Peaceful Societies

A Montana Hutterite colony has plowed under a field of lentils and erected instead a facility for manufacturing the steel roofs and siding materials used in building construction. A report in the Billings Gazette last week explained what the colony is doing.

Golden Valley, Montana (Photo by Murray Foubister on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The new venture, called Valley Steel LLC, is located at the Golden Valley Hutterite Colony a couple miles south of the southern Montana town of Ryegate. The town is located in the Golden Valley area of the state about 50 miles northwest of the city of Billings. Until this past spring, the colony had focused its economy entirely on a variety of agricultural operations—hogs, chickens, turkeys, milk, wheat, lentils, and so on.

But the prices of wheat have dropped, raising hogs has become a break-even project, and running the dairy has become increasingly expensive. The leaders at Golden Valley realized that continuing to depend exclusively on agriculture was no longer a reasonable option for the colony. They had talked about trying something entirely different but they were nervous about making a big change. Dan Kleinsasser, the colony member directing the new operation, told the newspaper, “Agriculture is not treating us well anymore. We had to find a way to expand.”

A tour group visits some work buildings on the Milford Hutterite Colony in Montana (Photo by Roger W on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The reporter quoted Courtney Kibblewhite, who works for the Northern Broadcasting System, to the effect that expanding into manufacturing as a partial substitute for the usual agricultural economy is not an option for ordinary Montana families. A family-owned ranch or farm would have too few people to staff any kind of manufacturing operation; employing outside workers would be prohibitively expensive. The Hutterite colonies don’t have those kinds of obstacles. While they face the same market forces as other ranches, their communal operations do allow them to expand or diversify in ways that one or two families living on a private farm or ranch cannot imitate.

In order for the Golden Valley colony to operate the new manufacturing operation—tracking inventory, ordering materials, running software—colony leaders decided to gain access to the internet for the first time. They installed one computer in the main office of the new warehouse and have it connected to the web. Mr. Kleinsasser said that they keep the room locked. The machine that produces the custom steel trim is quite large; it cost them $420,000. It will fold steel into whatever shapes are drawn on the touch-screen monitor that controls it.

Janzen and Stanton’s book The Hutterites in North America (2010) helps put the Golden Valley development into perspective: Hutterite colonies in general are quite open to new technological ventures. New industries at the colonies often require the latest media, technology, and equipment. “Without them, they cannot compete on the open market,” the authors wrote (p.261). If the available machinery is not capable of doing the tasks they need to accomplish, the Hutterites often design and build what they want themselves.

But innovative uses of the latest technology must fit in with the peaceful, religious basis of the colonies. In the conclusion to their book, the authors summarized the Hutterite way of life, including their “effective conflict-resolution techniques … [and their] commitment to nonviolence, modesty, and self-effacement …” The Hutterites are “also open to technological innovations, which provide an economic foundation for their spiritual existence (p.305),” Janzen and Stanton concluded.

A month after extreme right racists demonstrated in Charlottesville their hatred for non-white people, another Virginia city proudly celebrated its history of accepting a persecuted African. On Saturday, September 16, the city of Lynchburg, 55 miles to the southwest of Charlottesville, unveiled a public marker to an Mbuti man. Lynchburg congratulated itself for providing sanctuary just over 100 years ago to the individual who had been exhibited in a cage in a New York zoo along with other primates.

Samuel P. Verner, left, with members of the Batetela society in the Congo in 1902 (photographer unknown, in Wikimedia, in the public domain)

The tragic story of Ota Benga, the Mbuti man, was published last month in the local newspaper, the Lynchburg News & Advance, and it was retold with numerous differing details last week in a news post by Liberty University, which is located in the same city. Previously named Mbye Otabenga, Ota Benga was living in an Mbuti band with his wife and two children in the Congo when the group was attacked by the Force Publique, a group of Belgian and Congolese soldiers under the command of the King of Belgium. Most of the Mbuti were killed, including Ota Benga’s family, and he was sold into slavery. In 1902, the South Carolina explorer Samuel Verner traded a piece of cloth and some salt for Benga.

Ota Benga, second from left, and other so-called “Pygmies” at the St. Louis World’s Fair in 1904 (Photographer unknown, in Wikimedia, in the public domain)

Verner was searching for Africans that would be suitable to be exhibited at the St. Louis World’s Fair, coming up in 1904. At a height of only 4 feet 10 inches, Benga would be worth the price of admission, Verner presumably figured, a worthwhile purchase. And Ota Benga did become a hit attraction at the fair, reportedly asking for a nickel each time he showed his pointed teeth to the crowds.

After the fair was over, Verner took Benga back to Africa. The two traveled around the continent and Benga tried to readjust to his former life but when his second wife died, he decided to return to America with Verner. Benga started living at the American Museum of Natural History in New York in August 1906 and the next month at the city’s Bronx Zoo.

Ota Benga on display in the Monkey House at the Bronx Zoo (Photographer unknown, in Wikimedia, in the public domain)

At first he freely roamed around the zoo helping the staff care for the animals but the Director, William T. Hornaday, decided to move him into a vacant cage in the Monkey House where he was encouraged to shoot at targets with a bow and arrows for the crowds on the other side of the bars. The New York Times learned of the latest addition to the primate collection and published a story under the headline “Bushman Shares a Cage with Bronx Park Apes.”

The number of visitors to the zoo skyrocketed and people freely gestured, pointed, gasped, and laughed at the supposed freak of nature who was billed as “The Missing Link” between the apes and mankind. While Benga did not yet comprehend spoken English, he could easily understand that he was the object of scorn and pity. But the African American community in New York, particularly a group of preachers, soon expressed their heated opposition to the display of an African man in a monkey cage. Director Hornaday, who had initially defended his decision to put the Mbuti man on display, relented to the public pressure and released him.

Anne Spencer, noted African American poet in Virginia (Photographer unknown, in Wikimedia, in the public domain)

Benga spent the next ten years attempting to adjust to life in America. He moved to Lynchburg in 1910, which provided sanctuary for him until his death in 1916. Ann van de Graaf, Director of Africa House in Lynchburg and one of the speakers at the ceremony in that city on September 16, said that despite the terrible treatment he had gotten in St. Louis and New York, Benga was happy and at peace in her community. He became friends with the African American poet Anne Spencer, who taught him English. He worked at a tobacco factory nearby and enrolled in the Virginia Theological Seminary.

However, he still harbored a desire to return to Africa, but the outbreak of World War I and the impossibility of traveling by sea in wartime thwarted his hopes. He committed suicide on March 20, 1916, in Lynchburg. About 101 years after Benga died, the city unveiled a roadside marker commemorating his life and ensuring that his story would not be forgotten.

Pamela Newkirk, the author of a biography of Ota Benga and one of the numerous speakers at the ceremony, told the crowd, “… Lynchburg gave this tragically displaced stranger a home and semblance of family, but he also left an indelible mark on Lynchburg. A century later, we are still haunted but also buoyed by his gentle spirit. In honor of him, this marker also reminds us of the handful of New Yorkers who defied the conventions of the day and rose up against powerful men and injustice.” Her words suggest that Benga exemplified the spirit of the Mbuti, as recorded by later anthropologists.

Newkirk went on to say that “… This marker reflects your city’s values and highest ideals. So as you honor a man whose soaring humanity could neither be tarnished nor erased by the inhumanity of others, you illuminate your own.”

The actions of the racists in Charlottesville two months ago, perhaps attempting to reestablish the inhumanity exhibited in New York in 1906, have a long history. The desire to exhibit “Primitives,” people who were thought to be less developed than Whites, was a well-established tradition in European zoos for many years before Hornaday’s time. The Wikipedia has a lengthy, but depressing, article describing the numerous “human zoos,” also referred to as “ethnological expositions,” that flourished long before Mr. Verner brought Mr. Benga from the Congo to be exhibited in St. Louis.

The stories of the peaceful societies are not without their tragedies and instances of violence, of course, but it is hard to come up with anything as overtly inhuman as the history of Ota Benga—and most of the other “human zoos” that used to exhibit people in Europe and America. One can only wonder if the racists who congregated in Charlottesville are proud of that history.

On Monday last week, the president of Egypt awarded a Nubian man the highest military honor of the nation, the Order of the Sinai Star. Two different Middle East newspapers, Al Arabiya and Egypt Today, covered the story.

The Order of the Sinai Star Medal The Order of the Sinai Star Medal — The Order of the Sinai Star Medal (Photo by Egyptian Army Forces in Wikimedia, in the public domain)

The President of Egypt, Abdel Fattah al-Sissi, awarded the medal to Ahmed Edris at a ceremony in Cairo. The Nubian soldier had come up with the idea of Nubians becoming code talkers for the Egyptian armed forces during the 1973 Arab-Israeli War, usually called the “October War” in Egypt and the “Yom Kippur War” in Israel. The award was for “great services for the homeland.”

Edris told Al Arabiya that he became involved well before the Egyptians launched their surprise attack on Israel’s positions in the Sinai Desert, which the Jewish nation had captured in the Six Day War of 1967 and still occupied in 1973. He learned that senior army officers were attempting to develop a new code of communications so they could relay decisions, orders, and instructions to troop commanders that would be secure from Israeli intelligence. Edris suggested that the Nubian language would be ideal for the code.

The last of the traditional Nubian houses in Dongola, Sudan (Photo by Bertramz in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

Edris said that Nubian is not written—it is only an oral language and in Egypt it is only spoken by the Nubian people. He told his army superiors that the language is divided into two major dialects, the Kunooz dialect spoken by the Dongola people of northern Sudan and the Fadika dialect, spoken by the Mahas tribe of southern Egypt and northern Sudan. His suggestion was received enthusiastically by his superiors and it was relayed up the chain of command to the president of Egypt himself, Anwar al-Sadat.

President Sadat contacted Edris directly; he told him his idea was excellent, but how should they proceed? Edris replied that the Nubians must be recruited as soldiers. So the army recruited 35 Nubians into the army and trained them to serve in the Signal Corps and another 70 to work as border guards who would send and receive the coded messages. No one other than the Nubians would be able to understand them and, of most significance, the coded communications would be incomprehensible to the Israelis.

Like the “code talkers” used in other conflicts by different armed forces, the strategy clearly worked. When Israeli officers intercepted the Egyptian communications, they were unable to understand what they were hearing. Words like oshriya, which meant “strike” and sai awi meaning “second hour” baffled them. Edris said to Egypt Today after the ceremony last week, “When I met the president, I told him that I kept the secret for four decades. Today I feel compensated for 40 years of military service.”

A Nubian man and boy with a donkey in a village near Aswan (Photo by Richard Kahler in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

While Ahmed Edris, a Nubian from the Aswan area, is obviously proud of his service to his country, it is not clear how strongly his people were involved in the earlier military history of Egypt. The anthropologist Robert Fernea provided some clarity to the matter. During his fieldwork in the relatively isolated Nubian communities before the Aswan High Dam was finished in the 1960s, Fernea (1973) observed that “one cannot associate violence with this land and people …. This fundamental impression of the nonviolent, peaceful quality of Nubian life can only be made plausible if we understand what I have chosen to call the Nubian polity (p.17).”

Fernea explained that by Nubian polity, he meant the economy, ecology, kinship structure, values, and attitudes held in the isolated villages that were soon to be submerged by Lake Nasser. However, he also wrote that some of the more acculturated Nubians, whom he called “Arab Egyptianized Nubians (p.13),” did serve in the regular divisions of the Egyptian army. Mr. Edris appears to have come from that tradition.

Rick Gray, Mayor of the city of Lancaster in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, said that welcoming refugees is a way of supporting religious diversity and toleration. That attitude is “in [the city’s] genes,” according to Mr. Gray. Last week he explained to a reporter from Deutsche Welle, the prominent international German media organization, that refugees are welcome in large part due to the Amish influence on the area.

Rick Gray, the Mayor of Lancaster, Pennsylvania (Photo by Andrew DeFratis in Wikimedia, in the public domain)

Mayor Gray added, “Pennsylvania was established on the principle of religious freedom. Add to that … the Amish tradition, and you get one of the most tolerant places in the country. Yes, we are welcoming people that look different. But they don’t look any more different from the norm than an Amishman does.”

Since 2013, Lancaster County, with a population of half a million, has accepted over 1,300 refugees, about the same number as Orange County, California, which is more than six times larger. It is clear that many county residents welcome the designation of being “America’s refugee capital.”

Some Amish in Lancaster County (Photo by Andrew Dallos on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The Church World Service has played a major role in assisting refugees in resettling in the county. Deutsch Welle quoted Stephanie Gromek, an employee of CWS, as saying that the Amish in the county work hard to retain their culture while fitting into the broader society; her agency hopes the same will apply to more recent refugees. She added that Lancaster was basically founded by the Amish and Mennonites as a place where they could continue to practice their religion. “They were fleeing persecution at the time, and now these refugees from around the world are fleeing persecution as well, and that’s the correlation that allows Lancastrians to be so welcoming to strangers,” Gromek said.

The thrust of the article was that the Amish and Mennonite traditions are primarily responsible for the generally supportive attitudes toward strangers. The journalist, Sertan Sanderson, quoted a man from the D.R. Congo named Captain Emmanuel whose move was sponsored by the Grace and Truth Church, a nondenominational organization that grew out of the Amish tradition. Mr. Emmanuel spent 18 years in the DRC living in refugee camps, but now that he is in Pennsylvania he is happily making friends with many others—from Somalia, Cuba, Pakistan, wherever. “We are all brothers,” he said.

The Lancaster City Central Market (Photo by yuan2003 on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Pastor David Beiler from the Grace and Truth Church helped Mr. Emmanuel obtain his driver’s license. He also helped him find an apartment for rent—from an Amish man. The journalist explained that while the Amish tend to stay out of community affairs, their values help define the identity of the city and the surrounding countryside.

Ms. Gromek said that, although the Amish continue to try to live their rural lives out on their farms, some of them have become increasingly involved with the city of Lancaster. They have become landlords in the city since they now own numerous houses there. And while they are not politically active, they do make it known that they support the resettling of refugees from around the world into the community.

The West End Mennonite Fellowship in Lancaster advertises itself as “A Church for All People” (Photo by Allie_Caulfield on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The journalist did not ignore the contributions of the Mennonites in Lancaster. A lady at one active church credited the refugees with reinvigorating the city. Her husband agreed, saying that refugees are the “lifeblood of the community.” Their church has sponsored several Karen refugees from the northern border regions of Burma (Myanmar) in recent years. One of the refugees spoke of how welcoming the people of the church have been toward her—she never saw anyone who treated her so nicely in the refugee camps in Thailand. She doesn’t miss her homeland a bit.

Mr. Sanderson quoted several of his sources as worrying about the negative effects of President Trump’s anti-immigrant policies on the spirit of Lancaster. One said that the community has not received any new refugees since Trump took office, and the president “is not a person we are very fond of.” Another expressed hope that Americans will see that there is “no justification for what Trump is trying to do.”

Mayor Gray told Deutsche Welle that the migrant community has become fearful of the political direction of the U.S. The mayor hopes they are wrong when they tell him that they have already seen those same kinds of developments in their own homelands. They have no desire to return to such conditions. They much prefer the Amish spirit of Lancaster. Now if only the values of other peaceful societies would be adopted by the larger communities that surround them, and the international media would publicize their ideas in turn.

Coltan mining, a scourge in the Northeastern D.R.Congo that has affected the Mbuti people, has more recently been dividing and threatening the Piaroa of Venezuela. A lengthy news story published last week by a group called the Organized Crime and Corruption Reporting Project (OCCRP) discussed the recent history of coltan in Venezuela and its effects on the Piaroa and another nearby indigenous society, the Pemon.

The area of Venezuela that may be rich in coltan is referred to as the Orinoco Mining Arc, an area the size of Bulgaria or Virginia located to the south of the Orinoco River, primarily in Bolivar state. The government of Venezuela is eager for the boost that large mining operations would bring to the nation’s economy. The indigenous peoples are divided about the proposal, though many are strongly opposed to industrial developments on lands they consider to be their own.

An operating coltan mine in North Kivu, D.R. Congo — An operating coltan mine in North Kivu province, D.R. Congo (MONUSCO photo on Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

Hugo Chávez, the late president of Venezuela, knew of the existence of coltan in the western end of the mining arc, near the border with Columbia. He was quoted in 2010 as expressing enthusiasm for mining it. Used in the manufacture of smartphones and other high-tech devices, coltan was valued more highly than gold or diamonds. Five years later, his successor, Nicolás Maduro, revived the enthusiasm of his predecessor and pushed for active coltan mining comparable to the projects in the D.R. Congo.

However, the OCCRP reporters interviewed geological engineer Noel Mariño who expressed some skepticism about the potential for riches, which depend on many factors. But on August 5, 2016, the Faoz Corporation, Ltd., signed up to open a coltan mine. The law in Venezuela specifies that mining can only proceed after environmental impact assessments and studies of socio-cultural impacts have been completed. None have been done so far, despite promises by the government; nonetheless mining operations began on December 9.

Welcome to the Piaroa community of Agua Mena (Screenshot from “Coltan, la Piste Sud-Américaine,” a video on Vimeo with English subtitles, Creative Commons license)

When the reporters visited the site of the new mine in the Piaroa community of Agua Mena in April 2017, Faoz still was operating the only legal mining venture in the Mining Arc. It is located near the highway that connects Bolivar City with Puerto Ayacucho. Josué Mendoza, a representative of Piaroa leader Enrique Gordons, accompanied the reporters to the mine. He expressed enthusiasm for the project.

He said that he spoke for 30 Piaroa communities, about 3,000 people, in welcoming the mining development. He explained that the promoters have been consulting the local indigenous people and they are obeying the law. “All the tribes inhabiting the Orinoco Mining Arc accepted the government’s proposal,” Mendoza told them. He went on to describe the many benefits to the local communities that the mining will provide: a better supply of electricity, better roads, health clinics, and schools.

Piaroa kids, such as these in Agua Mena, lack adequate schools that the coltan mining will supposedly provide (Screenshot from the video “Coltan, la Piste Sud-Américaine,” on Vimeo, Creative Commons license)

But Franklin Quiñones strongly disagreed. The leader of a different Piaroa community, Fundo Nuevo, Quiñones said that though Venezuela faces an economic crisis and a lot of shortages, many of the tribal people are opposed to the mining. Sr. Quiñones earned a college degree at the Bolivarian University of Venezuela.

He expressed dismay at the support that Enrique Gordons is giving to the mining, saying that he and 16 other Piaroa leaders are campaigning to replace him. “He betrayed our people; the government bought him. Gordons doesn’t care that mining is weakening our struggle for these lands, increasing insecurity in the area, and polluting our water,” Quiñones said.

Don José, a resident of Agua Mena, discusses the problems coltan causes for the Piaroa (Screenshot from the video “Coltan, la Piste Sud-Américaine,” on Vimeo, Creative Commons license)

He emphasized that large-scale mines developed in the Orinoco Mining Arc will destroy Piaroa culture. “We’re not miners, we’re farmers,” he said. The outsiders with their big machines will destroy the things the Piaroa have cherished for generations—the forest, the rivers, and the springs. They will become polluted. “We drink that water, we bathe there,” he concluded.

The fact that the Semai cherish the foods they prepare from the forest was the topic of a Malaysian TV program and, last week, a brief newspaper article. According to the newspaper report in The Star, chef and TV host Nurilkarim Razha, in his documentary series “The Local Kitchen,” showed viewers an obscure forest fruit called the buah kulim, which has a hard shell but an amazing smell and taste. “It smells like truffles and tastes [like] an explosion of garlic and mushrooms! I can’t believe I’ve never heard of it before,” Nuril said enthusiastically about the delicacy known and used primarily by the Semai.

The Semai and Malaysian dish asam pedas (Photo by boo lee on Flickr Creative Commons license)

In the latest episode of his program, Nuril showed viewers the way he creates a forest dish called asam pedas, consisting of yams, buah kulim, and a warm salad of forest herbs. It also features another ingredient, the ginger-flavored kemomok leaf.

The Semai, he observed are aware of the wonderful flavors of these foods, though they may not all be aware of the possible medicinal values of ingredients such as the buah kulim fruits. They are being examined as possible cures for high blood pressure and diabetes. Nuril’s show apparently featured his own creativity as well as the traditional recipes he was following and adapting.

Cooking with bamboo (Photo by Tatoli Ba Kulltura in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

He cooked the dish in the Semai fashion—in bamboo—a tradition of the people. Tijah Yok Chopil, a well-known exponent of Semai culture and defender of their land rights, told the newspaper reporter that cooking by immersing the foods in pieces of bamboo, which is placed near a fire, is a technique that originated from the Orang Asli societies, not the Malays.

“Hopefully, The Local Kitchen will help raise awareness of our culture,” Yok Chopil said, “and people won’t be able to claim our ingredients and methods as their own.” She has been the subject of numerous news reports about her activism for Orang Asli land rights, her struggles for legal guarantees to protect them, and, not surprisingly, an award recognizing her outstanding contributions to Malaysian society.

An article in 2013 about the struggle by the Semai to secure their rights to foods and other products from forests that they consider to be their traditional inheritance quoted Tijah Yok Chopil as urging the national parliament to not pass a bill that would give up their lands to outsiders. Securing Semai land rights has been a major theme of the news stories in this website about that society. Furthermore, foods from the forest, whether hunted game or gathered vegetables, have been a bedrock concern of theirs, as reflected by the major ethnographic works about them.

A few examples should convey that importance, and hence the value of the foods program that Nuril aired recently. Robarchek (1977b) wrote that sharing foods was an essential aspect of Semai culture. Semai women quickly shared the manioc that they harvested when they returned to the village from their fields. Likewise, Semai men shared the fruits of their hunting, fishing, or gathering upon their return home. These patterns were all quite logical since they used to have no way to preserve foods. The single exception to that pattern was that rice was harvested and stored for long periods in the individual houses, but a woman would share some quantities of it with her neighbors as soon as she pounded the husks off.

Semai kids in the Semai village in which Tijah Yok Chopil lives (Screenshot from the video “Orang Asli Struggle for Land Rights, by Malaysiakini TV, Creative Commons license)

In a more recent article, Robarchek (1986) linked the Semai beliefs in food sharing with their peacefulness. In fact, the major moral values for the Semai, he wrote, are avoiding violence and sharing food. Food sharing often had little practical value, as one person would share a portion of a harvest or gathering expedition, only to have the recipients share in return portions of the same foods shortly thereafter. But these sharing experiences were, and perhaps still are, extremely important as symbolic, public statements of mutual dependence, nurturance, and the close social ties within the band.

The anthropologist made the same point even more emphatically three years later. Robarchek (1989) wrote that the most important moral imperatives to the Semai were food sharing and avoiding violence. Almost all gatherings opened and closed with statements about the unity of the band, the importance of their interdependence, and the fact that they always help one another.

They were also constantly aware of the dangers that surrounded them from human, natural, and supernatural forces. Thus, mutual interdependence and danger were the two major themes of the Semai world: the individual’s source of security was, and probably still is, the band. The TV show and the newspaper article about it kept the discussion to a basic level—about neat foods. But they covered a topic that resonates with Ms. Yok Chopil and presumably with the rest of the Semai as well.

The Ladakhi have taken to running. Younger people in particular are participating in the annual Ladakh Marathon, which was recently run for the sixth time. An article in USA Today last week described the enthusiasm for the race, held early each September right after the close of tourist season and before winter sets in.

Because of the extreme altitude, the race is divided into four different categories in order to satisfy runners with different abilities and tolerances for lower air pressures. The organizers of the marathon, Yangdu Gombu and her husband Chewang Motup Goba, have established an ultra-marathon of 72 kilometers, a standard marathon of 42 km, a half-marathon, and a short “Run for Fun” that is just 7 km long.

The Shanti Stupa (Peace Monument) in Leh, where the marathon starts (Photo by Atishayphotography in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

The three shorter marathons start at the Shanti Stupa in Leh and they are run along roads in the area of the small city, which is located at about 11,400 feet above sea level. The extreme event, however, the ultra-marathon, takes place on roads in the higher mountains. The course starts in the village of Khardung and continues over the Khardung La, a very high mountain pass. Thousands of people traveled to Leh for the four marathons this year, held over the weekend of September 9 – 10.

According to the news story, more than 2,000 people from outside Ladakh, from other parts of India plus several other countries, participated in one of the races. The Ladakhi were the most enthusiastic about the event. The 7 km fun run attracted 2,800 runners, of whom 2,500 were Ladakhis, primarily students from the local schools. The winners of the half marathon were also mostly local people.

Khardung village near the pass of the same name (Photo by KennyOMG in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

The extreme run requires extra efforts by the marathon administrators to ensure the safety of the runners because of the elevation. The race starts at 14,000 feet in the mountains north of Leh at Khardung and proceeds up the road through the Khardung La, one of the highest motor roads passes in the world, which is about 4,000 feet higher (sources vary on its actual height and as to whether it is the highest road in the world).

Ms. Gombu, the race organizer, told the reporter that outsiders don’t normally make Khardung a destination of their travels so the villagers were unaware of tourism. But since the extreme event has started in their community, the administrators of the marathon events have been encouraging local people to open their homes to the September visitors and to prepare meals and hospitality for them. Some runners stay for just one day to acclimatize, but others stay for a few weeks before the race.

The administrators mobilize a lot of people to provide assistance for the runners, many of whom are not use to high-altitude running. Last month, 14 aid stations along the ultra-marathon route provided water, soup, energy drinks, sandwiches, and oxygen supplies to the 104 runners who participated. Ambulances were ready to respond to emergency situations that might have developed among the participants. The organizers ran a “sweep car” at the rear of the runners to pick up people who appeared to be flagging, and sometimes they even ran along beside them to make sure everything was all right. Gombu said, “All such runners, they don’t want to stop, so we have to make them stop sometimes.” They intervene when they perceive that the oxygen level of a participant is getting low.

The logo of the Ladakh Marathon (Fair use reproduction in Wikipedia)

A further complication for the organizers is that cell phone networks do not work in the mountains, so communications have to be maintained by radios. This year, one participant collapsed due to hypothermia and had to be taken to a medical camp. A helicopter would have been brought in if necessary.

The Ladakh Marathon fosters a strong feeling of national pride, the same as other sporting events that attract international competitors. The Ladakh Scouts, a branch of the Indian Army, views the race as a wonderful opportunity for Ladakhis—and as a fertile ground for recruiting men who perform well in a race. The Scouts “have been absorbing all the winners, and they are keen on recruiting the winner of the half marathon this year,” Ms. Gombu said. Her husband, Chewang Motup, feels that encouraging the young people of Ladakh to excel is extremely important. Most runners around the world would agree with Chewang’s sentiments.

A storm has been brewing over a proposed development on the northwest coast of Raiatea, but the disgruntled Tahitians are so far expressing their opposition through petitions and protests. One of the Leeward Group in the Society Islands, Raiatea is perhaps best known for its remarkable Taputapuatea Marae, a large grouping of ancient stone structures that was recently declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

An aerial view of Raiatea, in the Society Islands (Photo by Sergio Callleja in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The development that the people are questioning is a large marina proposed for the northwest coast of the island in the settlement of Tevaitoa, in the Tuamaraa Commune. An article in Tahiti Infos published on August 28 indicated that the proposed marina, to be financed with 310 million francs of funding, would free the marina at Uturoa, the administrative center of the island on the north coast, from the pressure of having too many yachts moored in it. The proposed marina would also promote tourism.

Some of the local people are opposed. They started circulating a petition in opposition to the project on Sunday August 27. However, Cyril Tetuanui, the mayor of the Tuamaraa Commune, expressed his forthright support for the project. It would bring jobs, 30 to 40 new ones, his figures show. The opponents are not convinced and besides they argue the new jobs would be for routine maintenance work that few will want to take on.

Some yachts in the town of Uturoa, on Raiatea (Photo by United144 on Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The writers of the petition expressed their conviction that the marina, with as many as 100 yachts tied up, would pollute the Tevaitoa lagoon and harm the fishing resources for giant clams, crabs, sea urchins, and fish on which the residents depend. The proliferation of dirt and fine particles in the lagoon generated by the marina would harm the entire web of life in the water. They also expressed concern about the renewal of the lagoon by water from the ocean if the marina were to be built.

The mayor said that he is quite aware of the dangers that the proposed project could pose to the environment. But he assured the reporter that his government is taking all proper precautions to prevent any harm being done to the ocean or the lagoon. He is calling the project an “ecological marina.” The petition also mentioned the possibility of illegal trade developing from the new facility, but the suspected harm to the environment was the major issue stirring up the people.

A Tahitian fisherman with a fish he has caught (Photo by Red-Dream on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

A news report on September 22 indicated that the environmentalists of Raiatea have been stepping up their opposition. Gérard Goltz, who lives beside the water that would be affected, questioned why anyone would want to destroy everything they have in the natural environment. Cali Rota, another person who lives near the water, said that dredging the coral in the lagoon to construct a marina will have an impact on future generations and their ability to harvest fish and crabs. The mayor responded that the locals certainly can’t continue to live on marine resources alone. Besides, he is negotiating with outside investors to establish an artificial breeding facility for sea cucumbers and crabs.

Stellio Holman, another resident, pointed out that the marina would doubtless open the community to arms trafficking and other illicit activities, problems that Mayor Tetuanui does not deny. His response was that the residents will have to be vigilant to preserve their society in the face of those possible dangers.

Local kids in Raiatea (Photo by John Abel on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The more recent news story did not indicate any resolution, as yet, to the issue, familiar as it might seem to readers in communities around the world where proposed developments often appear likely to harm the natural environment. The issue will probably be resolved peacefully, if the traditions of the Society Islands still prevail. Robert Levy, who studied those traditions on Huahine, an island that is only 20 miles east of Raiatea, had a lot to say about the ways the people brought conflicts out into the open and settled them in order to avoid anger from developing and fostering violence.

It is clear from Levy (1978) why the residents of Raiatea are so opposed to the development. He indicated in that article that the physical and cultural environment of the Tahitians had a lot to do with fostering their gentleness. The adaptation of the villages to the natural environment minimized external frustrations, since food and other needs were plentiful and easily available.

Local girls on Raiatea (Photo by Kristen Kiriako on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

But the Tahitians have clearly changed since Levy did his field work. He argued that their culture served to reduce frustrations. They did not believe they had any control over nature or over the behavior of other people; in fact, they believed that trying to change the nature of reality inevitably caused a rebound that would destroy the initiator. People were optimistic but passive, a condition produced by socialization and reinforced by other practices and values in their society. Their universe was less frustrating cognitively than one where individuals are conceived of as able to change anything. Today, however, the eagerness of the people of Raiatea to circulate petitions hoping to stop a planned development represents a major change since Levy’s time.

Levy (1969) also wrote that crime in the Society Islands was comparatively rare. A policeman who had worked in other French possessions—Morocco, Algiers, French Guiana, and Indochina—commented that the Tahitian people were “lambs” in contrast with the others he had worked with. The police officer said that there had been no serious crime on the island of over 3,000 inhabitants that he was assigned to, and only occasional disturbances connected with drinking.

That absence of crime has apparently changed as well. A website that serves the needs of private yachts indicates, on its page describing Raiatea and the yachting facilities on the island, that “There is no security on [the public dock in Uturoa] and there continues to be incidents of thefts from boats here (both unlocked and locked) …. It goes without saying that you should lock the boat up at night and when going ashore.”

Young Amish people are increasingly being drawn into the use of smartphones and computers, yet they are still trying to maintain their traditional horse-drawn culture. An article credited to the New York Times but published on the CNBC website on September 15th explored the efforts of many of the traditional Amish to retain barriers with the surrounding “English” people yet take advantage of the benefits that the internet provides, especially for their businesses.

Part of the problem is that the Amish have large families so there is not much land available for the young people to buy farms and continue the farming tradition of their society. Many of the young Amish raised on farms in Lancaster county and surrounding areas of southeastern Pennsylvania, for instance, have to move away to less populated places. Others take jobs or open businesses in the towns and cities of the region. So they perceive a need to have access to the internet.

An Amish woman using her cell phone at the Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia (Photo by Vilseskogen on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Moses Smucker operates a sandwich shop and food stand at the Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia, commuting by hired vehicle six days of the week from his home in Lancaster County. He sees some of the Amish using their phones but he is always glad to return to the horse culture of his own home every evening. He finds Philadelphia to be very fast paced so he relaxes by driving his horse—it slows down his life.

But the owner of Smucker’s Quality Meats and Grill at the Market, which caters to office workers and tourists in Center City, expressed tolerance for the use of advanced technology such as cell phones. “You have to do what you have to do to stay in business,” he said. His fellow Amish “are starting to understand that.” His business even has a basic website.

The reporter spoke with Donald Kraybill, now retired from the faculty at Elizabethtown College in Lancaster County but still a recognized authority on Amish society. He said that it is not unusual for Amish people to be cynical about the reverence that the “English” place on their phones. In his opinion, the Amish “are more savvy about the impact of technology on human interactions than most of us are.”

The journalist interviewed numerous Amish people in their homes and businesses about the place of the technological devices in their lives. Many saw their value, but they also accepted the wisdom of placing limits on their uses, particularly in their homes. One man, John, said in the midst of a traditional family dinner in his house that they are not allowed to have computers or phones in their homes but they have to have these devices in order to be successful in their businesses. It is hard keeping the 19th century horse culture alive in their communities when smartphones invade. Lizzie, his wife, inveighed against the phones. “People are treating those phones like they are gods,” she said. She added that people are “bowing down” to them at the table and while they are walking. The Amish don’t worship idols like that, she emphasized.

An image from 1941 of an Amish man working in his shop (Photo by Irving Rusinow in the National Archives, on Wikimedia and in the public domain)

But the use of modern technology is not limited to the younger Amish crowd. John, the 68-year old host at the family dinner and the owner of a woodworking business, operates a computer-guided saw in his cabinet shop. He provides a striking contrast with the traditional Amish craftsman who used to work with a variety of hand-powered tools. John’s son, Junior, teased his father as they sat down to the family dinner, “we call him the computer geek sometimes.”

The Amish men and women the reporter interviewed in Lancaster County all valued their separation from the larger culture, which helps keep them together and preserve their peaceful values. They realize that the internet and the temptations it offers to unwary users might seriously affect their young people, leading them to reject their traditions.

Levi, another woodworker, argued that you’re not thinking if all you have to do is look stuff up on the internet. Others worry that using computers and the social media will lead young people to form close friendships outside their society. But they are recognizing the value of computers, smartphones, and the internet. Many of them are adjusting and using the new tools in their own ways.

An odd story appeared in a reputable Indian newspaper at the beginning of last week alleging that the Kadar have deeply rooted superstitions about the spirits of their dead. The newspaper account was based on supposedly reliable government agency information, not on a reporter’s speculation.

The essence of the story was that staff members of the Kerala Institute for Research Training and Development Studies of Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (KIRTADS) was going to employ exorcists to clear out the spirits of the deceased from the houses of dead Kadar. S. Bindu, the Director of KIRTADS, told the reporter from the New Indian Express that the Kadar “believe once a family member dies, their soul continues to stay in the house, making it a haunted one.”

Tribal family, old and young women plus children, probably Kadar, photographed in a Kadar area near Kochi, Kerala (Photo by Eileen Delhi on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Ms. Bindu added that the tribal people, when they used to live in temporary huts, would simply dismantle them and build new ones after an occupant died. But despite the fact that the government has built brick and mortar homes for the people as part of their community rehabilitation projects, the Kadar families still don’t want to continue living in a dwelling after one of them has passed away.

She said that the officers in her agency have tried talking the people out of their superstitious beliefs but with little success. “We think the tribals might have such traditions. Anyway, we have to come out with a solution to make them stay in their houses,” the official said. The community in question is the Pathipara settlement in the Kerala town of Kodencherry. Seven houses in the settlement have been abandoned for fear of the ghosts of the deceased.

Tribal girls, probably Kadar, photographed in a Kadar area near Kochi, Kerala (Photo by Eileen Delhi on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Ms. Bindu, working with the government of the district, has prepared a plan to conduct exorcism rituals in order to rid the homes of the Kadar, Paniyas, and Kattunaykars in Kerala from the spirits of the dead. Hopefully, the living will then be able to continue to dwell in them. The government will do a detailed study of the issue since a lot of funds have been invested in constructing new housing for the indigenous people.

“Unless we find a solution, the housing project for tribals will not benefit them because already a lot of houses have been abandoned by tribals who either make new huts or shift to houses of relatives,” Ms. Bindu said.

Kadar huts (Image from Edgar Thurston, *Castes and Tribes of Southern India*, 1909, vol. 3, p. 9, in the public domain)

Whatever the literature about the Paniyas and the Kattunaykars may say, the standard ethnographic works about the Kadar appear to question, or in fact to flat out contradict, the understanding of the officials in KIRTADS about the traditional beliefs of the people. Thurston (1909) provided a lot of details about their funeral customs. He wrote that the Kadar conduct simple ceremonies for their dead. They put new clothing on the body, tie it in a mat, place some old clothes of the deceased in the grave and put the corpse on top of them. They believe that the dead go to heaven, though Thurston pointed out that they were reticent with him about their burial customs. Thurston mentioned a European story that the Kadar eat their dead, a legend that, he argued, was completely false.

Thurston continued that they conduct final funeral ceremonies, depending on the financial resources of the family, as soon as eight days after the death for those with sufficient means or as long as a year afterwards for those who have to save for the event. But on the morning of the chosen day they bring cooked rice and other foods to the hut of the deceased and place it in all four corners in order “to propitiate the gods, and to serve as food for them and the spirit of the dead person (p.24).”

A traditional Kadar community, photographed sometime before 1909 (Image from L.K. Anantha Krishna Iyer, *Cochin Tribes and Castes*, vol. 1, p.24, in the public domain)

The Kadar community, particularly the friends and relatives of the dead person, then gather, cry and lament the passing of the deceased, make speeches about the qualities of the person, and after an hour of this they go into the hut of the dead. There, the oldest man prays to the gods and turns to the heaps of food in the corners of the hut—rice, vegetables, and meat. Everyone takes a pinch of food and tosses it in the air as an offering to the gods and then begins eating. So much for dismantling the hut to exorcise the spirit of the deceased.

A chapter on the Kadar by Anantha Krishna Iyer (1909) described the burial customs somewhat differently than Thurston. He did make one point that was relevant, however. He noted that the Kadar bury their dead in distant burial grounds and never visit them afterwards “for fear of ghosts which may haunt their houses and torment their children (p.13).”

A more recent, standard ethnography of the Kadar by Ehrenfels (1952) provided the most effective answers to questions about their traditional religious beliefs and practices; he addressed the question of the disposal of the house of a deceased person. In the course of discussing their inheritance of property, he wrote, p.150, that neither the houses nor the leaf shelters of the deceased will be destroyed after the owner has died. Some or most of the family will continue to live in the dwelling and the family will cooperate in repairing and maintaining it, with the most active and decisive member of the family organizing the repairs.

These discrepancies between the ethnographic accounts and the beliefs of the people today might be explained by a number of circumstances. Possibly the Kadar in the Pathipara settlement have absorbed beliefs from their neighbors that vary considerably from those of their ancestors. It is also possible that regional variations might explain the differences. Contemporary news reports usually update the beliefs and practices of the peaceful societies as described in the literature—the purpose of these news and reviews. It is curious, however, to encounter a news report about an indigenous custom that so directly contradicts the observations by earlier anthropologists.

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