Commercial firms in Mexico had refused requests from Zapotec villages in the mountains of Oaxaca to provide cell phone service, so one of them decided to do it themselves. An article in New York magazine on November 1 describes the struggles of a Zapotec community in the northern part of the Mexican state to found and operate their own cell phone network for the indigenous mountain villages.

A view of Talea de Castro, Oaxaca
A view of Talea de Castro, Oaxaca (Photo by Lon&Queta on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The town of Talea de Castro, along with some nearby rural communities in the Sierra Juárez, was not about to accept negative responses from established cell phone companies such as Telcel and Movistar. The Zapotec people were determined to get cell phone service. So they petitioned the federal government of Mexico in 2013 for permission to use a radio frequency for their own cell service that they were planning to develop.

The permission was granted and the community organized a company called Indigenous Community Telecommunications (TIC). The company has grown to the point where it now provides inexpensive cell phone service to over 3,400 people in remote areas of Oaxaca. The non-profit firm is run by the town and has expanded its service to 16 other communities.

Martha Pskowski, the journalist writing for the magazine, spoke with Erick Huerta from Rhizomatica, a nonprofit company that works with cell phone providers, including TIC. He explained that a for-profit company like Telcel, which has very low profit margins, has a hard time making repairs on equipment in places like Talea de Castro simply because of their remoteness.

The Sierra Juárez around Talea de Castro
The Sierra Juárez around Talea de Castro (Photo by Lon&Queta on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

But he felt that the Sierra Juárez region was fertile ground for the people to start their own non-profit company—to do it for themselves. Since the Zapotec communities already govern themselves through their traditional usos y costumbres system, founding a community company on their own was clearly a good fit, he argued.

Huerta said that the indigenous operators of TIC work with independent programmers who have developed open-source software to operate the new network. Each community that wishes to join the network has to install its own base transceiver station operated by solar power. It connects local calls with the network so callers can talk with people anywhere. The users pay 42 pesos (U.S. $2.00) per month for their local calls within the network, a little more for out of network calls. Of that amount, 15 pesos go to TIC, 25 stay in the community, and 2 go into a fund set up for taking care of emergency repairs. In comparison, Telcel charges 200 pesos (over $10.00 U.S.) per month for its service.

The Mexican federal government initially approved the license permitting TIC to launch its operations in May 2014 and in July 2016 it granted a permanent license to operate on public radio frequencies. But then, the agency in charge of the permitting process, the Federal Telecommunications Institute, slapped a one-million peso fee on the company for its use of the radio network. TIC won a ruling in its favor in a federal court in April 2018 so that it only has to pay fees for use of the radio spectrum during the formal launch period in 2016.

A girl from the Sierra Juárez region
A girl from the Sierra Juárez region (Photo by Lon&Queta in Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Sr. Huerta sums up the situation: “It’s been a constant struggle for recognition of indigenous peoples’ rights to have their own forms of communication.” He goes on to summarize the benefits for the Zapotec in their mountain villages of having cell phones. Taxi services have seen their businesses increase by 30 percent because people living outside of towns can now call for a cab. Lifesaving medical care facilities—such as for women who experience complications during labor or for field workers who are bitten by snakes—are now only a phone call away.

A news story about the cell phone system in Talea de Castro published in September 2013 when it was only six months old indicated that it had already become quite popular and had quickly grown to 720 subscribers. It was so popular that the town council voted to have the system automatically restrict calls to five minutes duration in order to preserve access for everyone. At the time, observers were predicting that the new community-based telephone system could become a widely-copied model.

The small experiment continues to grow, according to the article in New York magazine. TIC is exploring expansions of satellite-based services into other Mexican states. It is consulting with Brazilian communities that are seeking to launch their own cell-phone systems. It will be interesting to see if the example of strong communities that make decisions for themselves and take firm charge of their own affairs, one of the essential features of Zapotec society, will be emulated by other rural communities.

 

The Tahitian people living on the island of Huahine are getting quite irritated with the hordes of boaters who visit their community and regularly ignore the proper anchorage spots for their vessels. A news story last week in Tahiti Infos describes the environmental damage the boats cause and the reactions of the Tahitian people to the destruction.

A coral reef in French Polynesia
A coral reef in French Polynesia (Photo by Adam Reeder on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Matai Tereua, a resident of Huahine, explains to the reporter that the government has installed what in French are picturesquely called “corps morts,” which boaters use to tie up their yachts. The “dead bodies,” as a Wikipedia article explains, are heavy concrete pads placed on the sea floor to which buoys are cabled, so the boaters can then tie their crafts up to the buoys and not harm the coral reefs. Huahine, located in the Leeward Islands archipelago of French Polynesia, is extremely popular with boaters. It was where anthropologist Robert Levy did much of his research on Tahitian peacefulness, which resulted in his 1973 book Tahitians: Mind and Experience in the Society Islands.

The thrust of the news story last week is that a number of international boaters can’t be bothered with tying their vessels up properly. It is more convenient, and cheaper, to just use their anchors. The problem is that the use of anchors tends to tear up the coral, destroying the environment of the Huahine lagoon.

The Hawaiki Nui Va'a canoe race in the Society Islands, yachts filled with tourists in the background
The Hawaiki Nui Va’a canoe race in the Society Islands, yachts filled with tourists in the background (Photo by Bianca Henry from Bora Bora, Creative Commons license)

Tereua, a fisherman, points out that many boaters ignore the dead bodies and the provisions of the Huahine government; they just anchor their boats wherever is convenient. The heck with the natural environment. The situation gets especially severe when large numbers of boaters visit the Leeward Islands during a very popular canoe race called the Hawaiki Nui Va’a, a major cultural event of Huahine, Bora Bora, and other islands in French Polynesia.

Tatiana Faahu, the Deputy Mayor of Huahine in charge of tourism, said that the government has installed about 30 dead bodies in the lagoon. She added that boaters who wish to tie up are required to pay 1,500 francs per night (about U.S. $ 14.00), though that fee includes access to fresh water and the collection of waste by the municipality. She argues that the majority of boaters respect the regulations and that she and her staff are constantly trying to ensure that the environment is protected. But there are always those who will ignore the rules.

The news report concludes that yachting contributes a billion francs per year into the economy of French Polynesia. Some 400 or 500 boats are anchored in the islands and another 600 or so venture into the region each year—a financial windfall for the Tahitians. As with a number of other peaceful societies encountering the financial benefits of tourism, the Tahitians are confronting the environmental downsides of hosting hordes of visitors.

 

A Birhor man from Nawadih village in the Mandu Block, Ramgarh District of India’s Jharkhand state, died of starvation late on Tuesday, October 30, according to a news report last week. The 40-year-old Rajendrra Birhor left a wife, Shanti Devi, and six children. He was the sole wage earner for the family.

Rural Mandu Block, Jharkhand State
Rural Mandu Block, Jharkhand State (Screen capture from the video “No Road Yet in this Village” by VideoVolunteers on YouTube, Creative Commons license)

Shanti Devi said that about a month ago her husband was diagnosed with jaundice at the Rajendra Institute of Medical Sciences in the city of Ranchi. People at the hospital prescribed medicines and sent him home. The family could not afford to purchase the drugs and, for the last few days of his life, they had no money to buy food.

Shortly after he died, a couple Mandu officials, the Block Officer and the Circle Officer, visited the home of the deceased and gave his widow Rs.10,000 (U.S.$136) and a quintal of food grains. Shanti told the reporter that the family had neither a ration card nor an Aadhaar card. They were unable to secure the foods that the government subsidizes for the poor.

The Block Officer, Sri Manoj Kumar Gupta, was defensive about the failure of the welfare schemes in his block. He acknowledged that the Birhor family had not been given a ration card, but he stated that, nonetheless, “Rajendra died of prolonged illness.” He added, however, that his government was investigating why the so-called “primitive tribal group” was being denied their ration cards and thus the welfare benefits that are authorized by Indian law.

Birhor woman with children
Birhor woman with children (Screen capture from the video “Birhor—a Tribe Displaced for Nothing” by VideoVolunteers on YouTube, Creative Commons license)

A brief journal article published in May 2017 described the extreme poverty of a different, but comparable Birhor village, Duru Kasmar in Mandu block. The authors of that study indicated that, of the 55 Birhor families in the village, three-quarters of them still try to subsist on the income from their traditional work, such as rope-making and the sale of forest products that they had gathered. Only 12 of the 55 families received funds from government welfare. The news story last week about the death in Nawadih did not include any comparable figures about that village.

 

Volunteers from a Malaysian company and an NGO provided assistance recently to the Chewong village at Kuala Gandah. According to a news post last week in The Sun Daily, a Malaysian English-language news source, personnel from 7-Eleven Malaysia, a branch of the international chain of convenience stores, and people from the organization NGOHub Asia cooperated to help the Chewong villagers.

A 7-Eleven convenience store in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
A 7-Eleven convenience store in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia (Photo by Unknown 19736 in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

It is clear from images on Google Earth that the Chewong community, labeled as Kampung Sungai Enggang in the news story, is the same place that was previously described by visitors and anthropologists as “The Gateway Village.” It lies at the entrance to the large Krau Wildlife Reserve and is next to the Kuala Gandah Elephant Conservation Centre.

According to the news story, Ms. Zawiyah Ali discovered the poor conditions of the 30 families living in the Chewong village and inspired the work party to help the Orang Asli people out. The volunteers from the convenience stores and the NGO furnished stationery supplies, educational posters, and floor mats in order to provide a better educational environment for the children in a six-year-old learning center in the village.

A Chewong village house on September 25, 2004
A Chewong village house in September 2004 (Photo by Marcus Ng on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

After helping the learning center, the volunteers spent time clearing out water drainage systems and cleaning common areas of the village. They then gave out “essential provisions and goodie bags” for the villagers to take home. Ronan Lee, a marketing general manager for 7-Eleven Malaysia worked along with the others in the village and expressed his pleasure at the positive reception by the Chewong for the help they’d been given.

Mr. Lee hoped that the learning center will be better equipped to help the Chewong children further develop their skills and their knowledge. Furthermore, he hoped the public at large would follow the lead of 7-Eleven by assisting the community with welfare and education programs. Zawiyah expressed her gratitude as well. She said that members of the community could also use donations and assistance with their medical care.

 

Two sailors on a cross-Pacific voyage kept running into very difficult sailing conditions so they decide to head for Ifaluk Atoll in search of better winds. Claude Appaldo and Tom Zydler sail into the Ifaluk lagoon in the western Pacific after a voyage across the ocean from Panama that took many months to complete. The lead author, Mr. Appaldo, complains in a blog post in Cruising World about the contrary head winds, giant thunderstorms, and sloppy seas they encountered across most of the Pacific Ocean. They averaged only 4 knots on their trip.

Maroligar, the second-ranking chief on Ifaluk in 1953
Maroligar, the second-ranking chief on Ifaluk in 1953 (Image from the Atoll Research Bulletin no. 494, Golden Issue 1951-2001. U.S. National Museum of Natural History, in the public domain)

As sailors, they naturally focus on the sailing and fishing of the Ifaluk men. Appaldo writes that the Ifaluk fishermen use traditional vessels called proas, boats with outrigger hulls. Three days after they reach the decision to stop at Ifaluk, they spot the sails of a dozen vessels and head into the Ifaluk lagoon. They call on a chief, pay for their anchorage and landing privileges, and start to wander around the island—“a scene from the dreams of South Pacific,” Appaldo writes.

They notice the outrigger proas lined up along the edge of the lagoon—15 large boats and at least 10 smaller ones. The Ifaluk men describe how they build the boats with timber from breadfruit trees and sew the pieces of the hull together with line, for they have no iron fasteners. They caulk the boats with breadfruit sap and coconut husks and make ropes out of coconut fibers. Sometimes they are gifted with synthetic lines and even with used sails by the owners of visiting yachts.

A sailing outrigger boat called a “proa” in Micronesia
A sailing outrigger boat called a “proa” in Micronesia (Photographer unknown for the US National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration in Wikipedia, in the public domain)

Mr Appaldo requests the opportunity to go sailing with the Ifaluk, so he is cordially welcomed to leave with them at 4:00 AM the next morning. He finds the men hanging out in the canoe house fabricating fishing lures out of the fronds from coconut palms. They put the observer on the outrigger as they head out to sea in a proa and soon they are in the midst of 20 to 25 knot winds and spray from a thunderstorm.

The fishermen spot some feeding sea birds that the author is not able to see. They catch three tuna on their four trolling lines and head back into the lagoon. Three of the boats cut through the channel side by side, the men talking and laughing, all at ease with their boats and their way of life.

Image of Ifaluk Atoll from space that shows the channel into the lagoon
Image of Ifaluk Atoll from space that shows the channel into the lagoon (NASA image on Wikimedia Commons, in the public domain)

The author is moved by the acceptance by the Ifaluk men of their lives and how little in the way of material goods they need to stay happy. It is such a contrast to all the devices and stuff they have aboard their own vessel, with its fiberglass hull, diesel engine, Dacron sails, stainless steel rigging, stove, shower, fridge, and so forth. He searches for things to share with the Ifaluk men. Unfortunately, he does not have a spare sail but he does have an extra 100 feet of ¾ inch braided rope to give them. He appeals to other sailors who have extra sails to contact him. Also, since there are no sewing machines on Ifaluk, the islanders could use gifts of needles and thread. He provides a contact link at the end of his blog post.

Richard Sosis, an anthropologist who did field work on Ifaluk Island in the 1990s, discusses the traditional culture and values of the islanders in an article that is available on the HRAF website. The major point of his article is to provide descriptions of fishing by Ifaluk men. The author concentrates on fishing—men’s work—because he was not allowed to observe the Ifaluk women working in their taro patches.

In the course of his article, much of which focuses on the methods of Ifaluk fishing and the ways they share their catch, Sosis indicates that Ifaluk is still very much cut off from the mainstream—the atoll has no roads, no motor vehicles, and no electricity. The bottom line of the Sosis visit: the chiefs, the unquestioned authority figures on the island, are strenuously maintaining their traditions. While Mr. Apppaldo does not say so directly, it appears from his blog post as if not much has changed.

 

Lord Ayyappan, the popular Hindu deity, is a confirmed celibate. As a result, until a few weeks ago, women of menstruating age, 10 – 50, have been rigidly excluded from participating in the massive pilgrimages to his temple complex at Sabarimala, in southern Kerala. But women devotees of the god, many from southern India, began protesting the discrimination and trying to slip past the guards along the roadways up to the hilltop temple. In January 2018, temple authorities announced that guards would begin checking identity cards of all pilgrims and women of child-bearing age would be rigidly excluded.

A crowd in front of the Ayyappan temple at Sabarimala
A crowd in front of the Ayyappan temple at Sabarimala (Photo by Avsnarayan in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

However, on September 28, the Supreme Court of India, in a 4 to 1 ruling, banned the practice of gender discrimination at the famed temple. The majority ruled that prohibiting women from entering the temple complex, even among the vast crowds of pilgrims, amounts to gender discrimination. It is a practice that violates Indian laws securing the rights of women. The one woman judge on the court, Justice Indu Malhotra, issued the sole dissenting verdict, arguing that religious customs should not be violated in order to support secular goals.

The court order has provoked an enormous outcry in India where the temple at Sabarimala hosts millions of pilgrims. Controversies are raging at this time, the beginning of the annual pilgrimage season, and the Indian media, and to some extent other international news sources, have been covering the protests, riots, arrests, and chaos. The interest for this website is the Malapandaram people, who live in a number of colonies along the major roads up to Sabarimala. How are they reacting to the brouhaha?

A tribal family at Attathodu, probably Malapandaram
A tribal family at Attathodu, probably Malapandaram (Photo by jaya8022 that used to be in Wikimedia with a Creative Commons license)

Fortunately, The Indian Express sent a reporter last week to investigate the Malapandaram attitudes toward the crisis. To judge by the people quoted, they seem to be as divided as the rest of India over the issue of ending a centuries-old discriminatory tradition. The reporter, Vishnu Varma, talked with some Malapandaram living in Attathodu, located on the major paved road up to the temple from the coastal cities of Kerala.

He speaks with the head of the colony, Ayyappan Perumal, who expresses his disapproval about the change in the law. “If young women climb the hill, everything will be destroyed,” he tells the reporter. He says that he has never seen a woman between 10 and 50 enter the temple, and no woman will go there from Attathodu. The reporter also speaks with Ayyappan Perumal’s older sister, Chellamma, 82, who has similar views as her brother. She tells Mr. Varma how she was once covered with rashes and after she prayed to Lord Ayyappan, her rashes were all cured. “It’s all because of the Lord,” she says.

But not everyone in Attathodu agrees with the popular view. A 32-year old woman who speaks on the condition of anonymity says that all the protesting about women of child bearing age represents a big uproar about nothing. She blames the protests on upper caste people. She says that no one organizing the protests contacted the Dalits, the so-called untouchable people such as herself and the other Malapandaram.

An idol of Lord Ayyappan at a temple in northern Kerala
An idol of Lord Ayyappan at a temple in northern Kerala (Photo by Vinayaraj in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

Her words are powerful. “If you ask me, I’m all for women entering Sabarimala. Why shouldn’t they?” She goes on to state the obvious—that Lord Ayyappan will survive if women between 10 and 50 visit the temple.  Everyone must abide by the constitution, she concludes. But she says she can’t express such views in public. She replies, if asked, that she is neither against nor is she for the entry of women. That way she stays safe.

Her father, a retired mason, compares the ongoing protests to the agitation that occurred in the 1930s when the law was changed allowing all Dalits to have access to the temple. But time has passed and that issue has faded. The daughter adds that some of them are rationalists, such as she is. The leaders of the protest movement feel they can control the ways people think but they cannot. “We cannot be swayed like the others in the colony,” she concludes.

 

Madeleine Redfern, the outspoken mayor of Iqaluit, complained last month about sexual harassment by powerful male Inuit leaders and she has been excoriated, as well as praised, for her comments ever since.  She was addressing a Standing Committee on the Status of Women in the Canadian House of Commons when she said, according to a news report, “When our Inuit male leaders travel with their female staff, they think it’s a benefit and a perk that they can actually sexually harass, sexually assault or have relationships with women on the road.”

Two Inuit girls enjoying being together
Two Inuit girls enjoying being together (Photo by Rosemary Gilliat taken in 1960 in Frobisher Bay, now Iqaluit, in Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Redfern said subsequently that she has had death threats because of her condemnation of the behavior of male Inuit leaders toward women and she has, she said, been viciously attacked online. But she has also gotten strong support from Facebook and Twitter posts on the Nunavut pages of the CBC. One person wrote, “I have stories about this behaviour.”

A number of women reported on their own experiences though none of them were willing to let the CBC News repeat their stories publicly. Elisapee Sheutiapik, a former major of Iqaluit, which is the capitol of the Nunavut territory, was quite willing to be quoted by the media. While she said she was shocked by Ms. Redfern’s comments, she did admit that she was harassed while she was mayor and taking a job-related business trip. She added that the abuser was a non-Inuk bureaucrat and she did report the incident after her trip.

Sheutiapik is now in the Nunavut government, serving as minister responsible for the status of women. However, she criticized Mayor Redfern for singling out Inuit men as she did. She said that sometimes Inuit men are quite vulnerable so “let’s be careful what we say here.” Discussions about this issue need to be kept in context, she urged.

The Premier of Nunavut, Joe Savikataaq, at first said that Ms. Redfern’s comments painted all Inuit male leaders as sexual predators, though the mayor subsequently amended her comments to condemn “some” men. The premier told CBC News that he was unaware of any allegations of sexual assault or harassment within his government. His office subsequently released a statement that he was reviewing the harassment policy of the territorial government. “As a male leader, as a father, grandfather, husband, and ally to women, I re-commit myself to this movement,” the statement said.

Inuit women throat singing in Ottawa
Inuit women throat singing in Ottawa (Screenshot from the video “Inuit Youth Council of Canada –World Suicide Prevention Day 2012” on Vimeo, Creative Commons license)

Rebecca Kudloo, the president of Pauktuutit Inuit Women of Canada, told the CBC that of course the national advocacy organization for Inuit women was well aware that harassment exists, but they were not aware of specific incidents such as Redfern has raised. She said that Ms. Redfern was entitled to speak up about what she is experiencing or is hearing from other women, but Kudloo was not aware of current cases.

Ms. Kudloo said that other issues also need to be considered to provide a more holistic context to the sexual harassment issue. She pointed to inter-generational traumas and shortages of housing in Nunavut as possible causes of abuse.

Premier Savikataaq, via an email from his press secretary, said he has asked officials to review the Nunavut policy on sexual abuse and harassment and to strengthen it wherever necessary.

 

Despite being kicked back and forth between Pakistan and India, the 3,300 residents of the village of Turtuk are determined to continue their traditional lives and culture. Turtuk, located in the northwest section of the Leh District of Ladakh, was part of India until the 1947 war, then part of Pakistan after the war but it was part of a sliver of land captured by the Indian Army in the 1971 war. The village, located at the edge of Baltistan, has remained part of India ever since.

An elder in Turtuk
An elder in Turtuk (Photo by Saurabh Chatterjee on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Unlike much of the Leh District, which has a Tibetan Buddhist culture, Baltistan, including Turtuk, has a distinctive Balti Muslim culture. A journalist for The Hindu, Archita Suryanarayanan, strikes up a conversation in the village with a group of elders. They tell her of the effects of being citizens of Pakistan and then of India—without leaving the village where they were born and raised.

She visits a house that dates from the 15th century when the village was first settled. The owner of the dwelling, Mohammad Ali, has converted part of the house into the Balti Heritage Museum. She learns there that the Brokpa people once inhabited the region but a Central Asian warrior group took over. Later, these various groups settled and became traders in Turtuk, which is situated on the Shyok River, a part of the Silk Road. The people in the village appear to be proud of the richness of their ethnic diversity.

Ali points out various objects in the museum—everyday things collected by the family over the generations, such as a 300-year-old stone dish, agricultural implements fabricated out of ibex horns, and coats made out of yak hair. He tells the journalist that his seven children, none of whom are now located in Turtuk, urged him to open the museum, which he just did in May. So far it has been mainly visited by Turtuk villagers but people from other districts and a few tourists have come as well.

An old alley in Turtuk
An old alley in Turtuk (Photo by Saurabh Chatterjee on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Just a few alleys away from Ali’s place is the former palace of the Yabgo dynasty, which is also a museum. The author meets Yabgo Mohammad Khan Kacho, the currently reigning owner of the royal residence. He tells her that his dynasty ruled Baltistan for more than 2,000 years. However, the kingdom was divided among three sons and subsequently it became part of Pakistan—except for this small sliver that was re-captured by India. He has converted part of his palace into a museum that displays relics of his dynasty—armaments, swords, coins, and headgear worn by the former kings and queens.

He tell his visitor during a tour of the palace that it has not been much changed since the 15th century. One change, however, is that some of the walls have been replaced by glass so that the museum pieces can be easily seen against a background of the lush, green valley. Ms. Suryanarayanan writes that Turtuk is in a greener landscape than most of the rest of Ladakh.

A Turtuk girl playing with apricot seeds
A Turtuk girl playing with apricot seeds (Photo by Fulvio Spada on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The village is surrounded by orchards and fields; the people grow grapes, peaches, cherries and apricots. An earlier article about Turtuk emphasized the importance of apricot cultivation in the village. As the journalist walks out onto the terrace of the royal palace, her host plucks green grapes off a vine and offers her some.

She speaks with Gulam Haider, who runs a guesthouse, though he tells her that he has no guests in the winter. He adds that conditions are much different in the winter. Turtuk families stock up on food and everyone gathers around the stove in the kitchen. If there is electricity they watch television but if not they socialize with their relatives. “It is aaram, no tension,” he tells her.

Two girls in Turtuk
Two girls in Turtuk (Photo by Saurabh Chatterjee on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Turtuk was allowed to open up for tourists in 2010 though it has not as yet become a popular destination. The village has a unique Balti cuisine served in local restaurants, an annual cultural festival, polo matches, and various sites around the community worth the time of visitors.

However, the author concludes, other more popular places in Ladakh for tourists have suffered from an abundance of trash, particularly plastic waste, plus other negative effects from the changes such as water shortages and rampant construction. Turtuk as yet has avoided such pitfalls. For the moment, the town remains quiet. As darkness falls, the calls of the muezzin echo over the town, the surrounding fields, and the rest of the valley.

 

Kapé Kapé, a Venezuelan indigenous research and advocacy organization, has conducted a thorough study of the health needs of the Piaroa and the results, announced last week, are grim. Perhaps the most surprising finding, as described in a Venezuelan news report, is that the illegal mining activities that are rampant in the region appear to be responsible for the explosion of cases of malaria. This is a particularly serious situation for the Piaroa and their neighboring indigenous peoples because of their lack of good health care.

People in Atabapo municipality of Amazonas state
People in Atabapo municipality of Amazonas state (Photo by Veronidae in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The research effort conducted by Kapé Kapé, with Luis Betancourt serving as principal investigator, began in January 2018 in the State of Amazonas and particularly in Atabapo municipality. The researchers began to collect data about the health conditions of the inhabitants, many of whom are Piaroa.

In announcing the results of the investigation, Betancourt stated that research conducted by the Central University of Venezuela’s Institute of Tropical Medicine indicates that the growing number of malaria cases originates primarily in the mining camps. He added that the state government tacitly allows the mining camps to exist, which complicates addressing the malaria issue. Further confusing the situation is that the Piaroa territories affected are hard to get to, which makes both keeping track of the diseases and their treatment difficult.

Yanomami young people in Alto Orinoco municipality, Amazonas state
Yanomami young people in Alto Orinoco municipality, Amazonas state (Photographer unknown but presumed by Wikipedia to have a Creative Commons license)

The figures presented by the research must be considered to be unofficial since they have not been approved by the state, but they are alarming nonetheless. In the municipality of Alto Orinoco, located to the east of Atabapo, out of about 11,000 inhabitants, the study identified 396 cases of malaria, at least five of which were Yanomami people. Those five reportedly died of the disease. In Manapiare municipality, the Environmental Health Directorate of the Ministry of Health reported 797 cases of malaria in the first three months of 2018.

In Atures, the municipality at the northern tip of the state that includes the capital city of Puerto Ayacucho, the report indicated there were 4,562 cases of the disease among just the indigenous inhabitants. The large number is due to the population of the municipality—180,000 people.

The Kape Kape report
The Kape Kape report

Betancourt pointed out that because Atures contains the state capital, it has the resources to cope with the disease problem. The other six more rural municipalities they studied lack access to methods of preventing malaria and they do not have good programs for controlling and treating it. Other diseases are also inadequately handled in rural Amazonas. The researcher said that in much of the state, the indigenous people die when they are exposed to dangerous illnesses.

As an example, he cited a one-year old Piaroa girl who died in June due to malaria in the Parhuaza sector of Bolivar state. Her death went unreported because there is no mechanism in her area for preventing dangerous diseases. Wilmer Pérez, a social worker in that sector, explained that the indigenous people suffer not only from malaria but also from child malnutrition.

Betania de Topocho, a Piaroa, reports from communities north of Puerto Ayacucho that between October 2017 and April 2018 there were 326 cases of malaria. Many were repeated incidents of the disease. The full, 12-page report is available as a PDF on the Kapé Kapé website.

 

A new organization called the Amish Heritage Foundation, formed mainly by Ms. Torah Bontrager, held its first conference at Franklin & Marshall College in Lancaster, PA, three weeks ago. The conference, titled “Disrupting History: Reclaiming Our Amish Story,” focused on ex-Amish people and their reasons for leaving their communities. It was held on September 28 – 29 and a report about it by a participant was published last week by the Mennonite World Review.

Ms. Bontrager’s story of fleeing from an abusive Michigan Amish family in the dark of the night at age 15 was apparently one of the attention-getting aspects of the conference. She tells her story in a recent autobiography, An Amish Girl in Manhattan. In her various reports, she describes being repeatedly abused and raped by members of her own family, her resentment about being denied the benefits of an education, her determination to get an Ivy League college degree, her graduation from Columbia University, and, most recently, her determination to help the Amish correct the wrongs that have grown up in their society.

According to the recent article about the conference, she is devoting herself to decrying the culture of rape that she claims exists among the Amish. She is also speaking out about what she sees as an oppressive patriarchy that is an integral aspect of traditional Amish society. She advocates for other people who have fled from Amish communities, as she did.

School children playing next to a Lancaster County schoolhouse
Amish school children playing next to a Lancaster County schoolhouse (Photo by Mark Goebel on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Ms. Bontrager and Elam Zook, the co-founder of the organization, organized the symposium to address what they see as harmful forces that are afflicting the Amish of today. One theme they chose for the event was the limited education the Amish will allow for their children, a right that they won with the 1972 U.S. Supreme Court decision Wisconsin v. Yoder, which affirmed that the Amish could exempt their children from laws that require compulsory schooling.

Many scholars have celebrated that decision as a victory for religious liberty but a speaker at the conference, Prof. Marcie Hamilton from the University of Pennsylvania, described it as permitting a type of child abuse. She decried the lack of education allowed for Amish kids as a violation of their human rights while other speakers suggested that restricting the Amish from getting the educations they need to thrive in the contemporary world violates the basic Anabaptist tradition of voluntary baptism.

Two young Amish women in Lancaster County
Two young Amish women in Lancaster County (Photo by Utente in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

Mr. Zook and Michael Billig, an anthropology professor at Franklin & Marshall, argued that scholars can be implicated in helping to foster some of problems of the Amish, especially the abuse and oppression of women. Those two pointed out that scholarship about the Amish romanticizes their lives as “idyllic, orderly and peaceful.” That scholarship has rationalized or ignored the oppressive and dysfunctional aspects of Amish society, the speakers maintained. One of the major purposes of the conference was to counter that narrative by providing a forum for people who have fled the communities.

Another facet of the conference was to provide a forum for disaffected members of other groups, such as ultra-orthodox Jewish and Muslim people, so they could tell their stories and share their experiences of fleeing oppression. The recent report mentions several of their presentations before concluding with a brief analysis of the claims of the Amish Heritage Foundation and its founders. The reporter, John D. Roth, disputes some of the arguments presented during the sessions. He questions, for instance, the foundation’s claims that the Amish are at risk of going extinct because of their resistance to change. Mr. Roth rebuts that argument by mentioning scholarship that points out they are one of the fastest growing religious bodies in the U.S.

Mr. Roth, who is the Director of the Institute for the Study of Global Anabaptism at Goshen College, continues by disputing the critique of current Amish scholarship. He argues that recent studies have shown that Amish society in general is quite dynamic, adapting well to changes in the culture and economic forces of the surrounding, larger society. He also mentions that scholars—he does not name them—have often described the differences among the various Amish groups and more recently scholars have addressed such critical issues among the Amish as sexual abuse, mental health, and internal conflicts. Roth expresses the need for more study about the proposition that the Amish are at a disadvantage when they make the choice to leave their communities.

Ms. Bontrager hopes that this conference will be the first in an annual event and Mr. Zook hopes that it will foster more conversations about the issues it has identified.