A report in an Indian daily newspaper last week paid tribute to the storied peacefulness of Ladakh—and proceeded to castigate the local dogs for destroying it. The journalist, Ayesha Singh, wrote in the New Indian Express that “one of the most peaceful lands in the world” is marred by the barking of dogs and, worse, by their attacks on people.

Feral dogs on a sidewalk in the old part of Leh
Feral dogs on a sidewalk in the old part of Leh (Photo by Christopher John SSF in Flickr, Creative Commons license)

She indicated that there are nearly 5,000 dogs in the region but only a small number of them have been properly neutered by veterinarians. The attacks on humans—so far this year, 360 have been reported—and the canine overpopulation have prompted some Ladakhis to begin poisoning the animals. They are everywhere. The outrage against all the stray dogs began three years ago when a girl was attacked and killed by a pack, which then proceeded to feast on her body.

Ms. Singh blamed the runaway population, in part, on the Indian Army troops stationed in Ladakh, who leave a lot of kitchen waste outdoors that the dogs feed on. In addition, the growing boom of tourists fills the garbage cans of restaurants, which also nourish many dogs. But the recent waning of the tourist season has decreased the amount of wasted food; that has prompted the dogs to begin attacking livestock—and people.

A feral dog in Leh
A feral dog in Leh (Photo by Christopher John SSF in Flickr, Creative Commons license)

One solution, the author wrote, would be to increase the number of dogs being neutered. But there is a cost to the neutering program. It runs 700 to 800 Indian rupees to sterilize just one, though that amount would include an anti-rabies shot plus post-operative care for the animal. Almost 500,000 rupees (7,500 US dollars) would be needed per month for an effective neutering program in Ladakh.

One NGO that is trying to sterilize dogs, the Live to Rescue Stray Animal Care and Management Centre, located 25 km from Leh, performs hundreds of sterilizations every year. “But we need to do more,” said the advisor to the canine conservancy, Dr Ishey Mangyal. It is the only such facility in Ladakh.

Some monks at the famed Hemis Monastery with a dog
Some monks at the famed Hemis Monastery with a dog (Photo by Karunakar Rayker in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The shelter is currently caring for 150 dogs, some of which are victims of accidents while others have been abandoned. The shelter is trying to give the dogs up for adoption as much as possible. Dr. Mangyal told Ms. Singh, “We’re giving incentives to vets to help us. Hopefully, we’ll be able to find a peaceful way for these dogs and human beings to co-exist.” The barking of dogs even disturbs the chanting of monks, the journalist wrote.

Unfortunately, the New Indian Express did not provide any way for compassionate readers around the world to contact the animal shelter and provide assistance.

 

A news story last week about the rat-catching proclivities of the Yanadi prompts the reader to wonder just why they persist in their periodic pursuit of these destructive animals. According to older news reports, they are well paid by neighboring farmers for destroying rats, and they no longer rely on hunting them as a major food source. But how did the rat-hunting get started?

Shiva and Parvati sculpture in the British Museum, from Orissa, 12th – 13th century
Shiva and Parvati sculpture in the British Museum, from Orissa, 12th – 13th century (Photo by Angela Hamblen on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

For one thing, the Yanadi did not share the disgust of their neighboring Hindu farm families at killing and eating rats. They saw them as food. But Rao (2002) provided a more intriguing explanation by retelling a major Yanadi myth in an appendix to his book Ethnography of a Nomadic Tribe. In myth number 2 (p.265), Rao related that one day Lord Shiva and his mate, the goddess Parvati, invited everyone to come to a dinner.

The Yanadi came along with all the people assigned to castes, but the tribals were dirty and nearly naked except for their loin cloths. Everyone else protested them being there—they should not be considered as equals with other human beings, they said. Shiva was willing to go along with the protesters but Parvati, the Hindu goddess of love, devotion, and fertility, did not agree. Everyone had to be served the food together, she insisted.

So Lord Shiva sent some rats to run in front of the Yanadi, who immediately abandoned the food from the gods and chased after the rats, of which they were quite fond. But the rats disappeared and when the Yanadi returned to the food provided at the feast, it had all been eaten. They were left without anything. But Parvati took pity on them and sent a favorite insect delicacy that they also love to eat, a kind of termite, so the Yanadi finally had their meal.

Sunset over prime paddy farmland in the Guntur District, immediately to the southwest of the Krishna District, in Andhra Pradesh
Sunset over prime paddy farmland in the Guntur District, immediately to the southwest of the Krishna District, in Andhra Pradesh (Photo by PraveenaSridhar on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The news story in The Hindu last week did not mention these sorts of background factors and got straight to the current story. November and December are bad times for the farmers of the Krishna District of Andhra Pradesh because rats move into their fields and consume a lot of the paddy grains they have planted. According to the reporter, T. Appala Naidu, the Yanadi do not hunt rats year-round but they are glad to earn a few thousand rupees from each farm family for the service of eliminating them when they threaten to become a plague.

Farmers in Machilipatnam, a large community in the Krishna District, told Mr. Naidu that damage to the crops caused by the rat infestation each year would be severe if they did not employ the Yanadi to clear away the mammals. They pay them Rs. 20 (US $0.30) per rat, so it can cost the farmers a few thousand rupees per acre to protect a field.

The lesser bandicoot rat (From Thomas Hardwicke, Illustrations of Indian Zoology, volume 2, in the public domain in Wikipedia)
The lesser bandicoot rat (From Thomas Hardwicke, Illustrations of Indian Zoology, volume 2, in the public domain in Wikipedia)

According to the reporter, the Yanadi no longer use smokers to force the animals—which are really lesser bandicoot rats—out of their burrows as earlier reports had indicated. Instead today, some Yanadi told him, “We do prepare an exclusive rat-catching device which is made of sticks or bamboo. We simply place it at strategic places across the field to catch rats alive.” The article in The Hindu included a photo of a Yanadi man carrying some of the ingenious rat traps.

Rao (2002) added an interesting personal perspective to the story. He was not just a scholar writing about a peaceful society; he also clearly enjoyed doing fieldwork among them. He related how the people with whom he was working were a bit suspicious, however,  because he lived with them. Normally, non-Yanadi do not live among them so perhaps he was a Yanadi also. They were curious to test out their suspicions.

Some Yanadi kids
Some Yanadi kids (Photo on NationMaster.com and copyrighted, but released for all uses without reservation)

One day Rao went rat hunting with some kids, he related, and when he and his companions returned to their settlement, they told their families about the professor who had just gone out into the field—quite literally—with them. One of the mothers asked her son if the scholar had eaten any of the rat meat. “If he had eaten, he must be a Yanadi and there is no doubt about it (p.79),” she said. While killing and eating rats was an important marker of being accepted as a Yanadi, Dr. Rao does not say whether he did, in fact, eat any rat meat that day with the kids out in the field.

 

Some Ju/’hoansi families from Tsumkwe, in northeastern Namibia, have been migrating to Grootfontein hoping to find a better life, but all they have found for themselves is suffering. Grootfontein, a town of 27,000 people in northcentral Namibia, is 250 km (150 miles) west of Tsumkwe.

A market area in downtown Grootfontein, Namibia
A market area in downtown Grootfontein, Namibia (Photo by Frans-Fanja Mulder in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The Namibian, in a story republished by AllAfrica.com, reported on the conditions of the migrants in Grootfontein. The families the reporter, Ndapewoshali Shapwanale, spoke with were clearly disappointed that they had not gotten much if any help from the municipal government. Isaak Kamaseb, a 52-year old man and his family of about 35 people, all moved to the town 20 years ago to escape what he described as harsh conditions back in Tsumkwe.

They now live together in a small shack in a poor section of town. Many of the children have never been inside a school. Mr. Kamaseb said that he wanted the children to go to school, which he knew was free, but they did not have enough money to afford to buy uniforms for the kids. He made it clear, while talking with Ms. Shapwanale, that he felt education was quite important but there seemed to be insurmountable issues preventing the youngsters from attending.

A shanty town in Soweto, South Africa
A shanty town in Soweto, South Africa (Photo by Matt-80 in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

Kamaseb indicated that the family does get some drought relief food—the reporter noticed a bucket of maize meal in a cooking area. But a lot of their sustenance comes from scavenging at the town dump, along with other dwellers in the shanty town. Poor people in other communities around Namibia, and in other parts of the world, survive in the same fashion. The women in his home gather empty soft drink and beer bottles from the dump, as does he, and sell them.

Lydia Gaises, a woman in her early 40s, also migrated from Tsumkwe to Grootfontein, hoping to find better living conditions and like him the conditions she found were unbelievable. She visits the rubbish dump, a kilometer from their slum, every day to see what she can find for her family: utensils, clothing, and food. She told the reporter that she hopes her children will not have to face the same conditions she has endured when they grow up.

A Ju/’hoansi man in the village of Xaoba setting a bird trap
A Ju/’hoansi man in the village of Xaoba setting a bird trap (Photo by Gil Eilam on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Ms. Gaises complained bitterly to Ms. Shapwanale, “We have no place to call home. We have no food. We don’t have anything.” Neither of them mentioned the living conditions of other Ju/’hoansi who are still subsisting in villages such as Xaoba around the Nyae Nyae Conservancy, in the Tsumkwe area of Namibia. While they never have plenty, they evidently still can hunt, gather, and raise enough food to get by. Ms. Gaises is grateful that at least they have access to free water in their slum.

A family member of hers, Monica Gaises, complained that health services are hard to obtain and diseases spread easily in the cramped quarters where they are forced to live. Another resident of the slum, Maria Kasmases, added that they really hate to eat discarded foods that they gather at the dump but they have no other choice. The reporter suggested that gathering foods at the municipal dump is similar to the food-gathering in the Kalahari Desert that used to be the norm in their society, but she wisely left it up to the reader to flesh out the comparison.

 

Abigail Mendoza Ruiz, a well-known chef, is trying to preserve and enrich traditional Zapotec cuisine through the foods she serves in her restaurant, Tlamanalli. Her insistence on celebrating Zapotec customs impels her to serve only traditional foods in the restaurant she runs in Teotitlán del Valle, a town in Oaxaca that is also renowned for its weaving industry—and its tourists.

Mendoza preparing a meal, taken from the cover of the book DISHDAA'W: la Palabra se Entreteje en la Comida Infinita: la Vida de Abigail Mendoza Ruiz, by Concepción Núñez Miranda
Mendoza preparing a meal, taken from the cover of the book DISHDAA’W: la Palabra se Entreteje en la Comida Infinita: la Vida de Abigail Mendoza Ruiz, by Concepción Núñez Miranda

According to a news story last week, she opened the restaurant in 1990 with a commitment to serving the recipes of her mother and her aunt. The name of the restaurant suggests abundance or offering, and it refers to the Zapotec deity of the kitchen. Ms. Mendoza was clearly pleased that the fame she is gaining is focusing recognition on traditional Zapotec foods, because before she opened her restaurant “nobody cared.” Previously, people would question why they should even eat the indigenous foods. As she served the richness of the Zapotec cuisine, recognition from abroad came her way.

Another news story last week provided more details. Soon after she opened her restaurant in February 1990, Gourmet magazine visited. She was understandably thrilled when a copy of the magazine arrived in the mail some months later, even though she was unable to read the English language article about herself. A few years later, the New York Times reporter Molly O’Neill visited, and her story appeared on January 17, 1993.

Ms. Mendoza clearly served her a wonderful meal. “I dream of her pumpkin seeds roasted with chilies, her chicken broth with fresh corn and zucchini blossoms, her Oaxacan moles, the cazuela of white beans and tomatoes and fried white fish,” O’Neill wrote. The international praise has continued. Anthony Bourdain stopped by in 2014 to record an episode for his popular program “Parts Unknown.” A brief extract from the show on YouTube gives an impression of the quality of the food—and of the work that Ms. Mendoza and her sister do to prepare it.

Ms. Mendoza’s commitment to Zapotec foods began in the late 1960s when she was just five years old, helping her parents in their kitchen by husking corn. Later, she learned to make tortillas. She was not turned on by cooking at first but she became increasingly fond of it. She learned by watching her mother and her aunt as they worked.

With the support of her family, she started the design and construction of her restaurant. She had trouble getting the new facility built the way she wanted because a contractor didn’t complete his work. Evidently, working for a woman was contrary to his beliefs. She turned to a friend of her father’s to finish the job; he was willing to sign a contract with her and resume the work. While the restaurant was under construction, she operated a small food stand next to it so she could perfect her recipes. It took her about six years to complete Tlamanalli exactly as she envisioned it. She wanted the menu and the kitchen to be just right—perfect representations of Zapotec culture.

A blog post published last week by Psychology Today compared the beliefs of the nineteenth century German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche with the way of life of the Batek. The author, Matthew J. Rossano, a professor of psychology at Southeastern Louisiana University, made it clear that many people would profit from gaining a greater understanding of the Batek.

A portrait photo of Friedrich Nietzsche by Gustav Adolf Schultze
A portrait photo of Friedrich Nietzsche by Gustav Adolf Schultze (In Wikipedia in the public domain)

The author deftly described the beliefs of Nietzsche. The philosopher rejected all religious faiths and beliefs in God, who is, he famously declared, quite dead. More to the point, Nietzsche taught that humans could reach a state of perfection by becoming an Übermensch, usually referred to in English as a “superman.” (Rossano provided a less gendered alternative translation of the German word: an “exceptional one.”)

The superman is a person who strives for mastery in any subject he or she undertakes. Perfection is an all-consuming goal. The individual is forever seeking to do more and to do better by taking greater risks and by testing the limits of the self. That testing should be all-consuming, not just for one’s intellectual or physical abilities. Personal growth, therefore, must be ceaseless and as a result the superman finds meaning and truth from the quest for perfection.

The superman only yields to his or her own constructed principles, Rosanno explained. He provided, as an example, the movie characters portrayed by the famous American actor Clint Eastwood. One might interject that many business leaders and politicians also appear to have adopted an Übermensch as as their ideal. Rosanno summarized the philosophy of Nietzsche as “hyper-individualistic,” but it was also “fit for a modern era.” His philosophy was based on individual achievements and the supposed need for personal power.

Four Batek people relax in their village
Four Batek people relax in their village (Photo by Cleffairy on the blog “Over a Cuppa Tea;” Creative Commons license)

The interest for the study of peaceful societies, and the point of Rosanno’s essay, was his comparison of Nietzsche’s philosophy with the way of life of the Batek. He began by introducing the Batek to his Psychology Today readers. They still engage in their traditional hunting and gathering lifestyle, the men using their blowpipes to harvest monkeys from the forest canopy, the women gathering forest foods such as fruits, tubers, and mushrooms from the forest floor and the understory. The Batek also collect rattan and trade it with nearby villagers. Rosanno described briefly the fact that the Batek are of interest to anthropologists because of the peacefulness and nonviolence of their society. He wondered how they do it.

He found an answer by looking at their basic image of the perfect human being—which contrasts so sharply with that of Nietzsche, who appeals in many ways to people in  modern societies. For the Batek, the perfect person is both completely cooperative and also autonomous and self-reliant. The Batek do not expect others to do things for them—you cook your own dinner or repair your own blowpipe. Those tasks of daily life are not difficult, however—they are enjoyable, in fact. But the major point is that for the Batek, cooperation, sharing, and equality are essential values. The competence of the individual is always seen within the context of the society, its bonds and its needs, Rosanno wrote. The hyper-individualism espoused by Nietzsche is not possible for the Batek.

If Nietzsche’s ideas were to be adopted by the Batek, the author observed, any value of exceptionalism would have to function within the context of human inter-dependence. Overcoming the limits of the self and constructing meanings for oneself would have to conform to the needs of the broader human society. “Needing others in order to grow, achieve, and realize our full potential is not an extrinsic, socially-imposed dogma. It is simply a human fact,” Rosanno concluded. Learning about the Batek provides a way of freeing people from dogmas such as those of Nietzsche.

 

The northeast section of Thailand has changed from a traditional, isolated peasant society into a region of sophisticated rural dwellers. A recent journal article by Somchai Phatharathananunth describes the social, economic, and political transformations over the past several decades in rural Northeast Thailand, which is usually referred to as “Isan” or “Isaan.” The author, an assistant professor in the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at Mahasarakham University in Thailand, provides a thorough description of the formerly isolated, peasant, rice-growing farmers and their more sophisticated descendants today.

A sophisticated-looking woman in Kalasin Province, Isan Region of Thailand
A sophisticated-looking woman in Kalasin Province, Isan Region of Thailand (Photo by Larry Oien in Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Traditionally, the urban elites of Thailand regarded the Rural Thai as phu-noi (inferiors), people who were expected to obey their superiors. The supposedly uninformed, uneducated rural people needed the guidance of the elites of the nation. This article challenges those stereotypes of rural Thailand by focusing on the ways the people of Isan have changed and grown more sophisticated over the years.

Since the Rural Thai today are involved in much more than just subsistence farming, they identify themselves as a new class which is distinctively different from that of their parents and grandparents. The history of Isan illustrates this broad transformation of the Rural Thai peasantry. While the central plain of Thailand north of Bangkok was already commercialized by the 1930s, the rural Northeast, Isan, still mostly retained its subsistence economy. The subsistence economic pattern remained longer in Isan than in other regions of the country.

Railroad station in Ubon Ratchathani, Isan Region
Railroad station in Ubon Ratchathani, Isan Region (Photo by Ilya Piekhanov in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

Some changes, however, began to creep into the local economy when railroad lines were extended in the early 20th century to cities in Isan, beginning with Nakhon Ratchasima in 1900, a couple other communities in the 1920s, and the city of Ubon Ratchathani in 1930. The expansion of rice production for commercial purposes followed those extensions, though villages located farther away from the railroads did not change as rapidly. By 1935, Isan was exporting 18 percent of Thailand’s rice.

During this period, particularly before World War Two, farmers in Isan typically grew rice for family consumption and raised only small amounts of other crops for cash. They also took non-farm jobs to some extent to supplement their resources. Rice was produced primarily for family consumption—villagers were self-sufficient for most of their needs. Many villages were still isolated from the rest of Thailand.

New tuk-tuks in Nong Khai help transport the villagers throughout the Isan region
New tuk-tuks in Nong Khai help transport the villagers throughout the Isan region (Photo by Ilya Plekhanov in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

But an expansion of the network of roads began to change that. A road built to Nong Khai, completed in 1957, and the subsequent construction of more roads throughout the rest of the Isan countryside began to link the villages to the larger towns and to the outside world. Isan farmers started becoming market-oriented. As the extent of land devoted to rice paddies declined, the amount of farm land used for commercial crops expanded.

The development of transportation after the Second World War also fostered migration out of the rural countryside. By the mid-1970s, migration to other areas, especially Bangkok, by young people in search of broader opportunities had become normal. Of course some preferred to stay in Isan so they sought work in small industries that were developing in the towns.

Typically, Isan villages by the 1990s were populated primarily by children and old people. Isan adults were employed in cities, especially in Bangkok, in both the formal and the informal economies. They often worked in jobs paying minimal wages such as in stores, restaurants, hotels, bars, factories, gas stations, repair shops, and construction. They drove taxis, worked as street vendors, took positions as maids, and performed in Chinese operas and theatres.

A farmer driving a cart through an Isan rice paddy
A farmer driving a cart through an Isan rice paddy (Screen capture from the video “Life in My Thailand, Harvest of our Sticky Rice, November 2014,” by Jens Chanthasook Sommer in YouTube, Creative Commons license)

Despite these changes in work patterns, Isan has remained the most dedicated to rice production of any region in Thailand, though labor shortages have forced farmers to abandon subsistence farming and to rely instead on hired farm workers and on equipment for plowing, cultivating, and harvesting. The author studied the patterns of rural Isan transformation by doing fieldwork in the small village of Pon Bok, Sakon Nakhom province, in January 2010. He found that most of the 226 households in the village still grow rice for family use, but they also grow crops for sale and they work at a variety of non-farm occupations in the village. The people also work in 16 different Thai provinces and six foreign countries.

An important change in Pon Bok has been electrification. By 1988, three out of four Isan households had electricity and by 2002 almost all did. Rural electrification has had a major impact on transforming the tastes, lifestyles, and patterns of consumption of the people. The author writes that the village is clearly different from Bangkok, but in many ways they are similar.

Many social changes have occurred in Pon Bok. Motorcycles and cars are the primary means of transportation, replacing travel by foot or on carts. Because of electrification, the people learn about the outside world and life in the big cities from their televisions. The villagers are now connected via the Internet; they use their mobile phones to converse with others living in urban areas. They are normally aware of national and international news.

Sticky rice and other dishes are commonly eaten in Isan
Sticky rice and other dishes are commonly eaten in Isan (Photo by Jpatokal on Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

As a result, the people of Pon Bok keep up with the trends in urban areas. Teenagers and some adults go to local restaurants to enjoy the nightlife. Foods that used to be eaten mostly in the city are now also consumed in the village. Chinese oyster sauces and soy sauces may be used in cooking and fermented fish is often used as a seasoning.

The author argues that the rural transformation in Isan has had some significant social consequences. For one thing, the village used to be the center of life for the rural person, but it no longer is. Relationships in the community were highly valued: life focused on common obligations and group interests. Individuals could not imagine living in isolation from the village.

Villagers lived under the direction of a village head, who had the authority of the state and who acted as intermediary with higher authorities. But increased contact with the outside world has produced a sense of individualism among the villagers, which has weakened village authority structures and local social networks. Village heads no longer command the respect that they used to have.

A young woman in Rural Thailand takes a selfie
A young woman in Rural Thailand takes a selfie (Screen capture from the video “Thailand, My Expat life in Isaan – Looking Back, 2015 Part 1,” by Jens Chanthasook Sommer in YouTube, Creative Commons license)

Another consequence of the contact that Isan residents now have with the world is that they are increasingly aware of their disadvantages—they lack the wealth and affluence of the urban elites in their country and the disparity is growing.

All of this has led to important political changes in the Isan region. The rural people are mobilizing to champion their interests. Villagers have employed electoral politics at the village level, and to some extent at the national level, to attain better conditions. Significant improvements in rural roads, safer bridges and better reservoirs have been the result of democratic governments in Isan, the author concludes.

Phatharathananunth, Somchai. 2016. “Rural Transformations and Democracy in Northeast Thailand.” Journal of Contemporary Asia 46(3): 504-519 August 2016

 

Tanya Tagaq, the well-known Canadian throat singer, emphasized to an audience in St. John’s, Newfoundland, last week the importance of Inuit unity and reconciliation. In contrast to her normally guttural style of singing, Tagaq spoke softly. Nonetheless, as the keynote speaker at an Inuit Studies Conference, which was held on the campus of the Memorial University of Newfoundland, she presented her ideas forcefully.

Tanya Tagaq
Tanya Tagaq, Inuit throat singer (Image by Nomo Michael Hoefner in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

An article in Nunatsiaq Online indicated that Tagaq is becoming an outspoken advocate for the indigenous rights of the Inuit, condemning the colonial policies and institutionalized racism that persist in her country. Raised in Cambridge Bay, she has become famous for her unique style of throat singing, but she is going beyond that.

Tagaq advocated that the Inuit should take charge of their own destiny. She called on all of them to ignore their differences and concentrate on developing their society together. She told her audience that people everywhere are trying to knock down the Inuit. Instead, she urged, “[we should] take these things into our own hands and demand change.” All too often the Inuit criticize one another for their failings, such as the fact that their young people are losing their language, Inuktitut. Instead, she argued, they should deal with this problem through the processes of sharing and learning together.

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

She strongly condemned the policies of the recent past when Canadian government agencies required Inuit children to attend residential schools in the provinces to the south of their Arctic homes. “What was done to children in residential school was so disturbing, it’s hard to talk about,” she said to her audience. “Years and years of trauma and torture and then sending them home with no language and no ability to parent,” she added, as if the cruelty is still hard to believe.

The news story does not indicate if Tagaq mentioned the work of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, whose final report, issued in June last year, acknowledged the massive amounts of testimonies about the injustices perpetrated by the government and the proposals to finally heal the Inuit communities of their social and psychological injuries. The 94 recommendations of the commission were directed at actions governments in Canada should take.

She showed slides of her home community, Cambridge Bay, and her favorite places in that town when she was a child. She showed a picture of her own infant daughter posed next to a dead seal, an image which caused a storm of protest among animal lovers who are opposed to Inuit hunting the cute-looking animals. The anti-sealing forces protested volubly, but Tagaq was not swayed by the death threats and the petitions to take her children away from her.

An Inuit hunter skinning a ringed seal
An Inuit hunter skinning a ringed seal (Photo by Ansgar Walk in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

She argued that seal hunting has always been an essential source of food for her people. “Before the seal ban, we were thriving, being able to provide for our families and buy hunting supplies and pay rent by doing what we’ve always done,” she said. She argued that the people have a right to secure food for themselves.

Tagaq appeared barefoot on the stage, as she often does when she gives concerts, and she had her little girl Inuuja beside her. The audience gave her a standing ovation.

 

The ancient poetry, called ambahan, of the two Mangyan societies living near the southern end of Mindoro Island effectively conveys their daily concerns and their idealized social relationships. The Philippine Daily Inquirer last week described the peaceful social conditions, as well as the poetry, of the Buid and their neighbors, the Hanunoo.

Part of the mountainous Buid territory in San Jose, Occidental Mindoro, Philippines
Part of the mountainous Buid territory in San Jose, Occidental Mindoro, Philippines (Photo by Allan Siquioco on Panoramio, Creative Commons license)

Rita Ledesma, the journalist, briefly reviewed the history of the Mangyan peoples. Before the Spanish arrived, Mangyans lived all over Mindoro but as the invading Filipinos settled in the coastal lowlands, the seven or eight Mangyan groups retreated up into the mountains. For at least 400 years, the Buid have lived in the interior mountains near the southern end of the island. Each of the Mangyan societies, including the Buid and the Hanunoo, speak different languages, but only those two also preserve the ambahan.

Ms. Ledesma focused on the peacefulness of the two Mangyan groups. She repeated the comments of Emily Catapang, the executive director of the Mangyan Heritage Center in the city of Calapan, an institution founded to preserve and promote Mangyan cultures. According to Ms. Catapang, the Mangyans are “a peace-loving people. Family togetherness is deeply valued.” She described how elders settle conflicts and how they use leaves as symbols of the different candidates when they conduct elections. For instance, if a male candidate for office has adopted a mango leaf as his symbol, his supporters will each bring a mango leaf to the electoral assembly.

A Buid boy
A Buid boy (Screenshot from the video “Brutus, Ang Paglalakbay (Brutus: The Journey) Teaser” on Vimeo, Creative Commons license)

Ms. Catapang added that minor crimes were rare before modern technologies that depend on electricity, such as televisions, arrived in the villages. For instance, a film about illegal logging by Buid youngsters in 2008 entitled “Brutus” caused some controversy. But Ms. Catapang recognized that changes are occurring. Secondary schools are teaching the young people their native languages, as well as Tagalog and English, and, at least for the Buid and the Hanunoo, the Mangyan script. “Clearly there is progress, but a sweet contentment is also disappearing,” she said.

The Inquirer piece described the preservation and contemporary uses of the ambahans. They are still preserved in their ancient script on bamboo tubes, which are left outdoors to be used and read by others. The people hold ambahan sessions that often last all night or over a weekend. During these poetry readings, the Buid or Hanunoo will gather and socialize, laughing, whispering, chanting and composing almost endlessly.

The people build on each others feelings and thoughts as expressed in their poetry, without thinking much about who owns the verses. They all share the understandings of what they are saying as well as their intuitions about the meanings of the lines. Quint Delgado Fansler, a youthful idealist, described the Mangyan people to the journalist: “Culture changes. Heritage does not. The significance of Mangyan life is that it represents a living pre-Hispanic culture.”

Mangyans dancing
Mangyans dancing (Photo by Colin and Sarah Northway on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The journalist, Ms. Ledesma, expressed her admiration for the Mangyan cultures evocatively: “Mangyans have been dancing with the winds of happiness and ease for hundreds of years.” She devoted several paragraphs in her article to the eminent scholar of ambahan studies, the Dutch anthropologist Antoon Postma, and his daughter Anya Postma, who is carrying on his scholarship related to the ancient form of poetic expression.

Anya learned from her Hanunoo mother the culture of the people, according to The Inquirer, such as spinning, weaving, designing textiles, basketry, and beadwork. She herself described her upbringing in the introductory paragraphs about her Hanunoo family in an undated paper she presented at a conference within the past few years. Antoon, a missionary priest for the Society of the Divine Word, was assigned in 1958 to work on Mindoro, where he fell in love with the Mangyan people and their culture, particularly the ambahans.

After 30 years he left the priesthood and married a Hanunoo woman. Anya was their first child. She and her siblings were raised in a home where the parents spoke only Hanunoo. “He wanted to make sure the Mangyans would accept his children as one of them, even though we don’t quite look exactly like them,” she wrote in her paper.

postma-coverShe described her father’s ambahan studies and his analysis of them, but it is better to turn to his own work to gain an insight into the nature of the poetry. His book Treasure of a Minority (1972) describes the ambahan in detail and, perhaps best of all, provides numerous examples of the poems, with English translations. While he described and translated the ambahan of the Hanunoo specifically, he made it clear that most of what he wrote would apply equally well to the Buid.

In his introductory comments, Postma defined the ambahan as a form of poetic expression that has seven syllable lines and rhyming end syllables. It is usually presented in a chanting style, though without musical accompaniment or any defined pitch. The purpose of the poem is to express allegorically the situation that the poet feels himself or herself to be in at the moment. The seven syllable rule is often accomplished by contractions or expansions of words to make the line have the proper number of syllables. Rhyming of the end syllables is essential, Postma wrote. A video on YouTube covers some of the major points Postma made in his book and reproduces a few of his translations of Hanunoo ambahans.

Postma noted that an ambahan may appear to be a nature poem about birds, trees, insects or flowers, but there are many different levels of meanings. One example he gave is that a poem about avoiding getting stung while taking honey from bees may have allegorical meanings such as the importance of watching out when you climb a mountain—or being careful when you go to the parents of a woman you love to ask for her hand in marriage.

He said that the traditional Hanunoo and Buid recitations of ambahans are of poems that have been handed down through the generations, not of recently created poems. At least, that is what the persons doing the chanting will say. Postma made it clear that the people were, in fact, creating new ambahans, but they were not admitting it. Also, different groups of people have their own groups of poetry—children, for instance, have ambahans written specifically for the interests of kids.

Postma wrote, “The ambahan is primarily a poem of social character; it finds its true existence in society (p.14).” It served practical purposes, such as the education of children, the courting of young lovers, the need of visitors for food, or the expressions of farewell by departing relatives. It helped strengthen their peacefulness.

His daughter Anya made it clear in her recent paper that those values still apply. The ambahan, she wrote, “portrays the Mangyans’ values of family, relationships, trust in nature, [and] respect for others…”

 

Nine women and 14 men in a village of Tanzania’s Rukwa Region were arrested last week for allegedly destroying the homes of other villagers whom they suspected of practicing witchcraft. Mr. George Kyando, the Rukwa Regional Police Commander, announced that the suspects in Kazila, a village in Mwazye Ward, Kalambo District of the Rukwa Region—in the heart of traditional Fipa territory—had invaded homes of the people they were accusing of witchcraft and had burned them to the ground.

Dried fish from Lake Rukwa, in the Rukwa Region
Dried fish from Lake Rukwa, in the Rukwa Region (Photo by Lichinga in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The Fipa in the region still practice farming, or in villages along the shores of Lake Rukwa and Lake Tanganyika, fishing, and they still accept their traditional beliefs in sorcery and witchcraft.  Mr. Kyando said that the villagers accused Conrald Nyami (45) of terrorizing them through his witchcraft. Mr.Nyami was asleep in his home around 9:00 pm on September 24 when the crowd of arsonists broke in and set the house on fire. Fortunately, he awoke and fled for his life. He went into hiding.

Presumably flushed with their success, the crowd went on to the house of another suspected witch, Japhet Telemka, and set it ablaze also. The Regional Police Commissioner added, “preliminary investigation established that the cause of the suspects’ rampage was based on superstitious beliefs.”

A recent journal article on Fipa witchcraft by Machangu (2015) focused mostly on accusations against elderly women in the farming villages of being witches, and why that trend is not diminishing. An older article by Willis (1968), however, provided information that may be more directly relevant to the situation in Kazila and the possible reasons for the witchcraft accusations against the two men.

A witch doctor and his apprentice in Malawi in 1910
A witch doctor and his apprentice in Malawi in 1910 (Photographer unknown, in the public domain in Wikimedia)

Willis mentioned in his article that the potions used in one of the incidents he discussed had come from Malawi, and that an anti-sorcery revolutionary movement on which he focused his research had also originated in that country. Willis maintained that the accusations of witchcraft that occurred—and still seem to occur—in Fipa villages were the result of personal misfortunes and problems with relationships. Losses of crops or livestock might result in accusations of witchcraft against another villager. The accusations were normally against people in the same generation, he found.

He argued that, while the spontaneous, disorganized anti-witchcraft movement, called Kamcape, was clearly designed to eradicate witchcraft, “its latent function is to effect a resolution at the psychic level of a generalized sense of internal conflict and to recreate the moral climate of village communities in accordance with the traditional ethos of unity and harmony (p.13).” Since conflicts are endemic to the Fipa villages (and to almost all human communities), those sorcery, and perhaps anti-sorcery movements, appear to be a recurring phenomenon in Fipa country.

 

News sources in the United Kingdom reported the winner of a design competition that was established to build the foundations for a more sustainable future for the Tristan Islanders. The winning firm, Brock Carmichael Architects in Liverpool, prepared plans that the Islanders chose out of 37 proposals from architectural firms that had responded to an initial announcement in March 2015. The point of the competition, which was organized and administered by the Royal Institute of British Architects (RIBA), was to solicit entries from leading architectural firms around the world. They were invited to submit plans that would help promote a more self-sufficient, sustainable island economy and society. The project will be funded by the government of the United Kingdom.

Publicity image 1 from the Brock Carmichael winning submission
Publicity image 1 from the Brock Carmichael winning submission

The proposal by Brock Carmichael includes replacing both the government buildings in the Settlement, where many of the island residents are employed, with a new complex featuring better insulation, improved water management systems, and ways to increase the Islanders’ renewable energy resources. The Islanders hope to supply 30 to 40 percent of their energy needs through renewable sources in five years.

The proposed government complex, which includes facilities for the community as a whole, is shown in drawing number 1 provided on the RIBA website. The drawing is titled, “Working: A Capable Community, the Source for Sustainable Living.” The title sets the tone for the presentation. It is important to remember that since the government employs a large number of Tristan adults, this complex will be an important economic center for the community as well as its administrative center.

A kitchen garden, or what the firm calls on its drawing a “living garden,” is shown within the cloistered space on the right. It is flanked by greenhouses and enticing photos, on the architects’ drawing, of blueberries and strawberries, suggesting a sweet future for the Islanders.

The present supermarket in the Settlement, which is shown in the architectural drawing above as the parallel, gray-roofed buildings across the street from the new complex
The present supermarket in the Settlement, which is shown in the architectural drawing above as the parallel, gray-roofed buildings across the street from the proposed complex (Photo by Brian Gratwicke on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The existing supermarket, the buildings in the architects’ drawing with the blue and gray roofs across the road, will be replaced by a larger building within the new complex. Other wings projecting from the cloistered space include a fisheries building—Tristan’s economy depends on its fishing industry—the Telecommunications Department, storage buildings, offices and work spaces for the agriculture program, plus mechanical and electrical shops.

The legend for the drawing specifies that the new building complex will have insulated zinc roofs, walls with thick insulation, double glazed windows, and, essential for the island, block walls with movement joints built to withstand a magnitude 7.5 earthquake.

Publicity image 2 from the Brock Carmichael winning submission
Publicity image 2 from the Brock Carmichael winning submission

The second drawing on the RIBA website shows, on the left, a typical private house as it looks at present and on the right the same house, much rebuilt and improved. The architects proposed a prefabricated greenhouse, built by the Tristan Public Works Department, to be located in the back yard of the rebuilt structure. Other than a change in the color of the roof on the existing home after it has been rebuilt, as shown on the right, the major changes are spelled out on the full architectural drawing.

The proposed improvements to a private home include: air bricks at the base of the exterior walls to increase ventilation; an extract vent in the roof with a heat recovery facility; exterior walls provided with 160 mm of marine quality insulation; new double glazed windows; 120 mm of sheep wool insulation on the attic floor; a newly insulated roof covering made of either Zinc or Decra; and an insulated electric heating mat flooring, though that is subject to the provision of increased energy sources for the Settlement.

The RIBA announcement of the winning entry included the usual complimentary PR quotes by various people. For instance, John Wiles, who acted as the Architect Adviser for RIBA, concluded that “the result of this competition could have a significant impact on the Islander’s lives, fitting for the future indeed.” Other comments in the press release were similarly laudatory.

The small harbor on Tristan (Image by Brian Gratwicke on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
The small harbor on Tristan (Image by Brian Gratwicke on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The “Brief” on the RIBA competition website makes it clear that there are many other issues that need to be confronted on Tristan da Cunha in addition to government and private buildings. The Calshot Harbor is inadequate and constantly in need of repairs. A long term solution to the clear need for a permanent harbor is desperately needed. Energy sources are inadequate; they are based, at present, on power provided by diesel generators. An experimental wind turbine was erected in the past but it was destroyed by high winds in a few days. The Islanders hope to cut their dependence on imported fuel for their power needs.

The community also suffers from periodic water shortages. The soils used for agriculture are of a low quality, and “new approaches to enhance the productivity of the limited land area dedicated to farming” are needed. In short, the Islanders are looking for help from leading professionals so that they can continue their lonely, but hopefully well-supported, existence.

An important question is, how do the Tristan Islanders themselves view the competition and the winning firm’s proposal? The RIBA website reports that the judging panel winnowed the initial 37 proposals down to a “long-list” of 15 qualified entries and submitted them to the Tristan Island Council, the elected advisory body of Tristan Islanders. In the words of RIBA, “the Island Council was delighted by the interest shown in Tristan by design teams from around the globe, together with the myriad ideas contained within the phase one design proposals.”

The Tristan da Cunha website indicates that the Island Council finally chose the Brock Carmichael submission out of the five finalists at its meeting on September 13, 2016. “The Council felt that Brock Carmichael had the best design, and an in-depth understanding of the issues,” according to the website.