Many Mbuti in the eastern D.R. Congo, particularly those living north of Goma near the Virunga National Park, survive by growing and selling marijuana. Last week the National Geographic published on their website a lengthy piece on the story, complete with many interesting photographs.

Nyiragongo volcano north of Kivu (Photo by Maik Bunschkowski in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)
Nyiragongo volcano north of Kivu (Photo by Maik Bunschkowski in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

Twice a week, Nina Strochlic wrote, a group of Mbuti from a village located an hour from Goma get up at dawn to hike three hours up into the forests of the national park. The summit of the volcano Nyiragongo loomed above them as they illegally entered the forest. A dozen people in the group gathered medicinal plants, potatoes, and honey. One member of the party was after marijuana, both the plants and their seeds, since stocks in the village were getting low. The plants are cultivated in the park and they also grow there wild.

The Mbuti take the marijuana plants back to their village where they dry them in the sun to either sell or to use as medicine. Much like reports from the same area of Virunga last year, this National Geographic investigation emphasized the way the park guards hassle, arrest, beat, and even torture the people when they gather plant products in the forest from which they were expelled over 60 years ago when the national park was created.

A mountain gorilla in the Virunga National Park (Photo by LuAnne Cadd in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)
A mountain gorilla in the Virunga National Park (Photo by LuAnne Cadd in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The Mbuti chief of the village, Mubawa, said that members of his community had been arrested and even killed by the park rangers. Compared to many other protected areas in Africa, however, Virunga is often cited as a park that successfully achieves at least some of its sustainable conservation goals. The famed mountain gorillas are prime attractions for tourists. A community development program, the Virunga Alliance, is a major employer in the region.

The Chief Warden of the park, Emmanuel de Merode, said to the Geographic his administration believes that, for the Mbuti, “the community’s sense of alienation [is] a major problem in terms of environmental and social justice.” He told the reporter that sometimes park rangers have even accompanied the indigenous people on their foraging trips into the park. Mr. de Merode said that, on the whole, park rangers arrest about 20 people per week. He could not recall any arrests, much less killings, of Mbuti.

Marijuana (Photo by User Jennifer Martin on Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)
Marijuana (Photo by User Jennifer Martin on Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

For their part, the Mbuti told the Geographic that they have been harvesting marijuana in the forests of the mountain range for a very long time. Since they were forced to move out of their forest homelands in 1952, however, they have had to sneak into the park illegally to gather the marijuana plants.

The people in Mubawa’s village work as day laborers in the surrounding fields, or they sell bundles of firewood gathered illegally in the park. Many have resorted to growing marijuana right in the village. Mubawa showed the writer a handful of marijuana plants in a garden plot, worth the equivalent of 50 cents. The plants could earn a family the equivalent of U.S.$8 to $100 per week.

Mbuti man smoking a traditional pipe, probably with marijuana (Photo by Marc Louwes on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
Mbuti man smoking a traditional pipe, probably with marijuana (Photo by Marc Louwes on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The Mbuti will save and use for medicinal purposes the marijuana that they don’t sell. A traditional healer will grind the seeds and mix them with water to cure stomach aches. They will knead the seeds into a starch that they believe improves the appetite. They will make a tea from the leaves to help treat fevers, flues, coughs, parasites, and fainting. Mubawa told the National Geographic, “Like in America you take coffee—it makes you strong.”

But there is a significant cost to their growing, selling, and using the illegal plants. Soldiers from the Congolese army frequently patrol the village. During the author’s two-hour visit, three or four of them kept patrolling the community. But it wasn’t clear whether they were there to buy marijuana or to enforce the law. The villagers told her that if the soldiers have just been paid, they’ll be there to buy; if not, they will confiscate the plants and demand “fines.” Mubawa told her, “If you have money, you pay, if not, they beat you until they get tired. He has a gun; I have an arrow.”

The city of Goma, with the Nyiragongo Volcano looming on the northern horizon (Photo by MONUSCO / Abel Kavanagh in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)
The city of Goma, with the Nyiragongo Volcano looming on the northern horizon (Photo by MONUSCO / Abel Kavanagh in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The author visited places in the city of Goma where the marijuana is sold and used. One sub-lieutenant in the army said that using and selling marijuana in Goma is certainly a better way to supplement his salary than looting or stealing. He does it so his family can survive. Besides, the sale of the drugs allows him to send his six kids to schools, where the fees for uniforms and books would otherwise make their attendance impossible. He has been arrested for selling the drugs, but he simply pays a $50 bribe to avoid spending any time in jail and gets back to his normal life. “My children have grown up because of marijuana,” he said.

The Mbuti appear to have a similar attitude of the need to be practical with existing realities. The international aid organizations that are active in the region are involved with all the problems of North Kivu province except those of the indigenous people, they feel. At a shantytown for the Mbuti outside the city, at a place called Bulengo, one Mbuti father sat outside and told the reporter that he does not have a job. He said he is only able to feed his 10 children because he is growing marijuana right next to his hut; because of it, he is able to provide at least some food for his family.

However, people who agree to stop growing marijuana—only six out of the 65 families in the camp do agree—are the only ones who are registered as internally displaced people and are therefore permitted to receive assistance. The other families, who refuse to agree, are only allowed access to water and to the health clinic. They get no food supplements. However, the leader of the shantytown reasons, “this clinic won’t stay here forever [but] we will always have marijuana.”

 

In most U.S. states, hunters are required to wear florescent orange hats and clothing, usually referred to as “blaze orange,” as protection against being accidentally shot by other hunters. The regulations vary from state to state but the requirements are generally based on the hunting season and whether hunters are carrying rifles or other types of equipment.

A deer hunter wearing blaze orange in Illinois (Photo by Kevin Chang on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
A deer hunter wearing blaze orange in Illinois (Photo by Kevin Chang on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

According to a report in the Bangor Daily News last week, some Amish people in Maine are petitioning the state to give them religious exemptions to the blaze orange requirement when they hunt. The reason: their religious beliefs prohibit them from calling attention to themselves with flashy clothing. They are seeking permission to wear less flashy red garments instead while they hunt.

The issue became public when Representative David McCrea from Fort Fairfield, a town in Aroostook County, the northern part of Maine, presented a bill to the legislature in Augusta, the state capital, which would grant the Amish their exemption. He and three young Amish men presented testimony at a hearing on the proposal.  His bill, LD 426, is important not only to the Amish living in his district but also to those in other towns around the state.

Representative McCrea explained at the hearing that the Amish simply don’t like to do anything that calls attention to themselves. They avoid being photographed. While they are not enthusiastic about wearing red while they hunt, that would be far preferable than wearing the blaze orange. The journalist reporting the story did find evidence that some Amish communities do not object to wearing the florescent orange, however, including one in Whitefield, Maine, a town that is near Augusta.

Amish deer hunters in Wisconsin (Photo by chumlee10 on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
Amish deer hunters in Wisconsin (Photo by chumlee10 on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Mr. McCrea passed out a copy of a U.S. law, the Religious Freedom Restoration Act, and he argued that requiring hunters to wear the blaze orange when it violates their religious beliefs is contrary to the spirit of that federal legislation. Tim Peabody, the Deputy Commissioner from the state’s wildlife agency, the Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife, also testified in favor of the bill. “The department supports LD 426 as it provides visibility for a hunter and a choice for persons who have a religious opposition to wearing orange.”  The three young Amish men testified that they would not be able to pay fines for any failures to wear blaze orange, even if presented with a summons. It would violate their beliefs.

Not everyone at the hearing was supportive, however. One man, a professional guide, said that hunting as a sport is safer than downhill skiing, in large part due to the requirement to wear blaze orange. He did not agree that wearing red would be safe enough. Another guide testified that while he was neither for nor against the current bill, he would not take a client hunting who was only wearing red. A member of the committee asked the Amish present if they would be wearing the proposed red clothing only while hunting on their own land. They replied that they also hunt on the properties of other people.

The Amish WaySince hunting could be seen as a violent activity, one might wonder why the Amish do, in fact, hunt. Kraybill, Nolt and Weaver-Zercher (2010) answered that question by writing that, while the Amish are strongly opposed to any violence against people, they have few problems with taking the lives of animals. Deer hunting in particular is widespread among Amish communities across North America. The Amish see it as both a recreational activity and as work: they are hunting for meat and, at least at times, protecting their gardens from being harmed by the deer when they browse.

 

Eufrosina Cruz Mendoza has had a fruitful career over the past 10 years as a successful politician, despite the initial resistance of the men in her hometown. The opposition to her election as mayor of the community made news headlines internationally nearly a decade ago since the town “fathers” had canceled the election results—it was contrary to Zapotec traditions and customs for women to vote, much less hold public office.

Eufrosina Cruz Mendoza in a television program
Eufrosina Cruz Mendoza in a television program (Screen capture from the video “16 de Mayo Dedo en la Llaga 1 Eufrosina Cruz Mendoza MVM Televisión” on YouTube, Creative Commons license)

An English language news service, Mexico News Daily, just published a story updating the life of the famous lady and her cause—which is to make it easier for Mexico’s indigenous women to hold political offices and to gain visibility.

Ms. Cruz was from Santa Maria Quiegolani, a small town of 1,537 people located in the Southern Sierra region of the state of Oaxaca. Even as a young girl, she dreamed of getting more education and of learning to speak Spanish correctly, but her father was opposed. The proper role of women was to bear children for the men and to make tortillas, he said.

Entrance to the port of Salina Cruz, Mexico
Entrance to the port of Salina Cruz, Mexico (Photo by Kayabek in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

At the age of 12, she rebelled and made arrangements with relatives living in the city of Salina Cruz, an industrialized port on the south coast of the state, to move in with them. There she sold things like fruit and bubble gum to make money and to help pay for an education. In 2007, she returned to the small town of her birth, ran for the office of mayor, and won. But the men in charge of the town famously tore up the ballots and rejected the results. As a woman, she did not have the right to run for office.

The next year, however, she managed to get an amendment to the constitution of the state passed by the Congress of Oaxaca. It acknowledged that indigenous women must have the right to vote, to run for office, and to hold elected positions. In 2010, she ran for and was elected as a Deputy to the state Congress. Then she became the president of the Congress, the first indigenous woman to hold that position, and subsequently she became a Deputy to the federal Congress.

Eufrosina Cruz being interviewed (Screen capture from the video "Mayte Pascual habla con Eufrosina Cruz. Lucha de las mujeres indígenas en México” on Vimeo, Creative Commons license)
Eufrosina Cruz being interviewed (Screen capture from the video “Mayte Pascual habla con Eufrosina Cruz. Lucha de las mujeres indígenas en México” on Vimeo, Creative Commons license)

Ms. Cruz recently expressed herself candidly to the press: “I first had to wrest my freedom, [and to do so] I had to split my heart in two and leave my town; today, I am free to make my own decisions, and that’s just the beginning.” She continued, “Now I must contribute my part to help women and girls in indigenous communities wrest their own rights.” She said that she sees herself as an example for other girls to help them get over their fears and succeed. However, even after 10 years as a prominent politician, after being named by Forbes México as being among the 100 most powerful women in the nation, she still senses discrimination against herself.

Another news story published in Mexico News Daily on March 10 indicated that a group of women in Oaxaca, inspired by the successes of Ms. Cruz, founded Mexico’s first all women political party. The goals of the Revolutionary Women’s Party (PMR) are to advance the rights of women to run for political offices and to hold such positions, said Guadalupe Díaz Pantoja, the president of the group. Ms. Díaz said that women do not want to be viewed as objects ready to be manipulated. They want to vote, and to serve, without discrimination.

A Zapotec woman from the Oaxaca Valley
A Zapotec woman from the Oaxaca Valley (Photo by Elí García-Padilla on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The best way to get a good overview of the position of women in Zapotec society is to examine some articles by Douglas Fry that discussed the issue. For instance, Fry (1992b), which is available as a PDF in this website, pointed out that Zapotec women rarely commit homicides as their men do. When women do get into a fight, which is less often than men, their aggression is less intense, consisting mostly of slapping, screaming, shoving and wrestling in contrast to the punching and kicking of the men.

While the women sometimes fight as a result of jealousy over a man, they also fight due to self-defense, envy, revenge or property. Occasionally, a wife who is beaten by her husband may complain to the authorities in the community. Zapotec men and women both agree that quarrels and arguments among men are more likely to lead to violence than disputes among women.

A mural of Zapotec women and their indigenous clothing, in the Scaru Bar-Restaurant in Tehuantepec, Isthmus Region, Oaxaca (Photo by Adam Jones on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
A mural of Zapotec women and their indigenous clothing, in the Scaru Bar-Restaurant in Tehuantepec, Isthmus Region, Oaxaca (Photo by Adam Jones on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

In another work that is also available as a PDF in this website, Fry (1994) wrote about the positions of Zapotec women in two different neighboring communities, one of which he called La Paz, the other San Andrés. He made it clear that in the former town, women had significantly better positions than they did in the latter. And, not surprisingly, La Paz was more peaceful than San Andrés.

Specifically, there were few instances of physical violence in La Paz versus many in San Andrés; during drinking events, fighting was uncommon in the one versus common in the other. In La Paz, people separate themselves when conflicts arise rather than begin fighting, whereas in San Andrés there were regular fist fights. And more to the point, Fry observed no instances of wife-beating in La Paz versus several in San Andrés.

In the more peaceful community, women were considered to be nearly equal and treated with respect by the men, whereas in the more violent town the men exhibited a lot of jealousy about the women. In fact, in La Paz unmarried men and women conversed at parties, while in San Andrés, Fry noted high levels of jealousy between men over perceived attentions of others toward their wives. While of course no towns are exactly alike, it does sound as if Ms. Cruz came from a town that could be better compared with San Andrés than with La Paz.

 

The Ama Tsogspa, the Ladakhi term for groups of local women, have been tackling such community problems as the ever-increasing trash in some towns and helping to solve them. A news story in the Indian publication Business Standard last week translated “Ama Tsogspa” as “Mothers’ Alliances.”

A poor Ladakhi girl begging in a trash-lined street (Photo by Steve Evans on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
A poor Ladakhi girl begging in a trash-lined street (Photo by Steve Evans on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The report on the Ama Tsogspa opened with the observation that Leh is getting covered with more and more trash and garbage. The problem is caused by the increasing number of tourists and the change to pre-packaged foods, with all the litter that results. A use it and throw it away mentality has developed, particularly in Leh, and the large town has been unable to cope effectively. The municipal garbage dump is not working very well, the journalist wrote.

However, the visitor to Ladakh will notice an immediate difference not very far away in the much smaller community of Phyang, where there is no evidence of trash anywhere. Ladakh’s famous mountains, meadows, and streams are pristine—they are completely free of trash. A local contractor, Tsering Phuntsog, said with some pride, “Although packaged foods have increased dramatically over the last 8-10 years, our village looks even cleaner than before!” He and others in Phyang credited the Ama Tsogspa for the cleanliness.

The Phyang Valley is free of trash (Photo by hceebee on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
The Phyang Valley is free of trash (Photo by hceebee on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Tsering Dolam, a 47-year old housewife in Phyang, explained that the women collect the trash twice a year and burn it, but she admitted that she was unaware of the need to separate trash that could be burned from that which should not be. She did not realize that burning some plastics releases harmful gasses that pollute the air with carcinogenic and neurotoxic fumes.

The women’s groups started forming in the early 1990s in Leh and their numbers have been growing ever since. The Kargil district of Ladakh has several Ama Tsogspa groups while the Leh District has 22 villages with them. About 5,000 Ladakhi women are members of them now.

A Ladakhi woman from Phyang (Photo by hceebee on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
A Ladakhi woman from Phyang (Photo by hceebee on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The missions of the Ama Tsogspa groups include promoting women’s empowerment, improving the management of farms, helping tourism to be more responsible, and anything else that catches their attention. In the late 1990s, for example, they focused on the use and abuse of polyethylene bags; as a result, their use was banned in Ladakh in 1998. Ladakhi women in the Mothers’ Alliances foster skills such as spinning, dyeing, weaving, and knitting; they also promote the use of traditional medicines. Their members engage in farming, dairy, and food-production work. They take stands against such traditional social ills as alcoholism.

But they increasingly realize that they need additional training to bolster their effectiveness in handling village issues. Tashi Dolker, a 43-year old woman and an active member of her local Ama Tsogspa, said that the women need more awareness in order to be more effective. She advocated better information from government agencies. She suggested that the members needed to have a broader understanding of issues throughout the Himalayan region, perhaps through exposure trips.

The Phyang Festival in Ladakh (Photo by hceebee on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
The Phyang Festival in Ladakh (Photo by hceebee on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The news report quoted Sonam Ladol, the President of the group in Phyang, who expressed an optimistic outlook. Their members, she said, “have a lot of energy and interest but we need facilities to draw the best out of them. For this, we need support.” Then she concluded, “Actually our real potential is yet to be realized.”

A news story published in this website in 2012 about the Ama Tsogspa movement, based on a different visitor’s experiences in Ladakh, presented a similarly upbeat report about the increasing importance of the work that Ladakhi women are doing to protect and improve life in their communities.

 

A young Lepcha has turned his fascination for the natural world into a career as a nature writer and photographer. He feels that documenting the environment will be the best way for him to express his love for nature and to pass along his appreciation to future generations. The commitment of Sonam Wangchuk Lepcha, who is now 27, to nature and to the folklore of the Lepcha people were described last week by an article in the Indian magazine TNT – The Northeast Today.

The Myths of Mutanchi, by Sonam Wangchuk Lepcha
The Myths of Mutanchi, by Sonam Wangchuk Lepcha

Born and raised in the village of Noom-Panang in the Upper Dzongu reserve of Sikkim, he “finds himself mostly lost in the ecstatic beauty of nature,” in the words of the journalist. He has published two books expressing his love of nature and since he also cherishes the culture of his society, he has written a book about that as well.

His first book, Dzongu Nye Mayallyang Sikkim, published in 2011, was a volume of photos focusing on the natural beauty of the Dzongu. It also included short stories about his native village. His second book from 2015, The Myths of Mutanchi: Tales from Dzongu, retold folk stories from different areas of their reserve.

Sonam Wangchuk Lepcha’s third book (2016)
Sonam Wangchuk Lepcha’s third book (2016)

His most recent work, The Book on Dzongu Butterflies North Sikkim, provides information about the different species of butterflies that live in that area. To judge by the information provided by the magazine article, Mr. Lepcha has become especially fond of butterflies. He told TNT that the Dzongu “is truly blessed with beautiful species of butterflies known as Thamblyok in Lepcha.” He added that “Sikkim is indeed a paradise for butterfly enthusiasts.”

Sonam began taking a really serious interest in butterflies only in 2016 when he enjoyed a trip to Namprickdang, a flat area in the Dzongu at the junction of the Teesta River and a major tributary, the Rangyoung Kyoung. It is near the bridge over the Teesta that provides road access to much of the reserve. He was enchanted by the butterflies he saw at Namprickdang but saddened by the fact that he was unable to identify them. So he decided to photograph and document them himself.

A woodcut of a Lepcha girl and a lama, potential nature lovers, as depicted by Joseph Hooker, Himalayan Journals (1854 p.129, in the public domain)
A woodcut of a Lepcha girl and a lama, potential nature lovers, as depicted by Joseph Hooker, Himalayan Journals (1854 p.129, in the public domain)

Later, he visited another butterfly spot near the Dzongu called Blyokvoo; the name, in Lepcha, means the place for butterflies. This further whetted his growing interest in the cultural meanings of butterflies for his society. He told TNT that one important way to protect butterflies was to outlaw catching them, which did happen in the past, and to protect their habitats. With their habitats secured, awareness of them should be developed through guided tours for potential nature lovers. But it is particularly important to protect the special butterfly habitats, he argued.

The literature supports what Sonam told TNT. A recent journal article describing a study of butterfly diversity in Sikkim by Acharya and Vijayan (2015) pointed out that the Eastern Himalayan range, and Sikkim in particular, is considered to be a globally significant biodiversity hotspot. The famous English botanist and explorer Joseph Dalton Hooker, who traveled through Sikkim in the late 1840s, made observations in his published book Himalayan Journals, or, Notes of a Naturalist (1854) similar to those made by Sonam.

A species of swallowtail butterfly, Papilio polymnestor, found in Sikkim, according to C. T. Bingham, The Fauna of British India, including Ceylon and Burma, Butterflies, Vol. 2, Plate XII (London 1907); in the public domain
A species of swallowtail butterfly, Papilio polymnestor, found in Sikkim, according to C. T. Bingham, The Fauna of British India, including Ceylon and Burma, Butterflies, Vol. 2, Plate XII (London 1907); in the public domain

Hooker rhapsodized (p.152) about the butterflies in the Dzongu: “But by far the most striking feature consisted in the amazing quantity of superb butterflies, large tropical swallow-tails, black, with scarlet or yellow eyes on their wings. They were seen everywhere, sailing majestically through the still hot air, or fluttering from one scorching rock to another, and especially loving to settle on the damp sand of the river-edge; where they sat by thousands, with erect wings, balancing themselves with a rocking motion, as their heavy sails inclined them to one side or the other; resembling a crowded fleet of yachts on a calm day. Such an entomological display cannot be surpassed.”

Much more recently, Sharma (2013) provided a brief, though effective, overview of the relationship of the Lepcha to their natural environment, including their knowledge of birds and butterflies. She wrote that their appreciation for their environment has played an important role in their ability to survive in the mountains. For the Lepchas “possess a deep knowledge of the flora and fauna found in the forests and have a local name for almost every plant found in the area,” she wrote (p.146).

But Sharma did describe how, since the Lepchas no longer depend on the forests the way they used to, they are gradually losing their knowledge of nature, a loss that she described as “perhaps irreversible (p.148).” Sonam Wangchuk Lepcha, young as he is, apparently disagrees and is trying to reverse that trend.

 

According to a recent article in the Hindustan Times, some Birhor communities in India’s Jharkhand state do not have proper burial grounds. The reporter wrote that they cannot afford to buy land for their graveyards, so they are seeking assistance from the district government.

The forests of Jharkhand (Photo by Kaurun in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)
The forests of Jharkhand (Photo by Kaurun in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The Birhor interviewed by Manoj Choudhary, the Hindustan Times reporter, live in forest communities such as Tatiba, Kundrugutu, and Kayra in the West Singhbhum District of Jharkhand. They represent a tiny fraction of the tribal population of the state—0.06 percent of the 8.6 million tribals. Because the Birhor live in acute poverty and persist in their “archaic modes of living,” as the journalist wrote, they suffer from diseases and tend to die prematurely.

When they do, they are forced to bury the dead within their colonies next to their homes, and not in proper burial grounds outside the settlements. “The government has not allocated us land for [a] graveyard. So, we bury all the bodies in our colonies, near to our homes wherever we find [a] little vacant land available,” Vishnu Birhor from Tatiba village told the reporter.

Choudhary interviewed another member of the colony, Tulsi Birhor, who told him that during the time of her grandparents, when they were still roaming from one forest location to another, the people would throw the bodies of relatives who had died from the hills so the wild animals could consume them. In fact, when elderly people became too ill to move, the group would wait until they did die so they could then dispose of the body by throwing it from a hill.

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

In recent decades, government schemes have sought to settle the Birhor in permanent colonies. In addition to homes, the colonies have included vacant plots of land for raising goats and poultry and for planting kitchen gardens. Jyoti Meral, a member of the District Council of West Singhbhun, told Choudhary that the Birhor are using those plots as cemeteries for the burials of their dead.

So the Birhor of Tatiba have begun to demand a proper graveyard from the district government. In response, the government has asked the people of the village to identify the best spot for one. It has assured the community that it will provide the funds for its purchase.

Roy (1918) provided additional details about the funeral customs of the Birhor, at least as they existed 100 years ago. He wrote that the primary purpose of the funeral ceremony was to prevent any harm from coming to the tanda, the temporary settlement, from the spirit of the deceased; it was also performed to prevent stray spirits from harming the spirit of the recently deceased person. “Even the offering of food laid out for the spirit of the deceased appears to be prompted as much by a feeling of affection for him as from a fear of his spirit,” Roy wrote (p.313).

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

The Birhor that Roy studied either buried or cremated their dead—they didn’t throw them from hills. To prepare the body, it was washed before being anointed with oil and turmeric. A Birhor would place a vermilion mark on the forehead if the deceased had been married. The body would then be placed on a stretcher and carried head first by the men toward either the cremation ground or the burial ground. However, when women and children died within 21 days of childbirth, their spirits were considered to be dangerous for men, so only women could be the pall bearers.

In those cases, a mati, a spirit doctor, went into a state of possession and told the spirit of a hill or forest that he was making over the spirit of the deceased to him. “Guard her well and let her remain here,” he would say (p. 314). Hopefully, the spirit of the hill or forest would respond, out of the mouth of the mati of course, saying “I do take charge.” If the spirit addressed by the spirit doctor did not reply, however, the mati would address another spirit and then perhaps a third until one of them would agree to take charge of the dangerous corpse.

At the burial ground, located beyond the edge of the settlement, the corpse would be placed on the ground and then carried to the opened grave. It would be carried three times around the grave then laid in it flat, head pointing south. If the body was to be cremated, the son or grandson of the deceased would start the funeral pyre. Roy described the entire funeral ceremony in considerable detail without mentioning any casting of bodies from hilltops. That practice may have been unique among the Birhor in West Singhbhum District, though that is not clear.

 

A student club in Ottawa allows Inuit teenagers to get together and share foods from the North as they try to keep their culture alive in the city. The activities of the Inuit Culture Club at the Rideau High School reaffirm the Inuit heritage of the young people as they hang out together one afternoon each week, some conversing in Inuktitut, their native language. An article in the CBC on February 24 described the activities of the students as they cherish their traditional culture.

Rideau High School in Ottawa (Photo by SimonP in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)
Rideau High School in Ottawa (Photo by SimonP in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

In the second floor classroom at Rideau, which is located almost three miles east of Parliament Hill in the Vanier section of Ottawa, the CBC interviewed Ooloosie Taukie, the Inuktitut language teacher at the school. She told the students that they should have an ulu, an Inuit knife, in order to properly cut and eat the Arctic char and the caribou meat that the grandmother of one of the students had donated for their afternoon feast. The room was decorated with indigenous artifacts and works of art.

The program for the Inuit youths is funded by the Canadian federal government department of Canadian Heritage and run by the Ottawa Inuit Children’s Centre (OICC). Emily Qitsualik, a student from Gjoa Haven, a community in Nunavut, told the reporter, “I like to talk to other Inuks and learn more about my culture and try to learn my language again. When I was growing up, I learned it, but I lost touch [with] it. It’s a part of our culture that we try to keep alive.”

Inuit young people displaying their support for their traditional culture by dancing at a demonstration on Parliament Hill in Ottawa
Inuit young people displaying their support for their traditional culture by dancing at a demonstration on Parliament Hill in Ottawa (Screenshot from the video “Inuit Youth Council of Canada –World Suicide Prevention Day 2012-” on Vimeo, Creative Commons license)

Junior Ittusardjuat, another student, said that he misses traditional Inuit activities such as hunting caribou, walrus and seal. He finds living in Ottawa difficult—it’s too loud in the big city. Their school, Rideau, is the size of an entire community in Nunavut, so it can be intimidating. The Culture Club allows the kids to hang out, to feel comfortable in their traditions, and to just be themselves.

Ms. Taukie, the Inuktitut teacher, told the CBC, “When they’re in the lodge with us on cultural club day, they can be who they are—telling jokes, telling a story, talking in their own language.” She said she hopes the Inuit kids can stay in the city and be successful with their lives, as she has been. They should be able to put down roots but at the same time retain their culture and their core identities as Inuit young people.

An Inuit woman and a baby putting down roots in Ottawa
An Inuit woman and a baby putting down roots in Ottawa (Screenshot from the video “Inuit Youth Council of Canada –World Suicide Prevention Day 2012-” on Vimeo, Creative Commons license)

But the article captured the worries bothering people involved with the Inuit Culture Club at Rideau. Funding for the Inuktitut teacher position runs out on March 29. Furthermore, the Rideau High School itself is likely to be closed at the end of the school year in 2017. Another Ottawa school, the Gloucester High School, has indicated it will accept any of the students from Rideau if it is closed, though the adults wonder if the Inuit kids will be willing to switch.

Kayla Power from the OICC is afraid that the Inuit students may drop out of school if they lose their space and the cohesion they’ve achieved at Rideau. The kids like the fact that Rideau is located in their own neighborhood, the Vanier area. “They feel very connected. They feel very comfortable. They have this small piece of this big school,” she said.

A scholarly article by Patrick and Tomiak (2008), “Language, Culture and Community among Urban Inuit in Ottawa,” provides a lot of additional information about the Inuit in that city. The authors made it clear that although some Inuit in Ottawa have good jobs and have been able to move to upscale suburban areas, the majority live in working class Vanier, where the Rideau High School is located and where the authors interviewed Inuit people in order to learn about their community.

Some Inuit expressed to the authors, both of whom are from Carleton University, that they hoped to get out of Vanier, but for many that section of Ottawa was their community—livable and dynamic. One woman said, “you know, Vanier’s not that bad (p.60)….” Another participant in the study indicated a desire to move in closer to Vanier, where various family members lived already.

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

Patrick and Tomiak described various ways that Inuit adults as well as children learn and preserve their culture. They pointed out that some adults learn Inuit songs as well as words so they can better participate with their children in Inuit cultural learning experiences. While practicing such words and songs may represent only first steps in learning the language, it has important symbolic meaning. Such singing conveys a sense of connectedness that is far more important than just learning the language alone.

The authors reported some interesting facts about the Inuit community in Ottawa. One was that many people could rarely make return visits to their home communities in the North because of the high cost of travel. Another was that they have reasonably strong feelings of unity as a group, based primarily on the sense that they all share more or less similar experiences—of moving from small traditional communities in the North to the big city where they have to cope with many difficult challenges.

Some of the Inuit who participated in the study indicated that they had experienced discrimination in Ottawa but they felt that in order to survive in the urban environment they had, of necessity, to become stronger as individuals. They had to speak up when they heard racist statements. Some of the adults said that their children had had racist taunts expressed to them in school—“go back to China,” for instance (p.62).

Another problem that Inuit had experienced in Ottawa was the psychological traumas they get from feelings of isolation in the city. They have lost their sense of groundedness. But the OICC helps answer that issue. The organization, cited by the recent CBC article as helping establish the program in the Rideau High School, provides a sense of welcome, of community, of safety. It was in 2007, and evidently still is, a place for people to gather and enjoy the feeling of being part of a small community.

If the Rideau High School is closed, it is likely, to judge by Patrick and Tomiak, that the OICC will try to find another way to give a sense of belonging to the Inuit school kids.

 

The government of Kerala has made it clear that they do not plan to give up on the Athirappilly project, despite opposition from experts, conservationists and the local Kadar people. A news report last week in The Hindu, one of India’s leading newspapers, described the latest government maneuvers that they hope will result in damming the Chalakudy River to produce 163 megawatts of power.

The Athirappilly waterfall (Photo by Isabel Schulz on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
The Athirappilly waterfall (Photo by Isabel Schulz on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

According to the report, the state Electricity Minister M. M. Mani told the state Legislative Assembly that the government was proceeding to acquire the land necessary for the project. In reply to a question, the minister said that the government was considering 15 different hydroelectric generating projects, one of which is the Athirappilly. It is located immediately above the famed Athirappilly Waterfall, and the diversion of water from the river will have a severe impact on the falls, which attract around one million tourists per year.

The newspaper reported that the Communist Party of India (CPI), now in opposition to the government, is opposed to the project along with the leader of the opposition, Mr. Ramesh Chennithala from the United Democratic Front. Mr. Chennithala wrote to the Chief Minister of the state to discuss his opposition to the project and the enormous harm it would cause.

A Kadar child at the Anappantham Colony in the Vellikulangara Forest Range, the Thrissur District of Kerala (Photo by Dpradeepkumar in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)
A Kadar child at the Anappantham Colony in the Vellikulangara Forest Range, the Thrissur District of Kerala (Photo by Dpradeepkumar in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

Although Electricity Minister Mani announced that the government is going to investigate solar, wind, and thermal generation projects to satisfy the increasing demands for electricity in the state, the opponents were not sympathetic. In addition to opposition from the local Kadar communities, The Hindu said that a couple reports had expressed reservations about the development. The project would submerge more than 140 hectares of forest, pretty much destroy the magnificent waterfalls, and cost more than 15 billion Indian rupees (US$225,000,000), a five-fold increase above the projected cost a decade ago.

Many of the news stories in this website over the past 11 years about the Kadar have focused on the on-again, off-again Athirappilly Dam proposal. Indian environmentalists and human rights activists have repeatedly expressed their opposition to harming the vulnerable indigenous communities as well as the forest homes of hornbills, tigers, and elephants. The Kadar themselves have demonstrated peacefully for their rights.

But it would be useful to step back from the seemingly endless controversy and look at one of the major ethnographies of the people, Ehrenfels’ 1952 book Kadar of Cochin, to see what the river really meant to the indigenous people before the urge to destroy the river invaded their territory.

The forests of the Kadar surround the famed Athirappilly Waterfalls on the Chalakudy River
The forests of the Kadar surround the famed Athirappilly Waterfalls on the Chalakudy River (Photo by kevinsiji on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

In the course of setting the scene for his book, Ehrenfels, described the Kadar living in the forests along the Chalakudy River, apparently quite near the site of the controversial dam proposal. He captured the values of the Kadar when he wrote (p.16) that they appreciate the fullness of life in the forest, “from the tiniest fly-catcher to trumpeting elephants, enjoying their evening bath; from the squeaking of night-birds and bats or the shrieking of a frightened deer to the deep growl of a tiger.”

He continued that the Kadar not only hear and see the animals of the forest, they also smell them. And, he wrote, the people often experience the sense that something in the forest is watching them, and when they look around, they discover that indeed a large animal is staring back at them. The Kadar, he concluded, realize that “the tropical forest is alive, and it teaches that life is one great enigma (p.16).”

 

Some Zapotec and other indigenous people in Mexico’s Oaxaca State are successfully selling their coffee to buyers in Canada and five European countries with the aid of a farmer’s collective. A news story last week described the work of the coffee farmers, their collective, and the losses caused by a leaf fungus that is devastating the plantations.

Women picking coffee in Oaxaca (Photo by Lon&Queta on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
Women picking coffee in Oaxaca (Photo by Lon&Queta on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The newspaper interviewed a coffee grower named Huveiman Ruiz Vásquez, a Zapotec man from the municipality of Santiago Lachiguiri, in the Tehuantepec District of the state. He said he “grew up among coffee trees” and inherited the coffee business from his father. He expressed pride in his knowledge of coffee—its tastes and its quality. He has devoted the past 20 years to producing what he believes is a very high quality product.

He contributes his coffee to a collective called Café Uciri, after the formal name of the group, the Union of Indigenous Communities of the Isthmus Region. The collective, formed in 1982, is the oldest in Oaxaca. It started with coffee growers from 17 communities and has grown to where it now has over 2,000 members in 56 indigenous communities.

Coffee leaf rust (Photo by Richard on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
Coffee leaf rust (Photo by Richard on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Their organic, fair-trade Arabica coffee is sold in Sweden, Germany, France, Austria and Italy as well as in Canada and other parts of Mexico. But the coffee leaf rust, or roya, has had a severe impact on the coffee plantations of the region. A worldwide infection, the fungus has decimated the crops of farmers in the Isthmus. Between 800 and 900 tons of coffee beans were stored annually by the collective until a couple years ago. Last year, due to the leaf rust, the coffee producers stored barely 50 tons.

But the news story included a hopeful note. The Zapotec and the other indigenous farmers continue to grow their ecologically sound, certified organic coffee anyway. And through it all, they are committed to preserving their unique traditions and cultures.

The Piaroa not only eat giant spiders that they find in the forests of southern Venezuela, they use them for their shamanic purposes. A European TV channel that specializes in culture and arts programing, the Association Relative à la Télévision Européenne (ARTE), sent a crew to Venezuela in order to broadcast last week a program in German featuring the Piaroa and their big tarantulas.

The Goliath bird-eating spider (Photo by Meghan Murphy, Smithsonian’s National Zoo, on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
The Goliath bird-eating spider (Photo by Meghan Murphy, Smithsonian’s National Zoo, on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The Goliath bird-eating spider, or Goliath birdeater (Theraphosa blondi), is considered to be the largest arachnid in the world. It inhabits upland forests in northern South America where it lives in burrows and comes out at night to forage. According to an article in the Wikipedia, it is an important part of the cuisine in some communities.

After the hairs have been singed off, it is roasted in banana leaves to bring out the shrimp-like flavor. The beast is so-named because an early naturalist explorer of the region, Maria Sibylla Merian, depicted it in one of her copper engravings as eating a hummingbird.

A detail from plate 18 of Maria Sibylla Merian’s Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium showing, in the lower left, the spider that came to be known as the Goliath birdeater because she depicted it on a limb devouring an upside down hummingbird next to its nest
A detail from plate 18 of Maria Sibylla Merian’s Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium showing, in the lower left, the spider that came to be known as the Goliath birdeater because she depicted it on a limb devouring an upside down hummingbird next to its nest (Image on the Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection website, in the public domain)

The ARTE program stated that the huge spiders have always been an important food source for the Piaroa, particularly during the rainy season. During the remainder of the year, the shamans use them to mediate between the living and the dead. However, the conversion of many of the Piaroa to Christianity has diminished the powers of the shamans and correspondingly, the importance of the spiders.

The TV crew in Venezuela went out hunting for the spiders early one morning with a group of Piaroa. Humidity had increased the activity of the animals, which may range up to 30 cm (12 in) across. They live under tree stumps and in small caves underground. Although the spiders are almost blind, they have very sensitive feelers on their feet that tell them where prey might be located. The crew watched a Piaroa spider hunter use the stalk of a liana to make nervous movements in front of a spider’s burrow. The Piaroa was seeking to imitate a possible insect prey and thus to lure the spider out.

Among the group was a man named José, the son of the shaman. José has been trained by his father in all the details of his shamanic practice, and the younger man evidently wants to succeed him. But the spread of Christianity among the Piaroa has been sidelining shamanism, so the video closed with the very valid question as to whether or not José will be able to continue the old ways and beliefs of the people. Or will the Piaroa succumb to the blandishments of modernization?

A Piaroa man eating
A Piaroa man eating (Screenshot from the video “Piaroa Culture: Venezuelan Amazon, by ProBiodiversa on Vimeo, Creative Commons license)

Shamans, usually older men, have played an important role in Piaroa culture, according to numerous references cited in past news stories. For instance, one reported that the tranquility and harmony of the Piaroa community is based partly on the social values of the people and at least to some extent on the protective work of the shamans. But the role of the bird-eating spiders in their lives is also interesting.

Fortunately, a scholarly article by Melnyk and Bell (1996) provided some good information that amplifies the ARTE story. In their article, the authors described how the Piaroa in a couple villages they studied integrate their horticultural activities with hunting, fishing, and gathering plant products from the surrounding forests. Piaroa who live close to market communities, such as the state capital, Puerto Ayacucho, will sell both their excess agricultural produce and such forest products as fish, plant materials, and arthropods in the town markets. The authors did not specify what species of insects and/or spiders were included in their “arthropods” category.

A Piaroa using a liana stalk to lure a spider out of its hole in the ground
A Piaroa using a liana stalk to lure a spider out of its hole in the ground (Screenshot from the video “Piaroa Culture: Venezuelan Amazon, by ProBiodiversa on Vimeo, Creative Commons license)

Melnyk and Bell calculated the monetary value to the Piaroa from a couple villages located near market towns from the sale of their forest products. Table 2 in the article indicated that the annual monetary value that they derived from the sale of hunted and harvested forest foods amounted to nearly US $3,000,000, of which arthropods contributed slightly over US $11,000—less than 1 percent of the total.

The authors concluded that the collection of arthropods in the forests was so small that it represented a “negative return” (p.470) for the people. That is, they reasoned that in economic terms, the people had to invest an extensive amount of time in the harvesting of the arthropods for a very small monetary return. The spiders and insects represented delicacies for the Piaroa, who harvested them regardless of the amount of time they had to use.

Melnyk and Bell admitted that their valuation was only based on comparing forest foods with their prices in the markets. It did not include the cultural and social values of the foods. After all, they reasoned, harvesting forest foods by the Piaroa represented more than just subsistence. “The types of products harvested, the methods of harvesting and the social relationships of harvesting partly define the cultural identity of an ethnic group,” they argued (p.470). The arthropods—the Goliath birdeaters—represent more to the Piaroa than just their sale value, since they are important in sustaining the culture of the people.

A three-minute BBC One video on YouTube shows a group of cute Piaroa children using liana stalks to lure some of the huge tarantulas out of their holes in the forest floor so they can catch, cook, and eat them.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ra4WmE-joMQ