivities.

Apparently, a liberal priest, Father Michael Gutierrez, allowed what other Catholic churches in the Los Angels metropolitan area had denied—the privilege of basing an annual village celebration in his church. Other churches were unhappy with the Zapotec style of expressing their village pride—through processions, feasting, and lots of raucous noise.

Many decades ago, St. Anne’s attracted immigrants from other states in Mexico—Jalisco and Durango—but by the 1960s Zapotec people from Oaxaca also began to attend. Santa Monica was a more affordable area then, and the Zapotec, who primarily work in the service industries—as busboys, cooks, and housekeepers—were able to live in nearby apartments. People from different Zapotec communities in Mexico began to attend the church. Those from Tlacolula wanted to celebrate their patron saint, El Señor de Tlacolula, a black Jesus; folks from San Juan de la Villa wished to honor theirs, San Juan Bautista.

In recent years, news of the open-minded attitudes of Father Gutierrez spread, and groups originating in the villages of San Lucas Quiavini, San Miguel del Valle, and the state capital, Oaxaca, also started coming. Immigrants from Gustavo Diaz Ordez started attending this month—and, like the others, they wanted to add their saint to the roster of the church. All of this has increased membership in the parish.

The Zapotec people do not fit easily into the ways of many of the older church communities—they want to do everything their own way. Each Zapotec community in the West chooses a mayordomo to lead the annual celebration for the saint. A week-long feast in Oaxaca, which can cost $30,000, includes the chiming of bells, fireworks, and a community dance. It also includes the consumption of mescal, lots of it, an alcoholic beverage made from agave. Many priests in L.A. disapprove, and the local California ordinances do not permit the fireworks. Nonetheless, the Zapotecs do as much as they can to replicate the festivals in their own communities.

The challenge for St. Anne’s has been to attract the continuing attendance and support from the Zapotec people, many of whom come just for the feast then disappear for another year. The reporter described one corner of the church as filled with the statues of different Oaxaca village saints. Their feet were adorned, not by candles as is common in many Catholic churches, but by orange and white gladioluses in the Zapotec style.

Arturo CorrallA year ago, after ten years of support, Father Gutierrez felt inundated by the increasing demands by residents of the many different Zapotec communities in L.A. for more celebrations. He resigned and moved to a church in Baldwin Park. Another open-minded priest, Father Arturo Corral, has taken his place. The tradition of accepting, and hosting, the village festivals continues to grow.

At one recent festival, for Santa Ana del Valle, Father Corral watched as women in the courtyard sold sweet baked breads and Oaxacan ice cream. Other traditional foods such as clayudas, thin tortillas, were piled nearby, along with shredded chickens, Oaxacan cheeses, beans and cabbages.

At the center of the activities, Jose Luis Garcia held a fake bull made out of plywood and pieces of fabric over his head and charged, in fun, at another member of the church. Father Corral observed that the way the Zapotec hold onto their native customs, while they slowly adapt to the rhythms of their new country, has characterized most immigrant groups into America over the centuries, including such peoples as the Italians and the Germans.

The City Council of Viroqua, Wisconsin—in the news back in May due to citizen anger against droppings from Amish horses—seems to be making progress on the issue. A large crowd, more than 50 people, turned out at a special meeting to discuss with the Council the best ways to deal with the problem.

Viroqua WelcomeMayor Larry Fanta opened the meeting by announcing that residents had been complaining about horse manure along the public streets. He wanted to discuss the issues with the Amish people, as well as, obviously, the local residents.

“The city has always had the power to enact something restricting the horses to having a diaper or sling or whatever,” the mayor said, but he didn’t want to approach it that way. He had talked with some members of the Amish community six to eight months earlier but nothing much had changed. Their horses continue to mess up the roads.

Alderman Gary Krause, who had spoken during the May meeting in favor of making further attempts to reach out to the Amish, urged the Council to do something—more effort was needed to address the situation. The horse droppings might endanger someone, he argued. Another alderman, Marc Polsean, said that the Amish buggies should have license plates so the police could track down offending horses and their owners. Others urged the council to require diapers, slings that hang beneath the rears of the horses to catch droppings.

Enos Glick, from Gardner Road in County NN, spoke to the meeting as a representative of the Amish in the area. He indicated that a horse trotting down a road with such a diaper, or sling, might be spooked by the droppings bouncing up and hitting it in the rear from the action of its own trotting. “We don’t like to see spooked horses,” he said. In other words, a safety issue is involved.

The co-owner of Nelson’s Agri-Center in the city, Dan Kanis, spoke up to support Mr. Glick’s contention. He had called city officials in Augusta, Wisconsin, where horses are required to have slings under them. There have been some safety problems there because sometimes the horses have spooked. Another city, Loyal, approached the problem differently. The Amish living near that community indicated they would take their business elsewhere, but instead they reached a compromise with the community. They agreed to drive their buggies on lesser-traveled roads into town, and they attempted to clean up as much as they could. The community agreed to clean up manure that the Amish missed.

Mr. Glick added that it is sometimes hard to clean up when a horse drops its manure. David Treptow, one of the major complainers according to the May story, spoke up in response to Mr. Glick, telling him that cleaning up after his horse was his responsibility. If the drivers of buggies don’t clean up after their animals, how could the community require the owners of dogs to clean up after them when they defecate in people’s yards?

Mr. Kraus said that horse manure can be a safety problem for riders of two-wheeled vehicles such as motorcycles, who have to dodge the piles. They even, at times, would spin out of control in them. However, some people in the crowd spoke in defense of the Amish and their horse transportation. Cars cause more damage to the environment than horses do, they asserted.

In the compromising, submissive spirit of Amish culture, Mr. Glick said that he would be glad to take his business to another community and keep out of the city. “We don’t want to be a problem for you guys,” he said, and added, “we don’t want to be in your way.”

Alderman Krause spoke up at that point. “We’re the last people to want you to go somewhere else,” he said. He added, however, that “the people who are complaining have rights also. What I’d like to see happen is try to clean up after yourselves a little bit.” Krause said that he hoped people who have other suggestions would communicate them to the City Hall, 220 S. Main St., Viroqua, WI, or speak up during regular City Council meetings on the second and last Tuesdays of every month. The Amish, meanwhile, will discuss the issue among themselves and schedule another meeting with the Council to continue working on the problem.

The peaceful Ju/’hoansi, who live in the northeastern Namibian town of Tsumkwe, may be getting closer to a settlement with the Herero who invaded their lands last year, according to a recent news report. The Legal Assistance Centre (LAC), which is representing the San people in their dispute with the invaders, has issued a deadline of August 9 for the 300 Herero farmers to reach an agreement with the Ju/’hoansi traditional chief—and then to move out of the Ju/’hoansi territory and back to Gam where they came from.

Nyae Nyae ConservancyThe Herero people, claiming last May that their flocks were threatened by a poisonous weed growing near their community, cut the sanitary fence that surrounds the Nyae Nyae Conservancy, a territory declared by Namibia to be subject to the management and decisions of the traditional Ju/’hoansi chief. The fence was erected by Namibia because the foot and mouth disease may still persist among wild animals in the conservancy.

When Herero invaders cut the veterinary fence and entered with their cattle, starting last May, the government of Namibia hastily rounded up all the animals and quarantined them, since they might have come in contact with infected wildlife. The economy of the nation would suffer if an outbreak of foot and mouth disease occurred in their livestock. The Herero protested, but about 300 of them stayed on in Tsumkwe, in the conservancy, without their cattle. The Ju/’hoansi have since been trying to deal, peacefully, with the invaders in an attempt to persuade them to leave—but so far without success.

Lesle Jansen, a legal consultant for the LAC, has told the Herero settlers that they were violating the laws of the town, which prohibit animal husbandry. Herero donkeys, horses and other domestic animals pose problems for the Ju/’hoansi.

Near the end of June, the invaders and the Ju/’hoan people apparently attended a meeting to discuss the issue. The Herero asked the Ju/’hoansi chief to reconsider and allow the Gam people to stay in their town. Chief Bobo, the traditional ruler of the town, replied that his people “are not happy.” They would not reconsider. He went on to say, “you cut the fence and came into my area. You cut the property of the Government and move[d] in. This will not be accepted or allowed at this stage.”

Nyae Nyae Conservancy locationAn elderly Herero man reportedly answered, “What will you have us do? Return to Gam to die?” The chief told him that they needed to obey the laws of their country, which do not allow them to move into Tsumkwe like that. “I as a San person respect that law. Why will you not respect that law?” he told him. According to Namibian law—the Traditional Authorities Act 25 of 2000, and the Communal Land Reform Act 5 of 2002—the traditional chief has the sole authority to determine the right to residency in the Nyae Nyae Conservancy.

One conservationist, who is not named in the news account, expressed the opinion that the farmers from Gam “have no respect for the San Traditional Authority” and that the Ju/’hoansi have a “peace-loving community,” which the Gam farmers try to “threaten and intimidate.”

Other observers, cited by the news article but also not named, contend that the Ju/’hoansi have had to live with intimidations, threats, illegal hunting, and even violence at the hands of the invaders, just as a news report in May, on the first anniversary of the invasion, had alleged. The deputy Prime Minister of Namibia visited Tsumkwe in June and suggested that the invaders were overusing the water and sanitation facilities of the community, and he too urged them to return to their homes in the Gam area.

It is hard to be sure, but it appears as if the crisis for the Ju/’hoansi may be moving toward a resolution, though likely a peaceful one if they have their way.

The government of Botswana won its case in the nation’s High Court last week, where it sought to prevent the San people from having access to water in their homes. The court decided against the G/wi and G//ana San, who had requested access to water, and in favor of the government, which wants to permanently prevent them from living in the Central Kalahari Game Reserve (CKGR). The San appeal, filed last month but turned down last week, had asked that they be allowed to reopen a borehole that had provided water before they were forcibly removed from their homes in 2002.

The High Court had decided in 2006 that the government did not have the right to forbid the San peoples from living in their traditional homes in the CKGR. That right is guaranteed in the country’s constitution.

Central Kalahari Game Reserve wildlifeAccording to news stories last week about the decision, the government had argued that allowing the San—or Bushmen as they are often called—to live in the CKGR is not compatible with the stated goal of preserving the reserve for wildlife. The court obviously agreed. A spokesperson for the San people, Jumanda Gakelebone, said the decision made no sense at all, and the community plans to appeal.

Fiona Watson, the Africa expert for Survival International, the London-based NGO that is supporting the San in their desire to live in their ancestral homeland, said simply that the government wants to force the San people out. “They have contempt for the Bushmen’s way of life.”

At the same time that the government is protecting wildlife in the CKGR by harassing the San people, it is promoting tourism and diamond mining, which require boreholes for water. The government stipulates that companies which build a tourist lodge or a mining facility may not share their water with neighboring San villages.

The case was heard, and dismissed, by one of the three justices on the High Court, Lakhvinder Walia. Rejecting the argument that the government was subjecting the San people to inhuman treatment by denying them access to water, the judge said that they themselves “have chosen to settle in areas far from those facilities. They have become victims of their own decision to settle an inconveniently long distance from the services and facilities provided by the government.”

The judge decided that the government is under no obligation to provide essential services to the San people, and, by extension, “it is under no obligation to facilitate any such service.” Apparently, that means the government can legally prevent people from having access to water. Judge Walia also denied a contention made by Gordon Bennett, the attorney for the San people, that Section 6 of the Water Act gave the dwellers on government land the right to drill for water. He found inconsistencies in the sections of the act to sustain the government’s opposition to allowing the San to open a new borehole.

Stephen Corry, the director of Survival International, said that “in the last 10 years, Botswana has become one of the harshest places in the world for indigenous peoples.” Corry urged consumers who are concerned about human rights to consider the treatment of the indigenous people of that country before they embark on tours to Botswana, and before they purchase jewelry mined in a country with such a repressive regime.

AFP, the international news agency based in France, posted a story on Sunday about the poverty in a Semai village of 300 people in central Malaysia. The AFP journalist was shocked by the conditions in the village, Bertang Lama—a “pitiful scene of hungry children and desperate parents.” Kampung Bertang Lama is near Cheroh, a small town in Malaysia’s Pahang State, two hours drive north of Kuala Lumpur.

Location of CherohThe reporter didn’t mind using colorful prose: “Naked youngsters with the tell-tale signs of malnourishment—bulging stomachs and brown tinged hair—sit listlessly in a hut, while others cling to their mothers as they suckle milk.”

The author briefly examined the reasons for the poverty. The Semai used to live a nomadic existence, subsisting on the products they could hunt or gather from the forest, and they still try to get by in the same way. But most of their forests have been denuded by logging or cleared for rubber and palm oil plantations, so they have little food or cash to spend.

They are seeking recognition of their traditional rights to their lands, plus such basic needs as paved roads into their communities, education, health care, piped water, and electricity.

The AFP interviewed Colin Nicholas, the coordinator of the Centre for Orang Asli Concerns, an organization that advocates for the aboriginal societies of Peninsular Malaysia. Nicholas told the journalist about the Semai role in helping the British rulers with their tracking skills during the Communist insurgency of the 1950s, but, he maintained, the Semai are now viewed as irrelevant to the future of Malaysia. “Come elections, ruling party politicians make promises [to the Semai] in exchange for votes but after that they renege on their words. Because of their small population, they are easily ignored by the government,” he said.

Lim Ka Ea, an official with the Malaysian Bar Council, also visited a Semai village recently, and told the press service that the Semai, and the other Orang Asli societies of Peninsular Malaysia, are now mostly invisible to the majority of Malaysians. The entrenched stereotype is that they do not matter except when they pose for tourists and look exotic.

An 11 year old girl returns to the village from searching for wild vegetables in the forest, carrying a machete. She says that she would like to go to school, but the village did not have one. Most of the village children appear to be malnourished or hungry. They eat mashed manioc, a starch, plus vegetables that they find in the forest.

One man, Yoke Ham, a father of 12 children, tells the AFP that they sell rattan, bamboo, and agarwood, which they gather in the forest, but those plants are getting hard to find. He says that his average monthly income is less than 300 Malaysia ringgit (US $94).

The national government has a lofty goal of providing an uplift service to all communities in Malaysia, but the promises mean little to a young woman in Kampung Bertang Lama, whose three-year old daughter is sick with a fever. “I have no money to buy food and rice for her,” she says. “We have not had our breakfast yet. Life is difficult.”

The first Amish to settle in South Dakota arrived in April 2010 when three families moved to rural Hutchinson County, near Tripp, in the southeastern part of the state. Two more families have arrived since then and a sixth family is expected in August, when they should have 50 people living on the farms they are buying.

Location of Tripp, SDThese families decided that things were getting too crowded in Wisconsin, where they came from, so they found farmland for sale to the west and decided to move. Most are not related to another new Amish community that has been established just over the state line to the south, in Nebraska. The new Nebraska Amish moved west from Michigan.

The Amish families are receiving a warm welcome from their non-Amish neighbors. Phyllis Dewald, a rural resident of the county, told the Yankton Press on Saturday that while they do not live right next to the Amish, they consider them to be neighbors, a warm sentiment that is obviously reciprocated. She said that she admired the beauty of the horses that the Amish use for farm work and that pull their buggies into town for errands and shopping.

The obvious hostility that the Amish back east in Wisconsin appear to foster in some of the residents of Viroqua, in that state, according to a recent news account, does not seem to be a factor in South Dakota. At least not yet. Perhaps when the first Amish horse has the bad judgment to leave a mess in front of someone’s yard, sentiments will change.

Ms. Dewald said that she admires the green thumb of one of the Amish women, Ida Borntreger, who “grows really great asparagus.” Ida has been selling her baked goods to neighbors in bake sales which have prompted envy in Ms. Dewald, who wonders how she can bake so well without electric refrigeration or an electric range. Another Amish woman, Mary Borntreger, explains to the Press that Ida uses a wood stove in a separate room, and she bakes a lot of pies, rolls, and loaves of bread at the same time. Like the other Amish, Ida uses the basement of her house to keep things cool, and they plan to build an ice house for refrigeration.

Mary emphasized to the reporter that their welcome from the neighbors has been very warm. “People want to get acquainted, and they just stop in,” she said. “We have found people to be very helpful and friendly.”

The lengthy newspaper story is clearly written for people who do not have much first-hand experience with the Amish. The first thing the article cleared up for South Dakota readers is that the Amish do not have the same beliefs as the Mennonites or the Hutterites, who are already well established in the same county. The Amish live close to one another, on nearby farms, but they are not a communal society as the Hutterites are.

The Tripp-Delmont school district offers modern school rooms, and the Hutterites have a school. The Amish, however, plan to build their own school for their children as soon as they can. The article points out many features of Amish life, such as their lack of telephones, cars, and electricity.

They shop in Tripp, visit the dentist in town, and do their banking in the community. They buy their livestock at a sale barn in Tripp and butcher their own meat. The reporter was impressed by the fact that the Amish men and boys worked in the barn in the blasting heat, without showing any discomfort. “It’s not too bad. I’ve seen worse,” Dan Borntreger said happily.

He was modest about the quality of the barn he and his associates were building, but he took pride in the fact that they were getting the work done. He did not seem to feel that his work was long, or particularly hard. Instead, he said he felt a sense of freedom while he was working. “We can quit any time we want, we can start any time we want. And we take Sundays off,” he said.

Dan found the county to be very welcoming—he feels a common bond with the neighbors, with their German and German-Russian heritages. He joked, in his own German accent, “they speak quite a bit of German around here. Do you?”

The reporter evidently asked Mary Borntreger what they would do in the winter when the snow storms hit—how would they travel about in their small, horse-drawn buggies. “We will close up the buggy when we have winter or a storm front,” Mary replied. Questions and answers that might seem simplistic to readers familiar with Amish ways were probably quite enlightening to local people who had only a limited exposure to their society and culture.

Ms. Borntreger explained to the reporter that the Amish shun modern conveniences—it is part of their beliefs. “We stay away from modernism,” she added. She said that avoiding modern devices means simply living the way people used to live. The welcoming tone of the newspaper article, and the apparent enthusiasm from the local people, contrasts with the experiences of some Amish moving into new areas, where their ways are misunderstood. Examples from Clarion County, Pennsylvania, last year of official persecutions of Amish who had newly settled in the county—particularly in January, March, May, June, October, and December 2009—provide a striking contrast to the supportive attitudes of the people in South Dakota.

A much-anticipated international music festival, part of the summer tourism calendar in Ladakh, was supposed to start today—but it was cancelled at the end of last week due to pressures from unhappy Ladakhi groups. Called Ladakh Confluence, the festival was scheduled to run through the 18th in Shey, near the capital city of Leh.

In the weeks leading up to the festival, tourism promoters happily heralded the upcoming event. One news report emphasized that it was to include numerous international bands as well as prominent Indian groups. Planning for the festival also featured an arts exhibition. The planners secured the cooperation of the relevant government bodies, plus the UN Information Center for India and Bhutan. The organizers also obtained the partnership of the Jammu and Kashmir Tourism Ministry, the Ladakh Autonomous Hill Development Council, and WWF-India, due to the green elements they were building into the planning.

Helena Norberg-HodgeProblems developed, however, because conservative Buddhist leaders were alarmed at the drugs, alcohol, and sex they had witnessed at the first Ladakh Confluence festival, held last year. While 2,700 visitors had attended that event, and doubtless spent lots of money, Ladakhis witnessed their own young people doing the same things as their visitors did—sex, drugs, and alcohol. Skeptics may have been put off by the advance descriptions of this year’s event: “a whole lotta love” in “one of the highest, purest environments in the world.” Did the opponents see another Woodstock Festival in the making?

The Ladakh Buddhist Association and the All Ladakh Tour Operators Association, both headed by P. T. Kunzang, opposed the repeat of what they saw as an immoral festival. “We are not going to let any such event or activity happen in the name of westernization. In the name of a musical concert last year, we saw that large number[s] of outsiders who had come to attend carried drugs and under their influence our local youth were involved in drug abuse and alcohol intake,” Mr. Kunzang said, according to one source.

The organizers of this year’s event were expecting over 4,000 visitors, but they were ultimately defeated when the state Minister of Tourism, Rigzen Jora, caved to the pressure and cancelled the show last Friday, only 6 days before it was to have started. Organizers stated, defensively, that the event was going to be entirely drug and alcohol free. They maintained that some of the organizers had received threats of physical violence during the course of the week.

Mr. Kunzang spoke out in support of his position. “We were at the festival last year that was held at Shey,” he said. “We witnessed how the musicians and audience was involved in immoral activities including sex, drugs and alcohol. The whole place was messed up. We could not stop them last year even though some of our local kids were seen at this fest indulging in the same activities. It was intolerable.”

The organizing team replied heatedly. “Our efforts to clarify have been ignored, as have the facts that the confluence is planned to be drug free, has declined generous sponsorships from alcohol companies, highlights and showcases Ladakhi culture and music and that the music at the Confluence is folk and percussion from India and the world.”

Mr. Kunzang reacted to that: “We are not against music but all that happened in the name of music. The Confluence did not project Ladakh’s tradition and tourism well. We received so many complaints. Ladakh is working hard to preserve its culture and is a fantastic adventure sports destination. None of this was promoted.”

The Indian news media on Friday and Saturday was filled with analysis and commentary about the turn of events prompting the Tourism Minister to make his decision to cancel. One source quoted someone named Aman Chawla, who had attended the earlier event: “Drugs were used at the festival last year but it was not so much as the locals are reporting.” Others commented on the rumors of possible violence, on the stupidity of taking drugs at a music festival, and on and on. Organizers have initiated a petition to Tourism Minister Jora asking him to refund the money paid by purchasers of advance tickets.

Unease with the developments brought about by tourism and the opening up of Ladakh to the outside world are not new to July 2010. Helena Norberg-Hodge, in her 1991 best seller Ancient Futures, described the changes she saw in Ladakh which were brought about by the introduction of tourism and a money economy in the 1970s. She argued that the Ladakhi people were traditionally conscious of their limited resources, but they were also aware of the importance of connections with other people. Tourism, the money economy, and interactions with outside values upended their society, she felt.

These changes, Norberg-Hodge believed, cut the Ladakhis off from their connections with the earth. Paying everyone for assistance with tasks broke the cycles of village cooperation. The money system that tourists and other outsiders introduced formed a wedge that drove people apart. Farmers have more difficulty remaining on their farms, since they no longer receive much cooperation from neighbors and they cannot afford to pay for help with everything that used to be done cooperatively. Depending on money has increased the differences in wealth between rich and poor, fostering the increasing riches of the wealthy and the increasing poverty of the poor.

Norberg-Hodge identifies numerous other factors, such as Indian and Western films, that have produced changes in Ladakh which are not always beneficial. She has continued to develop and update these ideas in her numerous more recent writings, such as an essay she published just this past February.

Whether or not the festival would have been as free from drugs and sex as the organizers hoped, it is interesting that powerful conservative people in Ladakh are attempting to hold the line against corrupting trends that they feel are being introduced by rampant tourism.

A peaceful Kadar village, as well as a biologically diverse forest and the famed Athirappilly Waterall, would be destroyed by the proposed

Athirappilly WaterfallAthirappilly Dam in India’s Kerala state, but proponents do not seem to give up. The Union Minister of Forests and Environment decided in February to revoke permission from the Indian central government for the state to proceed with the dam construction on the Chalakudy River, but that did not stop continued agitation for the dam, and heated opposition against it, in Kerala last week.

On Friday, the Communist Party of India (CPI) and another organization with which it is normally allied, the All-India Trade Union Congress (AITUC), expressed public differences over the proposed dam. The communists, who have a long history in Kerala, decided to oppose the project. K.K. Shelly, a district executive committee member of the CPI, is also the chairman of the Chalakudy River Protection Forum, one of the leading organizations opposed to the dam. He indicated that an environmental subcommittee of the party had already passed a resolution condemning it.

The All India Youth Federation (AIYF), the youth wing of the CPI, had expressed its disapproval in May. The secretary of the AIYF, K. Rajan, indicated that his group believed “the project will certainly harm [the] environment.”

The AITUC, the trade union federation, disagreed. A.N. Rajan, the State Secretary of the AITUC, who is also the president of the Kerala Electricity Workers Federation, argued that “if implemented with proper environmental protection control systems, the Athirappilly project can contribute richly to the State’s power needs.” In other words, building the dam would mean jobs.

At a conference in the city of Thrissur, Kerala, on Friday, Kanam Rajendran, the general secretary of the state AITUC, urged the construction of the dam—as long as appropriate environmental protections were in place. He said it was essential that construction work should have a minimal impact on the environment, but he also suggested that environmentalists should be reasonable. “They should approach environmental protection issues keeping in mind human development needs,”’ he said.

None of the Kerala leaders last week mentioned the situation of the Kadar people, who will lose their village if the dam is built.