The use of polyethylene bags is a growing problem in the mountains of Northern India, except for Ladakh where the people have been able to get rid of them. Why are the Ladakhi so concerned about their natural environment that they embrace the idea of banning the polluting bags when others who live in equally beautiful places such as the Kashmir Valley do not? Several news stories and editorials recently have compared the two regions of India and their attitudes toward trash.

A sign posted in Leh, Ladakh, that states “Keep Leh Clean: Make legal ban on polythenes a success”
A sign posted in Leh, Ladakh, that states “Keep Leh Clean: Make legal ban on polythenes a success” (Photo taken on September 17, 2007 by Ajay Tallam on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

A news report back in March credited the success of the anti-polyethylene bag movement in Ladakh on the Ama Tsogspa groups, the so-called Mothers’ Alliances. (British and Indian media refer to polyethylene bags as “polythene bags.”) The Ama Tsogspa groups, concerned women who get together in Ladakhi villages and towns to tackle major community issues, are responsible for the success of the anti-polyethylene movement. Use of the bags was banned throughout Ladakh back in 1998 largely because of their efforts.

An editorial in June this year from the Kashmir Valley ranted about the Kashmiri disregard for existing laws and court orders that also ban the bags. Police have seized large quantities of them: in 2015, more than 1,000 kg of polyethylene were seized but the people continued to ignore the ban. “The administration speaks a lot about the awareness and punishment but the fact is that they have not been able to ban polythene even after so many years,” the article declared. After providing many details of various Kashmiri attempts to ban the bags, the author concluded that the only way to succeed was for civil society and the government to unite in eradicating the menace. The Kashmiri people need to emulate the Ladakhi.

Trash, especially polythene bags, piled up in Srinagar, Kashmir
Trash, especially polyethylene bags, piled up in Srinagar, Kashmir (Photo by Miran Rijavec on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Another opinion piece published in Kashmir on August 9 went into even greater detail about the heaps of garbage in the cities of Jammu and Kashmir, a major component of which is “the pollution caused by littering of polythene [which] is becoming … a huge environmental disaster.” Even in small towns named in the article, tons of polyethylene are sold every day. But, the article concluded, the people of Ladakh have done better. “Having realized the hazards of polythene to the environment, they have [stopped] its use for good.” Although Ladakh is far behind the rest of the state of Jammu and Kashmir in terms of formal education, the people of Ladakh “are true leaders,” the author wrote.

In comparing the success of the Ladakhis in better preserving their natural environment, none of those accounts explained why the Ladakhi people have such a strong concern for their surroundings. The more scholarly accounts of the Ladakhi, however, do provide important clues about the reactions of the people toward their cold, mountain desert—and imply some reasons for their rejection of the plastic bags.

Prayer flags symbolize many different things to the Ladakhi
Prayer flags symbolize many different things to the Ladakhi (Photo by Prayudi Hartono on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Mann (1978) captured the relationship of the Ladakhi toward their surroundings in an article in which he explained the ways their harsh environment affects their values, religious beliefs and social structures. He described the difficult weather, the high elevation, the uneven landscape, and the limited natural resources as conditions in which humans have a hard time understanding their environment. As a result, the people have turned to spiritual beliefs for explanations and security.

Their land is marked by many religious structures and supernatural spirits that reflect their fear of, and awe for, nature. “The relationship of reverence is established with hills, fields, water sources, etc.,” he wrote (p.72). The deities that they connected with the natural features of the land were acknowledged and sometimes worshiped, and appeased so that they would continue to support human endeavors.

A family in Ladakh
A family in Ladakh (Photo by sandeepachetan.com travel photography on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Mann summarized the situation in his book The Ladakhi: A Study in Ethnography and Change (1986). Because of the harsh environment of Ladakh, helpfulness and cooperation among families are essential for survival. He went on to say that the Ladakhi are entirely peaceful, an outgrowth, in his view, of both the Buddhism they practice and the environmental conditions of their country, which discourage aggression and encourage docile behavior.

A more recent book on Ladakh by Mingle (2015) included human-caused pollution as well as relations with the gods in an analysis of the Ladakhi and their surroundings. The focus of the book was on the declining snowfall and on a corresponding drop in the water supply for Kumik, a village in the Zanskar region of Ladakh. While the situation could simply be caused by global climate change, the people of the village, the Kumikpas, decided it was more serious than that.

A public trash can is one way to collect garbage in Ladakh—and appease the gods
A public trash can is one way to collect garbage in Ladakh—and to appease the gods (Photo by Sistak on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

As the problem grew worse, they began blaming themselves—they felt that the Iha, the local gods, had become angry with them. They were not praying as much as they should, and they had gotten too focused on making money and on their own selfish desires. The Kumikpas felt that the gods were punishing them for their careless ways of polluting the earth. The only way to appease the gods would be to improve their behavior.

Although none of those works addressed the issue of polyethylene bags, the Ladakhi clearly link the health of their natural environment with their bedrock spiritual values. The rampant pollution the plastic bags produce must symbolize a disregard not only for the earth they live on but for their religious values as well. It’s no wonder that the writers in Kashmir are envious of the people of Ladakh and their commitment to the natural environment.

 

On Tuesday last week, Lepchas celebrated an important festival in numerous villages of Sikkim with dancing, singing by masked performers, and displaying models of their sacred mountain, Tendong. The Northeast Today published an article on Wednesday about the annual festival, called Tendong Lho Rum Faat, as did a number of other websites.

Sonam Tshering Lepcha preserves the culture of the Lepcha people at the Lepcha Museum in Kalimpong
Sonam Tshering Lepcha preserves the culture of the Lepcha people at the Lepcha Museum in Kalimpong (Photo by Suhas Dutta on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

In Daramdin, a historic community where a Lepcha myth says their ancestors tried to erect a stairway to heaven, the festival included a presentation by a minister from the Sikkim state government, Mr. R. B. Subba, head of the Human Resource Development Department. He reminded the gathering of the importance of the history and culture of the Lepcha and the value of the Tendong Lho Rum Faat festival in helping preserve the spirit of the people.

Mr. Subba told his audience that the project of reconstructing a Stairway to Heaven and building an adjoining museum at Daramdin, promised by the state government in 1995, revived in 2010, and revived again in 2014, would be finished soon. He discussed the steps that have been completed so far. The program for the festival in Daramdin included traditional foods plus arts and crafts stalls that were particularly attractive to the public. The program began with a traditional prayer conducted by a Bongthing, a high priest. It also included the launching of a Lepcha Language Book, according to the Northeast Today article.

The Tendong Gumpa (Monastery) on Tendong Hill
The Tendong Gumpa (Monastery) on Tendong Hill (Photo by Atulkini in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

In the Lepcha communities where it is celebrated, the festival begins with prayers to Mount Tendong, located in Namchi in South Sikkim, the place where the Lepcha people, according to a myth, were saved from drowning after 40 days and 40 nights of flooding. It obviously bears a lot of similarities to the story of Noah’s ark in Genesis and the role of Mt. Ararat where the ark came to rest. A monastery is located at the top of Mt. Tendong where the Lepcha celebrate the festival every August.

Many Lepcha believe that the prehistoric flood was caused by a dormant volcano, the eruption of which prompted the deluge. Mt. Tendong arose miraculously out of the chaos and the Lepcha were able to climb it and save themselves. The people commemorate the myth in many of their villages, especially at Tendong itself, expressing their gratitude toward the deity who saved them. The people make models of the holy mountain for the facades of their homes for the occasion. They believe that the beneficence of the deity will help keep them healthy for the coming year.

In the chapter on ceremonies and festivals of her book The Lepchas of Dzongu Region in Sikkim: A Narrative of Cultural Heritage and Folklore, Anita Sharma (2013) described briefly the celebration of what she called Tandong Lho Rum Faat. The entire Lepcha community in the area gathers annually on the appointed day to pray, led by the Bongthing, for bounties in the coming year. Essential ingredients for the celebration include flowers and what the author termed the lofit. A lofit, she explained in an end note, is a special tray made of bamboo that is open on one side, covered with banana leaves, and filled with carefully prepared foods: three rows of rice, bits of fish, a bird that was killed by a catapult, ginger, ghee, and so forth.

Tendong, which in the Lepcha language means “Upraised Horn,” is located near the community of Damthan, in South Sikkim, from which a trekking route of about 6 km leads up to the peak. The trail goes through a lush forest providing views of wildlife and spectacular flora. The top of the hill, at 8660 feet elevation, gives views of the Eastern Himalaya ranges, Darjeeling, Gangtok, and the plains of West Bengal to the south. As a website extolling the importance of Tendong, the Lho Rum Faat festival, and the beauty of the surrounding countryside gushes, “nowhere [in] Sikkim offers such an astonishing view.”

 

Almost every week a familiar story pops up while searching for news about peaceful societies: an Amish buggy was hit by a motor vehicle and several people were injured—or worse. On Wednesday last week, a motorist in Wayne County, Ohio, hit a buggy, seriously injured a child and, the unique aspect of that story, quickly fled the scene. That same day, a newspaper in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, published an article analyzing why this happens so often and how motorists and Amish people can better prevent accidents.

Amish buggy at a highway interchange in Ephrata Township, Lancaster County
Amish buggy at a highway interchange in Ephrata Township, Lancaster County (Photo by Nicholas A. Tonelli on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The writer of the article in the weekly Ephrata Review, Art Petrosemolo, wrote that nearly 8,000 Amish and Old Order Mennonite households in that county alone use horse-drawn buggies and carriages for their transportation. Stephen Nolt at the Young Center for Anabaptist and Pietist Studies at Elizabethtown College told the journalist that most of the Amish and Mennonite homes have two or more wagons or carriages which are frequently being used on the back roads and the main highways throughout the county. While the number of accidents has dropped in recent years due in part to better lighting on the Amish vehicles, there are still many accidents, about one percent of which include a fatality.

Many Amish will train their own horses but some like to have them trained professionally. Mr. Petrosemolo interviewed two sisters from New Holland, Lois and Anna Hoover, who make a business of training horses so they can correctly pull carriages on the public roads.

Amish buggy sign in southeastern Pennsylvania, near Lancaster County
Amish buggy sign in southeastern Pennsylvania, near Lancaster County (Photo by Nicholas A. Tonelli on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The Hoover sisters emphasized that developing a sense of trust between horse and driver is essential. Even holding the reins too high may convey a feeling of nervousness to the horse, and it can respond nervously as a result. They said that training a suitable horse—one with long legs and a calm temperament—may take as long as six months.

While many people assume that accidents involving motorists and Amish buggies are often caused by tourists not paying attention as they gaze at the quaintly-dressed people, or by truckers driving large trucks, they are not the major causes of accidents. While tourists are fascinated by the horses and carriages, they tend to drive very carefully to avoid hitting them. The same with professional truck drivers.

Waiting for a traffic light in Lancaster County
Waiting for a traffic light in Lancaster County (Photo by Tony Fisher on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

In fact, the bulk of accidents are caused by local people, including local delivery drivers, the Hoover sisters contended. They tend to become quite impatient. They “will take risks and chances in trying to get around a carriage, especially where visibility is restricted on a curve or hill,” the ladies said. Many accidents occur at intersections with major state highways, on which some vehicles exceed the state speed limits. Also, even when stopped, horses may have a tendency to back up a bit, which can contribute to accidents.

The Hoover sisters told the newspaper about an accident that had occurred nearby in early June when a buggy was hit by a speeding teenager. The car wound up in a ditch and the carriage flipped over. When the police arrived they found the road covered in red and thought at first it had been a tragic wreck. But it turned out to not be blood. The carriage had been carrying 50 quarts of strawberries that had gotten squashed and the residue was spread all over the road.

An investigation of a rape and murder in Andhra Pradesh became nasty for the Yanadi recently when the police rounded up and then roughed up some villagers. But unlike the tacit avoidance of conflict with authority figures that has characterized them in the past, these Yanadi protested to higher authorities.

The Yanadi fled into a forest such as the Nallamala, located in Prakasam and other districts of Andhra Pradesh
The Yanadi fled into a forest such as the Nallamala, located in the Prakasam District of Andhra Pradesh (Photo by Abdaal in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

After the police began picking up Yanadi in the Pedacherlopalle Mandal of the Prakasam District in Andhra Pradesh and not returning them to their homes, around 100 Yanadi abandoned their sheep and goats and fled into the forest. A news story in The Hindu reported that the affected villages were Adivulapalli, Guntupalli, Muddapaddu, Neredupalli and Veluturivaripalli. One Yanadi woman, Indla Varamma, told the reporter that neither her father, Malyadri, nor her uncle, Kondiah, had returned home after being captured by the police the previous week and taken in for questioning.

A Yanadi woman, K. Adamma, told the newspaper that they were being threatened by the police that they would suffer if they did not tell them where to find the primary suspect, a Yanadi. A man, K. Ramanaiah, said basically the same thing: “Just because the suspect happens to be from the Yanadi community, we are being abused and harassed by the police.” Some of the Yanadi decided to screw up their courage and protest. They went to the city of Ongole, the capital of the Prakasam District, to appeal for help.

Andhra Pradesh police speak with a man in a jail cell
Andhra Pradesh police speak with a man in a jail cell (Screen capture from the video “Police Conducts Searches Operation | For Old Criminals and Rowdy sheeters | Vijayawada” on YouTube, Creative Commons license)

A group of the abused villagers appeared before M.G. Priyadarshini, the Principal District Judge and Chair of the District Legal Services Authority (DLSA). They showed the judge their injuries and their torn clothing and said they were afraid to return to their villages without being protected from more abuse by the police. Judge Priyadarshini told them to not worry any longer—the DLSA would make sure that they would be protected.

The Yanadi were sent to a shelter for homeless people run by the Ongole Municipal Corporation where they were provided with food and accommodations and told they should stay as long as they wished. The judge referred the problem on to the new Superintendent of Police for the Prakasam District, Bhusarapu Satya Yesu Babu, who had just been promoted to the office in June. He had publicly promised that the police would not harass petitioners who go to them with problems. He responded to this latest challenge with alacrity.

Mr. Yesu Babu instructed all police in the district to not use any intimidating tactics when they are investigating crimes. They have some definite clues in the pending murder case and they expect to make an arrest soon. He added, according to The Hindu, “Action will be taken in case of any harassment during [the] probe.” The head of a district organization, Peram Satyam, echoed the statement by the police chief by saying, “innocent tribal people should not be harassed.” Another official, N. Ankamma Rao, said the district staff would get the names of Yanadi who had been harassed and try to give the adults wage employment and get their children into schools.

Three Yanadi men
Three Yanadi men (Photo from Edgar Thurston, Castes and Tribes of Southern India, 1909, vol. 7, following page 422. In the public domain)

The major interest of this story is not so much the police brutality, or even the tones and actions of the judge and the officials, as it is the reactions of the Yanadi themselves in attempting to do something constructive to correct the abuses. Men being brutalized by police simply because they happen to be Yanadis has been a factor in their lives going back 150 years or more. Reddy’s 1947 article “The Yanadis: A Criminal Tribe of the Deccan” pointed out that the problems for that society had begun because the people had been excluded from Hindu society due to the caste system. As a result, some had learned to survive through burglary and theft.

The British coped with such crimes by stigmatizing many castes and tribal societies as “Criminal Tribes.” The so-called Criminal Tribes Act of 1871 and its many modifications since required all adult males in societies that had been so-labeled to be properly registered and to report to police officials in the nearest village at 11 at night and again four hours later. Daily. An accused man could be convicted of a crime solely because he had not been at home on any night in question.

The Yanadis by V. Raghaviah (1962)
The Yanadis by V. Raghaviah (1962)

In his chapter titled “Yanadi Crime,” Raghaviah (1962) explored the lingering effects of the Criminal Tribes Act on the people. He wrote that one of the ways they reacted to police questioning was to fear and abhor the process. If questioned, a Yanadi man would stand and tremble. “The fright created in him by the mere sight of a police constable is so great that he quickly loses his composure (p.289),” which leads him to make false statement and get slapped in prison.

Raghaviah added that because of their history of persecution during the British rule, the Yanadi developed the habit of not answering questions directly through various circumlocutions. The author described how police, in his experience, would respond to Yanadi evasive techniques with “a slap accompanied invariably by a volley of filthy abuse (p.292).” They learned to never challenge authority.

The fear of uniformed police clearly persists among the Yanadi—their first reaction a couple weeks ago was to flee into the forest. But it appears from this news report as if they are developing the strength to challenge abuses and to appeal for help when necessary. It is also encouraging that a sense of fairness and justice toward the tribal society is taking hold among Andhra Pradesh officials. Hopefully, the rank and file police officers will recognize the peacefulness of the Yanadi and change their ways as well.

 

Over the past ten years, policies related to climate change in the Arctic have increasingly focused on approaches that might help the Inuit adapt to the inevitability of change. Instead, some scholars have recently argued, everyone might be better off if the traditional Inuit concepts that foster peacefulness—their firm beliefs in restoring harmony and promoting forgiveness—were acknowledged and factored into the discussions. A 2015 journal article by Emilie Cameron and two of her colleagues examined the contemporary climate change discourse in light of the beliefs of the Inuit.

A polar bear, symbol of the Arctic, relaxes at the San Diego Zoo
A polar bear, symbol of the Arctic, relaxes at the San Diego Zoo (Photo by Wayne Hsieh on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The focus of the authors’ research was on the translation of key terms into Inuktitut, one of the major Inuit languages. What are the meanings of those concepts to the Inuit? How do they conceive of climate change? What are the broader historical, cultural, intellectual, and political contexts of those terms? Cameron et al. quote liberally from a glossary produced in 2005 (Terminology on Climate Change, Iqaluit, 2005) of Inuktitut terms related to climate change. The document was prepared by the government of Nunavut and the group Nunavut Tunngavik Incorporated to make sense of the differing concepts related to climate change among speakers of European languages and Inuktitut.

Cameron and her colleagues maintain that the usual translations of climate change terms into Inuktitut frame the issues solely as biophysical phenomena rather than as human-caused concepts. That framework then prompts the Inuit to respond in ways that emphasize their ability to adapt. Instead, the authors argue, a better approach would be to use terms consistent with Inuit culture, terms that value healing, relationships, and restitution. Arguing for resilience and adaptation basically seeks to place the burden of dealing with climate change on those who are affected by it rather than on those who have caused it. The authors focus their article on Inuktitut words for three key concepts: climate change, adaptation, and resilience.

Statement on global warming by Joanasie Karpik from Pangnirtung
Statement on global warming by Joanasie Karpik from Pangnirtung (Screenshot from the video “Inuit Knowledge and Climate Change,” by Zacharias Kunuk and Ian Mauro on YouTube, Creative Commons license)

The English word “climate” is usually translated into Inuktitut as sila, but the two words are quite different in scope. While the English word refers to the conditions outdoors, the Inuit term is much broader, including more than just the weather. It includes biological meanings, intellectual concepts, environmental and psychological values, and geographical terms. Sila means air and atmosphere, but it also means the universe, the earth, the spirit, wisdom, and intellect. It’s a super-concept in a sense.

Sila by its very nature is always in a state of change. In essence, the world—the whole universe—is always changing. The European concept of the earth is one of fixity, predictability, and certainty—climate change, by its very nature, represents danger. But in Inuktitut, change is part of the essence of sila. So to translate climate change into silaup asiijiqtitauninga, literally “sila being forced to change,” suggesting human intervention and causality, strikes many Inuit as absurd on the face of it. The term normally used, silaup asijjiqpallianinga, just restates the obvious—sila is of course changing.

The Inuit hunter knows the climate is screwed up when he notices ice moving around inside a seal hole; “I thought to myself, it’s like heating ice in a kettle,” he said
The Inuit hunter knows the climate is screwed up when he notices ice moving around inside a seal hole; “I thought to myself, it’s like heating ice in a kettle,” he said (Screenshot from the video “Inuit Knowledge and Climate Change,” by Zacharias Kunuk and Ian Mauro on YouTube, Creative Commons license)

Adaptation, sungiutivallianiq, is a fundamental value for the Inuit, a concept that defines one as a human being. Accepting change and adapting to it is one of the supreme attributes of being a person. The term suggests that one has a high character, a refined spirit, and a sense of being in tune with the earth. The essence of being an Inuk is to carefully observe the changes around oneself and to adapt to them. The root verb, sungiuti- means to be familiar with and able to deal with things and people with whom one is not familiar. The global change from mitigation to adaptation implies that the Inuit must adapt to climate change rather than the producers of the atmospheric disruptions changing their ways.

The word used for resilience, annagunnarninga, suggests very grave, life-threatening circumstances that are far more significant than just the need to be strong when conditions seem to be getting serious. In normal conversations, people use this term to signify and encourage one another in their daily struggles.  The authors are concerned about the effect on the Inuit when outsiders urge them to be resilient in the face of climate change when the term has so much stronger meanings for them. Also, since they have suffered from decades of colonial abuses, calls for them to be resilient in the face of changes seem hollow.

After considering concepts of climate, adaptation, and resilience, the authors discuss the importance to the Inuit of their traditional approaches to conflict resolution, reconciliation, and healing. For instance, the Qikiqtani Truth Commission, considering the devastating effects of misguided government policies that had forced the Inuit to give up living off the land, wrote that the group was established “to promote healing for those who suffered historic wrongs, and heal relations between Inuit and governments by providing an opportunity for acknowledgement and forgiveness (p.280).” The QTC clearly understood that it was not just set up to address the suffering and harm visited on the Inuit by government agencies not too many decades ago, but it was also addressing the causes of those evils and the need to restore good relations between the two peoples.

In a similar vein, justice, conflict resolution, healing and reconciliation should play a role in the Inuit understandings of climate change. When it is translated into Inuktitut with terms that imply it is only an environmental phenomenon, the people respond using those terms as well. But when it is translated as an ethical, social, and political issue, as an affront to sila, they consider it in an entirely different way.

Margaret Aniksak, an Inuit woman, in Arviat, Nunavut, 1945
Margaret Aniksak, an Inuit woman in Arviat, Nunavut, 1945 (Photo by D. B. Marsh in Wikimedia, in the public domain)

Therefore, the authors argue, if climate change is translated as a manifestation of injustice and harm, traditional ways of healing and reconciling from conflicts and injustices would help the Inuit cope. The changes being brought about by climate change are potentially just as devastating as the injustices committed against them in the decades after World War II. Another QTC is needed to frame the Inuit responses to climate change. They are displaying a lot of resourcefulness in their responses but their resilience as a people needs to be addressed within the context of their own cultural values. “Within Inuit frameworks, healing and justice are only possible insofar as those who have caused harm acknowledge and account for their actions, and work to restore harmony,” the authors write (p.280-281).

Cameron and her co-authors conclude that the legal systems in Canada typically attempt to punish offenders; in contrast, Inuit customary law seeks to restore equilibrium, harmony and peace. Since outsiders have broken treaties, stolen lands, abused human rights, and caused wars and massacres, calls for the Inuit to be adaptable and resilient reflect a total disregard for their frameworks of justice and law. Conceiving of climate change as the Inuit would do, as an economic, political and social phenomenon, would place their responses in a larger scope than just their supposed need to be adaptable and resilient. It would validate the changes in terms that the Inuit would understand—terms that would be wise to share with humanity more broadly.

Cameron, Emilie; Mearns, Rebecca; McGrath, Janet Tamalik. 2015. “Translating Climate Change: Adaptation, Resilience, and Climate Politics in Nunavut, Canada.” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 105(2), Special Issue p. 274-283

 

Eight months after the Nubians dramatically protested for rights that are guaranteed by the Egyptian constitution, they are still waiting for the government to carry through with its promises. Last week, Public Radio International, a media organization based in the U.S., published a report providing the reasons for the Nubian discontentment and an update to earlier news coverage of the events in southern Egypt of late 2016.

Sherif Ismail, the Prime Minister of Egypt
Sherif Ismail, the Prime Minister of Egypt (Photo by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Cyprus, on Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The essence of the story is that the government is not doing anything. The reporter, Salma Islam, interviewed several of the Nubian leaders but she was not able to obtain any comments from Egyptian Prime Minister Sherif Ismail as to why the government has not carried through on the provisions of article 236 of the constitution, which provide for Nubians having the right to return to at least some of their traditional lands.

Ms. Islam covered the background of the Nubian issue: how they were exiled from Old Nubia by the closing of the Aswan Dam and the formation of Lake Nasser in the 1960s, how they’ve been living in inadequate resettlement communities, and how younger generations of Nubians, raised in Cairo, Alexandria, and other Egyptian cities, are losing contact with their culture and language. But the heart of the report is that at least some of them, although discouraged at the lack of concern for their rights by the government, are still trying to achieve something.

The Nile River, Aswan, Egypt
The Nile River, Aswan, Egypt (Photo by Sam valadi on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The reporter spoke with Haggag Oddoul, a prominent Nubian writer and, now, one of the elderly leaders of the Nubian cause. Mr. Oddoul told her that Nubians, even those born as he was in cities such as Alexandria, still identify with the land in southern Egypt along the Nile, Old Nubia. “Nubians should have the right to return,” he told her. Oddoul was part of the committee that drafted the new constitution of Egypt in 2014. He was a key figure in adding article 236 to it. He pointed out to the reporter that the government has failed to deliver on other provisions of the constitution, not just article 236.

Manal el-Tibi, who advocates for housing issues in Egypt, indicated that one concern about Nubians gaining rights to traditional lands in southern Egypt is that those who live in the cities might just sell their lands and homes in Nubia to non-Nubians. She was part of a committee established after the passage of the constitution charged with working out the details of the right of return. The committee is no longer functioning and its proposed bill has been ignored by the government.

Nubian woman in West Aswan dressed in traditional clothing
Nubian woman in West Aswan dressed in traditional clothing (Photo by Anne Jennings in the Nubian Image Archive in Flickr, Creative Commons license)

She told PRI the committee had recommended that housing and agricultural corporations be established which would have authority over the sale of such properties. Many Nubians in Cairo and Alexandria, however, strenuously challenged that proposal, she said.

Fatma Emam Sakory, another prominent Nubian leader, suggested to PRI that the government never really intended to follow through on article 236 of the constitution. Instead, she argued, it was simply a ploy to silence the Nubians for a while. A presidential decree issued in November 2014 designating large tracts of traditional Nubian lands in the south to be military zones and hence not open to settlement by anyone suggests that the government was never really committed to the right of return, despite the constitutional provision.

She went on to say that the government ignores Nubian rights the same as they do the rights of other minority peoples such as the Copts and the Bedouins. Part of a younger generation of activists, Ms. Sakory argued that the protest movement back in November and December was clearly not enough. She said that it will be necessary to broaden their protests to the international arena, and that “we need to pressure all the time.”

The African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights meeting in Gambia
The African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights meeting in Gambia (Photo by Guillaume Colin & Pauline Penot on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Maja Janmyr, a scholar at the University of Bergen in Norway and author of a recent article analyzing contemporary Nubian concerns, told the journalist that the struggles over land were the defining issue of their collective identity. She said that the young activists are increasingly feeling hopeless because of stonewalling by the government. She did say that Nubian groups were preparing complaints to international courts. Activists are preparing an appeal to the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights about the decrees by the president, Janmyr said.

 

One of the major Zapotec weavers from Teotitlán del Valle, Oaxaca, Mexico, is visiting Ventura County, California, this summer and sharing his techniques, traditions, and cultural insights through local workshops. A Ventura County news service last week published a report about the work, and the insights, of master weaver Porfirio Gutiérrez.

Weaving is a way of life in Teotitlán del Valle
Weaving is a way of life in Teotitlán del Valle (Photo by ProtoplasmaKid on Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

Gutiérrez grew up in Teotitlán, a town not too far from the city of Oaxaca that is famed for its long tradition of weaving. The 38-year old artisan tells the journalist that weaving was a way of life in the community so at the age of 12 he decided to study the skills required of a weaver with his father. Some young people today in the town, however, see other possible careers for themselves, he points out.

When he was 18, Gutiérrez moved to Ventura County to work at a variety of jobs, but he returned to his hometown ten years later and, with the support of his family, began his weaving career. But along with his commitment to weaving, he sees the broader importance of sharing his skills through his workshops this summer. He sees all of the immigrants from Oaxaca as family, even though they come from different backgrounds.

Porfirio Gutiérrez at the loom in the Porfirio Gutiérrez family workshop in Teotitlán
Porfirio Gutiérrez at the loom in the Porfirio Gutiérrez family workshop in Teotitlán (Photo by Thelmadatter on Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

Gutiérrez says that weaving for him is more than a job: it was and is a passion. “The whole idea is to share, for Oaxaca, for Mexico perhaps, our way of life, our traditions—to preserve them.” His workshops in Ventura, called Tejedor del Tiempo, which started in June and are continuing through July and August, are conducted in Zapotec and English.

He is using in the workshops a frame loom just like the ones used by his ancestors. The workshops and his residency this summer are supported by the Alliance for California Traditional Arts (ACTA) and the CAM Studio of the Carnegie Museum in Oxnard, the major city in the county about 50 miles from Los Angles. The program has been developed in collaboration with the Ventura County Arts Council and the Mixteco Indígena Community Organizing Project (MICOP). Everyone is welcome to attend the workshops, though they are especially intended for people from Oaxaca and their families who are living in California.

Wool spun and dyed with dried fruits and insects
Wool spun and dyed with dried fruits and insects (Photo by Christian Cariño on Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The famous weaver especially identifies with the art and culture of Zapotec weaving, He is particularly fond of the natural ingredients and processes used, such as the way the raw wool is washed and sorted then spun into yarn. He likes the insects and plants used for the production of the natural dyes. The natural materials used, the plants and insects, are important to the Zapotec, he explains.

He wants the people he meets to learn about the process of weaving even if they are painters or woodworkers and not weavers themselves. More than anything he wants them to “always remember their community.” The curator of education at the Carnegie Museum, Martha Jimenez, who is also a weaver, explains the residency of Gutiérrez in terms of its importance to migrants from that section of Mexico, which, she says, “is a country rich in traditions.”

The Ventura County news story concludes with contact information: “Porfirio Gutiérrez will be the artist in residence through September at the CAM Studio Gallery, 329 N. Fifth St., Oxnard. Workshops offered July 24-25 and August 8-9, 6-8 p.m. For more information, call 385-8171 or email [email protected].”

 

An anthropologist who has studied the Orang Asli for 40 years advises Malaysians to expose themselves more effectively to their lifestyles and cultures in order to better understand them. Professor Alberto Gomes argues that societies such as the Semai, Batek, and Chewong are not respected as they should be by the broader population of Malaysians—the indigenous people are widely considered to be primitive. Urban children need to learn about the Orang Asli (Original People) so such misconceptions can be corrected.

Alberto Gomes delivering a paper, November 2011
Alberto Gomes delivering a paper in November 2011 (Photo by Bruce Bonta)

Dr. Gomes, who is an emeritus professor at La Trobe University in Australia, gave a presentation recently in Petaling Jaya, a satellite city of Kuala Lumpur. He urged in his talk at the Sunway University in the city, and in a subsequent interview with a news reporter, that it was important to eradicate the stigma that many Malaysians hold about the Orang Asli. “There are a lot of Orang Asli lawyers and doctors, but the moment they say that they are Orang Asli they are considered inferior,” he said.

He maintained in his presentation that Malaysians should be inspired by the concepts and values that are cherished by the Orang Asli. As Director of the Dialogue, Empathic Engagement, and Peacebuilding group, the DEEP Network, a world-wide peace organization, Prof. Gomes singled out Orang Asli concepts of giving, empathy for others, and a sense of community as particularly important.

A Semai man in Tapah
A Semai man in Tapah (Photo by Malekhanif in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

But they do suffer a lot of discrimination. The Orang Asli living in the Tapah area near the Cameron Highlands, for instance, have told him how the medical staff at area hospitals discriminate against them.

Modern urban people could learn a lot from the Orang Asli, whom he described as having peace-loving societies with a profound respect for the environment. They accept the idea that they are an integral part of nature—destroying it means harming themselves. Furthermore, they “treat others with respect. If one were to go to their village, they will include the person as one of them. It is truly an inclusive society,” he maintained.

Two Orang Asli youths dividing donated foods into equal parts for twenty two families in Kampong Asli Rening
Two Orang Asli youths dividing donated foods into equal parts for twenty two families in Kampong Asli Rening (Photo by tian yake on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Unfortunately, they have their share of social problems today, such as drug abuse and alcoholism, particularly among their youth. Many young Orang Asli have become ashamed of their native cultures and are increasingly alienated from them, stigmatized as they are by the Malaysians. The majority laugh at them and consider them to be inferior. Orang Asli youths have become lost: many don’t want to be part of their own cultures but they are not accepted by Malaysians either.

Another problem the Orang Asli face is that their views of land ownership differ from those of the majority. They cherish their historical and spiritual connections to their lands so that if and when the Malays take their traditional lands away from them, they lose their identities, which affects their mental and social well-being.

Orang Asli in Kampung Asli Rening making sure that donated foods have been divided fairly
Orang Asli in Kampong Asli Rening making sure that donated foods have been divided fairly (Photo by tian yake on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Prof. Gomes bases his conclusions on his fieldwork with them dating back to the 1980s. If the Orang Asli purchase a fish, he said, they will buy five, one for personal consumption and the other four to share with their neighbors. “It is the sense of giving that cements their community,” he concluded.

 

On July 9, UNESCO declared an ancient religious complex of the Tahitians to be a World Heritage Site in recognition of its significance as a traditional cultural center of many Pacific societies. A New Zealand professor explained the importance of the designation for Radio New Zealand last week.

The Taputapuatea marae on Raiatea
The Taputapuatea marae on Raiatea (Photo by Sur la route on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The Taputapuatea marae, located on the southeast coast of Raiatea in the Society Islands archipelago, was a sacred spot for Polynesians who believed that their gods, particularly Oro, the god of life and death, lived there. Well before the year 1000 AD, as the cult of Oro spread, Taputapuatea became the center of a Pacific religious and seafaring network. Taputapuatea means “sacrifices from afar.”

Over a thousand years ago, navigators and priests from all over the Pacific gathered in the huge complex of stones and structures to share their knowledge of ocean navigation, to speculate about the origins of the universe, and to offer sacrifices to the god. As the Polynesians established outposts across the Pacific from Hawaii to New Zealand, they built similar marae on other islands.

Dame Anne Salmond
Dame Anne Salmond (Screenshot from the video “Knowledge Is a Blessing on your Mind” on Vimeo, Creative Commons license)

Dame Anne Salmond, Professor of Maori and Pacific Studies at the University of Auckland, explained the significance of Taputapuatea to Radio New Zealand. It was “one of the great voyaging sites in Polynesia,” she said, a place that is “very, very important in world history.”

She pointed out that European scholars used to dismiss the idea that Polynesian navigators could have deliberately taken voyages across the ocean, one-third of the way around the earth, long before Europeans had comparable navigating skills. The Europeans did not realize that Taputapuatea was the center of a voyaging network that stretched from Easter Island to Hawaii to the Cook Islands to New Zealand.

Children on Raiatea
Children on Raiatea (Photo by John Abel on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Taputapuatea today symbolically links the Pacific peoples together, the scholar said, from the Tahitians of Raiatea to other Polynesians and beyond.  It is particularly important to contemporary navigators. Polynesian sailors go to Taputapuatea to place stones they have brought from their own islands. It remains the hub of the seafaring tradition of the Pacific.

Professor Salmond argued that the revival of interest in Pacific voyaging history has been quite important, not only for Tahiti but for the rest of Polynesia. Reviving the history of Pacific voyaging and having it recognized as a critical component of human history through the UNESCO designation “is very powerful for Polynesian people,” she concluded.

 

The peaceful societies of India, like many people, struggle with the consumption of alcohol since it can promote social instability and violence along with providing a lot of pleasure. Of course patterns of alcohol usage vary among the peaceful societies of just that one country, from the Kadar men of Kerala, some of whom are reportedly becoming alcoholics, to the Paliyans of Tamil Nadu who strictly prohibit drinking—or at least they used to. A news story in The Hindu last week described the efforts of a Yanadi village in Andhra Pradesh to stem alcohol abuse by preventing a new liquor store from opening.

A wine shop in rural India
A wine shop in rural India (Photo by Ashish Gupta on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The Yanadi in the village of Marichetlapalem, near the town of Chimakurthy in the Prakasam District of the state, were alarmed when an entrepreneur attempted to open a liquor shop—often referred to as a “wine shop” in India—on a tract of private land near their community. The 50 Yanadi families in the village worried that readily available alcohol would disturb their peace and it would drain their family funds, according to P. Narasimhum, the leader of the village and the organizer of the protest movement.

The reporter spoke with numerous villagers. P. Padma said that the men of the village had a long tradition of abstaining from drinking. P. Kumari added, “we constantly live in fear of a wine shop coming up closer to our locality due to political pressure.” P. Venkayamma said that the people have very limited incomes and they are having a hard time making ends meet.

The people appealed unsuccessfully to the land owner to not sell to the wine shop. Protests to a variety of local officials went nowhere. But their appeal to the highest elected official in the district, the District Collector, Mr. V. Vinay Chand, was successful. He assured them that a liquor store would not be allowed in Marichetlapalem.

Women staging a protest against a wine shop in Andhra Pradesh
Women staging a protest against a wine shop in Andhra Pradesh (Screenshot from a news clip on YouTube titled “Women’s Protest Against on [sic] Wine Shops | Vijayawada” dated July 2, 2017, Creative Commons license)
The National Federation of Indian Women started using the success in the Yanadi village as an example for their national campaign for sobriety called “No Liquor in our Villages.” A leader of that group, K. Aruna, told The Hindu about another nearby community, Buduwada, which had prevented two wine shops from opening. She said that the NFIW hopes to replicate the experience of Marichetlapalem in other villages in order to develop “a strong movement by local people to prevent opening of liquor shops in residential areas.”

The Excise Superintendent for the district, T Srinivasa Rao, told The Hindu that in cases where protests are made against the opening of new liquor stores, he is asking the licensees to seek out alternative locations.

A young boy buying liquor at a store in Nizamabad, near Andhra Pradesh
A young boy buying liquor at a store in Nizamabad, near Andhra Pradesh (Photo by Sumanth Garakarajula on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The Yanadi appear to have used less alcohol in the past than they do today, though there are some contradictions among the sources. Raghaviah (1962) wrote that they drank far less than a lot of other tribal societies and they are “a race of teetotalers by tradition (p.92).” Rao (2002), basing his work on the Yanadi of Sriharikota Island in the 1970s, mentioned a 35 year old man who had been left by his first wife because he had spent most of his earnings on alcohol.

It is clear from a more recent book by Agrawal, Rao and Reddy (1985) that changes were taking place. The authors described a group of Yanadi who participated in the festivals of neighboring non-Yanadi people and were frequent visitors to liquor shops. Once the Yanadi were moved off Sriharikota Island, they started earning better wages but they also started drinking liquor, which they did not normally have access to before then.

Thumma chekka, one of the acacia tree species found in India
Thumma chekka, one of the acacia tree species found in India (Photo by Yercaud-elango on Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

Stanley Jaya Kumar (1995) provided a still more recent, and a more comprehensive, examination of the Yanadi consumption of alcohol, particularly their fondness for a country liquor called “Saarai.” The beverage was made from thumma chekka, the bark of a tree translated from the Telegu simply as “Acacia wood,” with a sugar substance called jiggery added. The Yanadi frequently concluded their days with some of this preparation, sometimes the women having a drink with the men. During a major festival called “Dubhanku,” in addition to music and dancing, most of the Yanadi became intoxicated.

By the time of his investigation, the author noted that the consumption of alcoholic beverages had become normal for the Yanadi—an essential ingredient of their social milieu, though they normally drank liquor along with a few friends. However, Stanley Jaya Kumar contended, government officials have supported the expansion of drinking by the people, which has increased the revenues of the liquor distributors. The author ranted against the practices of liquor sales.

Stanley Jaya Kumar book cover
Stanley Jaya Kumar book cover

“Unfortunately, one of the worst forms of exploitation of the vulnerable tribals is the prevalent practice of liquor vending,” he wrote (p.89). He quoted N. K. Bose, who described liquor sellers as “agents of exploitation” of the tribal people. Stanley Jaya Kumar argued that selling liquor to the Yanadi communities “has brought disaster to the tribal economy” and it has “heaped untold miseries” on them (p.89). The liquor shops furthermore serve as conduits for anti-social elements from the so-called advanced parts of the country into the Yanadi villages.

The author argued, however, that an absolute prohibition of alcohol would not meet the needs of the Yanadi since consuming home-brewed liquor has long been one of their traditions. It is part of their religious rituals and it helps satisfy at least some of their nutritional needs. The basic point he made is that if they are aware of the dangers of addiction to alcohol, and if they are to control their consumption, they are the ones who need to take the initiative to do so. In some of the Yanadi tribal settlements, he noted, movements to stop the sale of alcohol had already started. The news story from The Hindu last week appears to be just the latest in a growing anti-liquor movement.