On June 13th, the news media in Venezuela reported that violence had occurred in a Piaroa community: the famously peaceful people had burned a local post of the National Guard. The news reports provided somewhat conflicting details, but the basic ingredients of the story were consistent.

The main street of the village of San Juan de Manapiare, the capital of the municipality of Manapiare
The main street of the village of San Juan de Manapiare, the capital of the municipality of Manapiare (Photo by RaúlCM in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

El Universal, a major news source for the nation, reported on some communications by Liborio Guarulla, the governor of the state of Amazonas. The governor said that on Sunday evening the 12th a group of Piaroa had protested against the police. The demonstration led to the burning of some buildings on the police command post in the Piaroa community of San Juan de Manapiare. The protest followed the arrest of three Piaroa, two of whom were children.

The protest was the result of the two minors, supposedly 12 and 14 years old,  having been tortured while they were in custody. The three people had been arrested that Sunday afternoon and later in the day, when the families were permitted to visit the juveniles, they saw many bruises on their bodies. They were also told that the prisoners would be transferred to the state capitol, Puerto Ayacucho.

Cesar Miguel Rondon, a radio journalist, interviewed the governor on Monday morning, the paper reported. He said that the police had accused the Piaroa of stealing, but Governor Guarulla said that Piaroa customs prohibited them from doing such a thing. Other sources indicated that shots were fired during the demonstration, though they did not report any injuries. Another report said that both the current state governor, Sr. Guarulla, and the former governor of the state, Bernabé Gutiérrez, used their Twitter accounts to reject the abuse of minors by the police.

Liborio Guarulla, Governor of Amazonas State, Venezuela
Liborio Guarulla, Governor of Amazonas State, Venezuela (Screen capture from the video “Diálogo Maduro-Oposición: Palabras de Liborio Guarulla, gobernador de Amazonas” on YouTube, Creative Commons license)

A news post Tuesday from derechos.org provided more information about the story. The new details it revealed were that the three Piaroa were accused of stealing a motorcycle. A special commissioner for the state government, Jonathan Bolívar, said that Jose Rodriguez, a 30-year old Piaroa, and the two teenagers, ages 14 and 15 in fact, had been apprehended by the police Sunday afternoon. They were accused of stealing both the motorcycle and spare parts for it from the son of the mayor of Manapiare, Alberto Cayupare.

Sr. Bolívar went on to say that the accused are Piaroa and are not fluent in Spanish. They had answered yes when questioned about the thefts since they didn’t understand the questions. He added that during the protests, the National Guard officers fired about 80 rounds in the air—and then released the boys.

He also said that the arrests were arbitrary, and they were part of a pattern of aggression by the police against indigenous people. He added that the police action violated the human rights of the Piaroa.

A Piaroa man at work
A Piaroa man at work (Photo by Anagonia on Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The special commission had quickly gone from Puerto Ayacucho to San Juan de Manapiare on Monday to investigate the situation and to calm the indigenous community. The commissioners spoke with the people, who demanded answers as to what had happened and why. The Piaroa agreed to provide reparations and to repair some of the damage. The commission agreed that it would provide medicines for two people who had been wounded in the fracas.

The commission announced that there are severe background issues in the community—the absence of food and electricity, telephone connections that go down for long periods of time, a lack of fuel, no malaria medicine, and no drinking water. The only food available is the manioc (cassava flour) that the people grow in their own gardens.

The governor called for the lieutenant in charge of the command post to be dismissed. He said that the National Guard resolutely refuses to participate in a joint meeting to address the issues raised by the Piaroa.

A Piaroa family in the Amazonas state of Venezuela
A Piaroa family in the Amazonas state of Venezuela (Photo by José Mijares in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The very fact of a Piaroa community resorting to violence to confront police brutality is troubling and suggests the need for background information. A perceptive article by Overing (1989), available as a PDF on this website, provides some clues about this sort of event. Overing emphasized in her article that the Piaroa believe in tranquility so strongly that they equate good social life with a tranquil community. “Individuals are never coerced by or subjected to the violence of kinsmen and neighbours,” she wrote (p. 79).

The Piaroa communities are almost—but not completely—free of violence, she added. Violence does occur from what she called “foreign politics.” She went on to explain that while their prohibition of violence is focused on their own moral universe—the Piaroa themselves—it does not necessarily apply to outsiders.

They believe, or did while she was doing her fieldwork in their communities, that all their deaths are the result of actions by outsiders and their revenge rituals are directed at the villages of those outsiders. Of course, their society is changing, but it is notable that the people on that Sunday evening only demonstrated and burned down a building. The shots were fired by the police themselves, not the Piaroa. But it is also clear that the brutal police officials in San Juan de Manapiare are outsiders, strangers, who pushed the Piaroa too far.

 

While the Semai usually retreat from conflicts and violence, one man who has developed a successful business has also gained renown for his willingness to fight. The New Straits Times featured the story of John Bah Tuin last week, his popular inn, and his fight with a gang of robbers.

A farm in Ringlet, in the Cameron Highlands of Malaysia
A farm in Ringlet, in the Cameron Highlands of Malaysia (Photo by tian yake on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Mr. Tuin developed and runs the Rainforest Inn, located in Kampung Menson, in the Ringlet Township on Malaysia’s Cameron Highlands. Tuin managed a grocery business before opening his inn. His statements to the newspaper sounded like a successful businessman from any other country: “I learned how to overcome obstacles, difficulties, trials and tribulations to get where I am today,” he said.

“I could live comfortably with the grocery store business, but am determined that entrepreneurship is important in changing the way we live and work so that we don’t depend on the government for our welfare,” he said. The Semai man came from the highlands area, though the paper does not identify his home village. He hopes his example will inspire other Semai to move away from their more traditional ways of living.

Cameron_Highlands3He used his savings to develop a tourist inn on a plot of ancestral land near the village of Ringlet, which is about five miles south of Tanah Rata in Malaysia. Tanah Rata is the major tourist center for the Cameron Highlands, in the northwest corner of Pahang state in Peninsular Malaysia. His development is located in a tract of pristine forest next to an unpolluted river—an ideal spot for an inn, he felt.

He ignored critics and funded the construction of traditional Semai bamboo and thatch houses that comprise the inn. He hired his fellow villagers to clear the land for the development, which is in the peaceful countryside away from the hustle of the commercial world. He used Facebook to help develop a following for the inn.

The New Straits Times does indicate that he has had troubles with his business. During a couple rainy seasons, the river has flooded out his establishment and he has had to rebuild each time. He has also been cheated by travel agencies who did not pay him the agreed-upon amounts. He says he sometimes gets tired of the struggles, but he feels it is important to send a message to his fellow Semai:  “Never tire of doing what [is] good for oneself, family and the community,” he stated.

A view of tea fields and forests in the Cameron Highlands
A view of tea fields and forests in the Cameron Highlands (Photo by Will Ellis in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

The NST report briefly mentions that at one point he held at bay 10 robbers with a parang, a large machete-like knife used for clearing vegetation in Malaysia.  A blog entry provides more details about the incident, which apparently was widely noted in the social media. It seems as if Mr. Tuin was driving on a local highway one Saturday night when he stopped at the side of the road to use his phone.

Suddenly, three vehicles pulled in and 10 men got out—highway robbers. Tuin laid into them with his parang, beating up bandits and chopping off a hand of one of them in the process. He suffered some minor injuries himself in the fight. But rather than seeking medical care, he just went back to his business. He is viewed as a legend in some circles.

Robert Knox Dentan pointed out in his landmark book on the Semai (1968) that they have had a long tradition of fleeing from confrontations or fighting. He does say, however, that when taken out of their traditional nonviolent villages during the Malayan Emergency of the 1950s and trained to be soldiers, the Semai men were quite able to fight and kill communist enemies. One man, describing his experiences, told Dentan casually, “we killed, killed, killed (p.58).”

Dentan surmised that it was as if the Semai at the time were able to compartmentalize their highly nonviolent village life and their lives as soldiers in the rainforest. “Back in Semai society,” he wrote, “they seem as gentle and afraid of violence as anyone else. To them their one burst of violence appears to be as remote as something that happened to someone else, in another country (p.59).”

It appears as if aggressiveness, as well as business acumen, have become part of the identity of Mr. Tuin, who is determined to remake Semai society in his image.

 

The Ju/’hoan San, one the last true hunter-gathering cultures, have often been looked to as a window into the past. While this is only partially true since cultures are far from static, the study of the San’s painstaking arrow making technology may shed light on the processes and products that might have been used by prehistoric cultures to hunt more efficiently.

San_men_with_hunting_weapons
San men with their hunting weapons (Photo by Frank Vassen from Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Fixatives (adhesives and glues), which are commonplace in our modern lifestyles, can be incredibly important in the making of traditional arrows since they provide increased strength. It is exactly this use of fixatives by the Ju/’hoan that attracted a research team led by Lyn Wadley to study the extraordinary ways these hunters extract local plant and animal resources for the making of their arrows.

The impetuses for this research are the numerous cases of residues found in archaeological sites. Identified as fixatives, these residues hint at complex tool making by past humans, and more specifically hunting tool kits. By interviewing and observing Ju/’hoan hunters in several communities in the Nyae Nyae Conservancy of Namibia, the authors hoped to create a clearer picture of prehistoric arrow making technology. This research is described in a recent paper authored by Wadley and her colleagues.

San_bow_and_arrows
San bow and arrows. The glued sinew binding is visible here where the metal arrow point meets the grass shaft (Photo by Ian Betty from Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Wadley explains that simple glues have been found in sites as far back as 200,000 to 130,000 years ago in Europe when heated Birch bark and pitch were used for hafting, the process of attaching a handle to a stone implement. Yet, very little is known about compound tool manufacturing due to the lack of identifiable organic matter in many of these sites. This is why ethnographic comparisons to modern hunter-gatherers can be of great importance.

The authors not only observed the manufacturing of three fixative pastes made from plants, but also describe the making of the arrow itself, as well as arrow poisons made from grubs and plants. In addition, they make the distinction between glues as products having a single component and adhesives as a compound product. For more information on the poison arrow process, a recent review on the work of Caroline Chaboo covered in detail beetle grub and plant poison history, chemistry, and production processes by the San.

Diamphidia_arrow_poison_beetle
Beetle from the genus Diamphidia (Chrysomelidae family), also known as an arrow-poison beetle (Photo by Fritz Geller-Grimm from Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

The plant fixatives that were demonstrated by Ju/’hoan hunters include Ammocharis coranica and Terminalia sericea, both of which produce simple glues. In addition, a compound adhesive was created by mixing Ozoroa schinzii latex with the grass, Aristeda adscensionis. The intricate process of creating these fixatives is described in detail by the authors, and provides an example of the well thought out sequence of events that must take place for the fixatives to be properly prepared.

After having created the fixatives, they are stored on a “glue stick” that is kept in the hunter’s quiver along with the arrows and digging sticks. In the case of the pliable Ammocharis coranica glue, it is kneaded into a ball resembling a coprolite and stored in the quiver as well.

Terminalia_sericea
Gum-like sap from the Terminalia serica tree is used by the Ju/’hoan as a glue. It is usually stored by molding it onto a glue stick (Photo by JMK from Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

Wadley then explains that the fixatives are used in the construction of compound arrows through an intricate process. The arrowheads, which were traditionally made of bone, are now mostly metal fashioned from wire fencing. The arrowheads are mounted on bluegrass shafts (Andropogon gayanus) and fixed with an adhesive and glue. To achieve this, the Ozoroa schinzii adhesive is applied to both ends of the shaft and sinew made from kudu ligaments is then wrapped around the adhesive to prevent splitting. The Terminalia sericea glue is then rubbed over the sinew binding as a seal while also providing a base for the poison to be applied.

The metal arrowhead, already placed in a short grass collar and wrapped in sinew as well, is then connected with the longer arrow shaft with a link made from a stem of the Grewia flava bush. The glue Terminalia sericea is used to hold both the metal point in the grass collar as well the inserted link to the same collar. After the arrow is complete the beetle and plant poisons are applied to the arrow and dried close to a fire.

Male_Kudu
A male kudu. Kudu sinew is used for making Ju/’hoan arrows (Photo by Stefan Schäfer from Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

Interestingly, the adhered arrowhead, collar, and link fall away from the long unglued shaft when a target is struck. Finding the long shaft allows hunters to determine if they were successful. Wadley explains that the arrow itself is not meant to be fatal, but rather is a delivery mechanism for the poison, which ultimately kills the animal.

The authors then describe the limitations and implications of their study. They acknowledge that their observations of Ju/’hoan weapon production would be very different from prehistoric circumstances. The processes used then, just as now, would have been subject to change over time and location and the group using them.

Border_Cave
Border Cave is one of the archaeological sites the authors hope to better understand by conducting their study on the Ju/’hoan (Photo by Androstachys from Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

However, what the Ju/’hoan do provide is a distinct view of the complexities involved in the dissemination of knowledge, gathering of resources, and sophisticated production of compound weapons. Wadley also argues that the “creation of adhesive is a multifaceted process that involves carefully planned thought and action sequences.” Thus, “the presence of adhesives in the archaeological record is a proxy for complex cognition” (p. 4).

In regard to the recovery of archaeological remains, the study bears witness to the importance of examining artifacts such as bones, stones, and containers for residues that could reveal their use in the production of fixatives and poisons.

By conducting this ethnoarchaeologial study, Wadley and her colleagues provide a bountiful resource on Ju/’hoan weapon production and nicely compliment the work of Chaboo. While Chaboo takes a different approach by emphasizing aspects of poisons used for arrow making, Wadley further elaborates on a slowly vanishing source of traditional hunting knowledge and provides an insightful resourced into understanding the past.

Wadley, Lyn, Gary Trower, Luncinda Backwell, and Francesco d’Errico. 2015. “Traditional Glue, Adhesive and Poison Used for Composite Weapons by Ju/’hoan San in Nyae Nyae, Namibia. Implications for the Evolution of Hunting Equipment in Prehistory.” PLoS ONE 10(10): e0140269. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0140269

By Sherrie Alexander, University of Alabama at Birmingham

A Yanadi community that contributes to the welfare of a small city, and another that was recently freed from slavery, were both the subjects of news stories last week. The focus of the first report was on the hard work of the people and the conclusion of the other was on the gratitude of the Yanadi for their freedom.

The business center of Machilipatnam
The business center of Machilipatnam (Photo by Ganeshk in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

The Hindu reported on June 4 that Yanadi workers are employed in the small city of Machilipatnam, a port on the coast of Andhra Pradesh, to clean the accumulated silt out of the drainage system of the municipality. M. Jaswath Rao, the Municipality Commissioner for the city, told the paper that 70 workers, primarily Yanadis, were working in the heat of summer to complete the job by the middle of June. They are known for being able to do very demanding work in the scorching heat, according M. Baba Prasad, the Municipal Chairperson. Cleaning the drains is an essential task since they are prone to becoming water logged in the low-lying city.

The second report, about slavery in Andhra Pradesh, appeared last week in GovernanceNow, an Indian magazine and website about issues related to good government. Ben Phillips, the author, is the international director for policy, research, advocacy and campaigns for ActionAid, an international NGO that focuses “on the people that others forget,” as the organization writes on its website.

Yanadi straw huts in Andhra Padesh
Yanadi straw huts in Andhra Padesh (Photo by the International Institute for Environment and Development in Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Mr. Phillips opened by describing his visit with some Yanadi living in Aravapalem village, located in the Nellore District of Andhra Pradesh. The small straw huts that they live in could superficially look desolate, he wrote, but the Yanadi describe them as “paradise.” The reason is that, before living there with some control over their own lives, they were forced to live as bonded laborers on a plantation under the supervision, literally, of a cruel master.

As they told their story to Mr. Phillips, “the plantation owner was a vicious man. When he got angry because we had not cut enough of the crop, he would tie us to a tree and beat us. It was hell we were living in.” The owner would hold the children hostage if their parents left the plantation until they returned. He selected a little girl to work in his house for him, and when she turned 12 he started raping her. When she ran away, she was caught and brought back. But one day, while visiting a nearby temple, a worker from an aid organization happened to notice the girl weeping and asked her what was wrong.

She told the whole story, so the aid person connected her with another local organization and with the police, who intervened, raided the plantation, and freed all the slaves. The organization helped them obtain the land they are now living on so they could build their own farm buildings and houses. “We feel so happy now that we are free. We will stay here forever.”

Yanadi on the way to the forest to gather plants
Yanadi on the way to the forest to gather plants (Photo by the International Institute for Environment and Development on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Phillips argued in his report that the Yanadi are exploited regularly by the rich and the powerful in Andhra Pradesh; they are one of the most marginalized societies in India. The story is similar to one published in February 2015 which described some enslaved Yanadi who were forced to walk into forests to gather branches for their owners to sell. That group also had to endure cruel conditions before they were discovered by some NGO workers and freed.

Mr. Phillips described his meeting with another group of Yanadi laborers who were also recently freed from slavery conditions. They were confined to an illegal fish farm where they were required to use their bare hands to work with dangerously toxic materials. The first group of farm laborers felt they were fortunate compared to the second group, the fish-farming Yanadi. The author had a hard time believing that former slaves could feel fortunate compared to others who had had even worse experiences.

Those people, the second group, were freed from their slavery when a Yanadi man who had become a professional worker for an NGO heard from a relative about the terrible conditions at the fish farm. He substituted a lungi for his normal business attire, appeared at the fish farm pretending to be a visiting relative, interviewed the people, and then brought the authorities. The owner managed to escape arrest, but at least those additional Yanadi were also set free.

B.R. Ambedkar as a young man (In the public domain)
B.R. Ambedkar as a young man (In the public domain)

Phillips pondered the bravery of the little girl who told her story in the temple, and of the NGO worker who wore a disguise to get into the fish farm. He said that he was drafting his story on April 13th this year, the day before the 125th anniversary of the birth of B.R. Ambedkar, the great Indian economist, jurist, humanitarian, and leader of the Dalits (untouchables). The two groups of formerly enslaved Yanadi were planning to join marches the next day celebrating the Ambedkar anniversary.

As the author was leaving the Yanadi community, he asked the people if he could do anything for them, and they at first replied that there was nothing. Then, they asked one favor: that he return someday. “Please come back and see us sir, see us when we have built our houses here,” they told him.

He closed by relating his conversation with a Yanadi family during which he asked the name of their daughter, a girl who was born on the plantation. They told him that her name is Bangaram. As they were about to explain the meaning of that word in the language of Andhra Pradesh, Telugu, Phillips interrupted them. “I know, it’s one of the few Telugu words I know, it means gold. She is gold,” he concluded.

 

Kangiqsualujjuaq, an Inuit village of 900 people, has the highest rate of children living in foster care of any place in Nunavik. The mayor and the other leaders decided to do something to address this dismal fact about their community.

Kangiqsualujjuaq at night
Kangiqsualujjuaq at night (Photo by Lkovac on Wikimedia Commons, Creative Commons license)

According to an article in the CBC last week, Hilda Snowball, the mayor of Kangiqsualujjuaq, which is located in the Kativik Region of northern Quebec, was stunned four years ago when she learned that 27 children—babies, toddlers, and older kids—had been taken away from their families under the provisions of the Youth Protection Act of Quebec and put into foster care elsewhere. She told the CBC that it was heartbreaking news. “As Inuit we share, we work together—and when something happens, we try to fix it as families,” she said.

She recognized that the children were in unsafe conditions in their homes, but she felt that taking them away from their parents was more harmful than helpful for them. She and several other women in the community decided to do something. At the beginning of 2016, they opened a special facility to address the problem in Kangiqsualujjuaq, calling it the Qarmaapik Family House. A qarmaapik is the Inuktitut word for the large canvas tents that the Inuit used to use for summer housing when they lived out on the land.

Inuit school children in Kuujjuaq, a community in Kativik 100 miles southwest of Kangiqsualujjuaq
Inuit school children in Kuujjuaq, a community in Kativik 100 miles southwest of Kangiqsualujjuaq (Photo by Rosemary Gilliat, Library and Archives Canada on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Ella Annanack, the co-coordinator of the home, told the CBC that one of the problems in Kangiqsualujjuaq is that some young people become parents when they are quite young, and they need to learn “healthy parenting.” The 24-year old woman believes that Inuit should solve their problems within their own families, as their ancestors used to do.

One of the programs at the new facility is cooking classes, offered twice a week. When the parents come for an evening of cooking, a daycare worker takes care of their children in a separate play room. Another program is counseling for parents who need it.

Qarmaapik Family House also works with the parents, mostly the mothers, to make baby books—scrapbooks that they can give to their children when they get older. The scrapbooks include descriptions of the physical characteristics of their children, the origins of their names, and genealogical information. Ms. Annanack said that making the scrapbooks prompts the parents to think more about their kids and to form better bonds with them.

An Inuit family at their home in Nunavut
An Inuit family at their home in Nunavut (Photo by Ansgar Walk in Wikimedia Commons, Creative Commons license)

The building also has four bedrooms at the back where children can be housed if their families are intoxicated, fighting, or in some other form of crisis. The goal is to try and keep families together as much as possible, so the kids can stay in the village and not be put in foster care, which may be far away.

Mayor Snowball told the CBC that separating the children from their parents can be devastating to them. At times she witnesses the emotions when the children who’ve been placed in foster care are allowed to fly back to Kangiqsualujjuaq. “Children are happy when they finally see their families, and [when] the time comes … to leave, it’s heartbreaking to see them.”

She said that the children deeply miss the affection of their parents. They cry because they want to stay in the community with them. “But they are forced to leave, because they are in the foster care system,” Ms. Snowball concluded. Of the 900 residents of Kangiqsualujjuaq, about 400 are children.

Kangiqsualujjuaq at dawn
Kangiqsualujjuaq at dawn (Photo by Nicholas M. Perrault in Wikimedia Commons, in the public domain)

The project appears, from the news report, to represent a new ray of hope for Kangiqsualujjuaq, like the dawn of a new day in the town. The Nunavik Board of Health and Social Services provided $183,000 to help the community renovate a building which had previously been a store, a restaurant, and a bed and breakfast.

The attorney for the village is working with the director of youth protection for the province to find ways for more of their children to stay in the community—within the parameters of the provincial Youth Protection Act.

 

The state of Kerala has apparently not counted on the strenuous opposition of the Kadar to government plans for proceeding with a big hydroelectric power project on the Chalakudy River. The small, peaceful tribe of about 2,000 people staged a demonstration in March to show the importance of forests to their way of life. Now they are gearing up for a battle with the state in opposition to the dam.

A road through the Athirappilly Forest
A road through the Athirappilly Forest (Photo by Jan J George on Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

The Hindu ran two news stories in the middle of last week describing the latest developments. The journalist writing for the paper, K.S. Sudhi, makes it clear at the outset of the first article on May 31 that the Athirappilly (also spelled Athirapally) forests, in the Thrissur District of Kerala, are essential to the Kadar people.

They subsist primarily on so-called non-timber (or “minor”) forest products such as honey that they gather and trade with others for their essential needs. They also take day laboring jobs for income. The new government ministers for the state, particularly the Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan and the minister for power, Kadakampally Surendran, have announced that the administration will be moving ahead with the project. The new government just took office on May 25th.

Ms. Geetha at the river that she is trying to protect
Ms. Geetha at the river that she is trying to protect (Photo by Parineeta Dandekar on SANDRP website, Creative Commons license)

Ms. V. K. Geetha, the Oorumooppathy (the female chief) of the Kadar announced that the tribal council, called the Oorukoottam, would be meeting shortly to decide on its course of action. She said that the Indian Supreme Court has ruled in favor of tribes having the right to decide whether or not to allow projects on their tribal lands. “We won’t let the government play with our lives anymore,” the woman told the journalist.

Her words, as quoted by the paper and backed up in the past with her actions, show the determination and abilities of this formidable leader. “No State or the Central government can implement any project here without our consent. The permission of the tribal people is mandatory even for plucking a leaf from here. We will go to any extent to protect our rights,” she told The Hindu.

The rights of the Kadar that Ms. Geetha referred to are guaranteed by Indian law, the Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act of 2006. The act guaranteed tribal peoples Community Forest Rights, which are enforceable by law. The permission of a tribal council is necessary for any projects in a forest over which they have jurisdiction.

The Dongria Kondh holding a tribal council meeting to express their reverence for the Niyamgiri Hills and opposition to its destruction
The Dongria Kondh holding a tribal council meeting to express their reverence for the Niyamgiri Hills and opposition to its destruction (Screen capture from the video “Save Niyamgiri: Voices from Ground Zero” by VideoVolunteers on YouTube, Creative Commons license)

The Indian Supreme Court recently upheld the right of a different tribal council, that of the Dongria Kondh in the state of Odisha in eastern India, to stop a development they opposed. They used the provisions of the Forest Rights Act to block a $1.7 billion mining project by a huge firm, Vedanta Resources, in the Niyamgiri Hills. The company had sought to mine a rich seam of bauxite in the sacred mountain of the Dongria.

According to The Hindu, the decision of the court in that case strengthens the determination of the Kadar to use the same national law to their own advantage as well. The Kadar council last August had rejected the Athirappilly project, so it was clear from the news report of May 31 that their leaders were deciding on the strategy they wished to pursue.

The Hindu on June 1 gave further information about what they are doing to stop the dam project. Ms. Geetha and the village council, called the grama sabha of Vazhachal, have separately approached the High Court, through petitions presented by their counsel, P. B. Krishan, to block the environmental clearance granted for the project. According to the attorney, the petitions “have been admitted by the High Court.”

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)

The contention of the petitioners is that the proposed project would forcibly displace the Kadar from their constitutional rights to their lives and their livelihoods in the forests surrounding the Athirappilly Waterfalls, where the dam is planned. They further contend that they have been forced to move down out of the mountains by earlier hydroelectric dams higher up the Chalakudy River, but no forests or mountainous areas remain farther downstream for them to move to.

The petitions point out to the court that the state government has ignored the provisions of the Forest Rights Act by trying to retrospectively issue clearances and to ignore the rights of the grama sabhas. These government actions were arbitrary and illegal, the petitions argue.

 

Republican leaders in Pennsylvania are hoping that the Amish of Lancaster County will strongly support Donald Trump in the U.S. presidential election this coming November. An interesting news story last week in PennLive.com, an online companion to The Patriot-News from Harrisburg, reviewed the history of conservative voting by the Amish—when they decide to vote, that is.

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

The journalist writing for PennLive, Colin Deppen, focused particularly on the 2004 election in the state and the relationship between the Amish and Republican strategies that year. The basic issue? The polls showed that Pennsylvania, a large and perhaps key state in the presidential re-election efforts of George W. Bush, was almost evenly divided between the president and Senator John Kerry, his Democratic opponent.

The Amish in Lancaster County, known for their conservative views, might help tip the state into the Republican side. After all, a few hundred votes in Florida had gained the White House for Bush in 2000, so Amish voters, potentially over 10,000 of them, could not be discounted.

President Bush meets some Amish in Lancaster County, PA, August 16, 2006
President Bush meets some Amish in Lancaster County, PA, August 16, 2006 (Photo by Kimberlee Hewitt, White House image, in the public domain)

During the fall campaign in 2004, Bush visited the Amish communities on several occasions. His low key, folksy, aw shucks style of relating to people, and his frequent references to God in his personal conversations with Amish leaders, appealed to many.

Mr. Deppen makes it clear, however, that the Amish did have qualms about the wars that Bush had led the nation into. How could they vote for the Commander-in-Chief of the U.S. military forces, a president who strongly believed in fighting wars as an instrument of state policy, yet themselves refuse to participate in warfare and interpersonal violence? Wasn’t it hypocritical for them to reject fighting, yet to vote for a war president?

On the other hand, Bush articulated conservative values that the Amish could easily relate to, in contrast to more liberal Democrats such as Senator Kerry, who might accept views on abortion and same-sex marriages that they couldn’t deal with. Bush held values that matched their own, Republicans told the Amish. While the Plain People had always tended to separate themselves from concerns about the affairs of the larger society and had generally abstained from voting, Republicans in Lancaster County emphasized to them that they could no longer separate themselves from the critical social and moral issues of the day.

Amish going to an auction in Lancaster County
Amish going to an auction in Lancaster County (Photo by Artico2 in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

A Republican operative in the county named Chet Beiler led efforts by members of his party to stir up Amish interest in voting. They visited people in their homes and businesses. They established voter registration booths at auctions, fairs, and other places where the Amish would gather in the county that fall.

In the end, however, the drive to register and get out the Amish vote in the county was largely a failure. It gained considerable national attention, but out of those roughly 10,350 potential Amish voters in Lancaster County, only 1,342 actually voted, according to Mr. Deppen. Though most if not all of them probably voted for Bush, the results of all that effort did not pan out. Nonetheless, the president did pay gracious return visits to Lancaster County.

Donald Kraybill
Donald Kraybill (Photo by Dave Bonta)

PennLive discussed a journal article analyzing this subject (and reviewed in this website) by Donald Kraybill and Kyle C. Kopko entitled “Bush Fever: Amish and Old Order Mennonites in the 2004 Presidential Election.”

Mr. Deppen questioned Prof. Kraybill about the 2004 election, Amish preferences for the values of the Republican Party, and the likelihood that they will support Trump in 2016. “With Republican leanings, it’s very unlikely that many if any would support Clinton,” Kraybill told the reporter. He also said that he doubted they would have much enthusiasm for Mr. Trump, though he admitted he was just guessing, and had not yet discussed the issue with Amish people themselves.

Donald TrumpKraybill said that, although the Amish do respect business people who are successful, Trump’s tendency to be boastful is antithetical to their belief in humility. Nonetheless, a Super PAC has been set up to arouse the Amish to support Trump in November. The Amish vote might be critical once again, particularly because of the size of the state and the fact that polls now show that Trump and Mrs. Clinton are neck-and-neck.

Although the billionaire is ostentatious and has been married three times—values that may repel the Amish—the political action committee is set to spend some money on getting out the Amish vote. However, the journal article by Kraybill and Kopko does make it clear that all the publicity in the fall of 2004 may have prompted a backlash among Amish voters, prompting them to rethink their support for the war president. In essence, the activities of the political operatives,  particularly  the publicity, may have kept the Amish away from the polls, a factor that the Penn Live article does not mention.

But perhaps the most interesting question of all is how the Amish will balance out conflicts between their peaceful social and moral values and the attributes of conservative candidates that may be less than appealing to them.

Birhor man making rope out of siali creepers.
Birhor man making rope out of siali creepers (Photo copyright by Deborah Nadal and used with permission)

The Birhor move freely between their identities as foragers, hunters, and active business people, allowing them to survive in a world where they are frequently marginalized by government officials and a Hindu majority. Having studied the Birhor extensively, author Deborah Nadal was intrigued by their ability to fluidly navigate these identities. She explores this aspect of their culture in her paper, “Hunting Monkeys and Gathering Identities: Exploring Self-Representation among the Birhor of Central-East India.” (2014)

The Birhor, whose name translates to “man of the forest,” are proud of their forest-dwelling identity, which also serves to distinguish them from other groups. In fact, according to Birhor folklore, their most important ancestral figure was the first person to survive in the forest and learn to collect siali (Bauhinia vahlii), the fibers used to make hunting nets and ropes. As Nadal later discusses, siali products are integral to Birhor culture.

Hanuman_finds_Sita_in_the_ashoka_grove,_and_shows_her_Rama's_ring
Hanuman finds Sita in the ashoka grove, and shows her Rama’s ring (By MV Sharma and printed by Anant Shivaji Desai, from Wikipedia, Public Domain)

Neighboring communities refer to the Birhor as Mankria, a reference to “those who eat monkeys.” Unfortunately, this title is not taken lightly by Hindus who revere the monkey-god Hanuman. So while the Birhor are proud of their expertise at hunting monkeys, there is often a high degree of social stigmatization as a result. As Nadal explains, “it is not surprising that the relationship between Birhor and monkeys is extremely delicate, ambivalent and in a continuous process of re-negotiation. After all, this negotiation represents the essence of a broader matter which has fundamental consequences both at social and economic levels.” (p. 266)

Birhor pride in hunting monkeys is so deeply rooted that their version of the ancient Hindu poem, the Ramayana, describes Hanuman as the very god that taught them how to capture monkeys so effectively. The story tells how Hanuman took pity on the Birhor and told them how to improve their nets so they could capture him, and they did. The species of monkeys that are hunted may vary, but those of greatest significance are the Grey langur or Hanuman langur, Presbytis (Semnopithecus) entellus, and the Rhesus macaque, Macaca mulatta.

Rhesus macaque, Macaca mulatta, are native to South, Central, and Southeast Asia
The Rhesus macaque, Macaca mulatta, is native to South, Central, and Southeast Asia (Photo by Fabrice Stoger, from Flickr, Creative Commons license)

To non-Birhor, eating monkey meat is even more deplorable than killing them. Nadal points out that some Birhor communities have no problem eating it while others say monkey flesh is taboo. She interprets this as an attempt to build a better image with Hindu neighbors rather than a lack of access to forests and monkeys, as some Birhor have explained it. Monkey meat is not sold at market since there is no demand for it. However, live monkeys are sold as pets and to traders who then sell them to research laboratories. Monkey hides are sold to other Birhor for making drums.

Nadal also describes how the Birhor’s identity as hunters has created a reputation as having both the physical and behavioral prowess of monkeys. In fact, their skills are hardly ignored by agriculturalist neighbors in Odisha who hire them to remove crop-raiding monkeys. Such skillful hunting heightens the ambiguity surrounding them, with rumors of their ability to charm animals into traps or catch them using supernatural powers. The Birhor, who are well aware of how others perceive them, may, at times, use this to their advantage by working as diviners, sorcerers, or medicine men.

Gray Langurs with infant
The Grey langur, Presbytis (Semnopithecus) entellus, is common throughout Southeast Asia (Photo by Nkansara, from Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

While many Hindus are not happy with some Birhor practices, there is still a healthy amount of respect for them since forests, in Hindu imagery and Vedic literature, are associated with the unknown, demonic or celestial beings, and ascetics. Thus, the Birhor image as people of the forest helps to create a shroud of mystery around them, and allows the freedom to re-shape their identities as needed.

In addition to hunting, the Birhor are also foragers, collecting honey, fruits, flowers, and siali fibers for rope making and related products. It is this latter resource that is most sought after at local markets. Their ropes, and especially nets made from them, are another key component of Birhor identity for three reasons: the Birhor are the only group in the area that use nets for hunting; nets are the most effective means of hunting monkeys, their preferred prey; and finally, they are proud of the their ability to harvest the creeper, Bauhinia vahlii, for siali fibers.

The siali creeper, Bauhinia vahlii, used for rope making by the Birhor
The siali creeper, Bauhinia vahlii, is used for rope making (Photo by Radha Rangarajan, from Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Nadal goes into great detail describing Birhor net making and monkey hunting, making this article an excellent resource on their subsistence strategies. She also points out an interesting contrast in hunting techniques between Birhor groups. The Odisha Birhor use nets and hunt monkeys, whereas the Jharkhand Birhor use bows and arrows and do not hunt monkeys. In fact, the Odisha Birhor will not capture a monkey accidentally hit by an arrow. The reason for this is that the bow and arrow are seen as unnecessarily violent and create such a high degree of suffering that it reduces the quality of the meat. It is interesting to note that Jharkhand Birhor are the same group that shun eating monkey meat in an attempt to gain higher status amongst neighboring Hindus.

Nadal does touch on the widespread governmental regulations affecting the Birhor since the 1950’s. Up until this time most of the Birhor were nomadic and lived on the products of their hunting and the selling of handicrafts. However, since that time, vast cultural and economic changes have occurred. The establishment of national parks not only limited their access to lands on which to hunt, but also resulted in the forced resettlement of many Birhor. Moreover, in areas where they did have access to forest resources, not only was hunting banned, but often lumber and bark products were off limits as well.

Tools used in net hunting: sticks and a net made of natural fibers
Tools used in net hunting: sticks and a net made of natural fibers (Photo copyright by Deborah Nadal and used with permission)

Thus, the Birhor are left with drastically reduced natural resources and have been forced to search for alternatives. However, this does not mean they are willing to abandon their traditional practices. They still hunt when possible and are very capable of “combining old customs with the new conditions.” (p.273) For example, when nets of natural fibers are in need of repair, they may use readily available plastic threads from commercial packaging instead.

As their world changes around them, so then do the Birhor, but often on their own terms as they maintain, if only symbolically, their traditional practices. Ultimately, the story Nadal wishes to tell, unlike the tragic tales of their decline, is one of their flexibility as nomadic hunters and gatherers. She not only succeeds in doing this, but also provides us with an image of the Birhor as active agents in shaping their own future and identities.

Nadal, Deborah. 2014. “Hunting Monkeys and Gathering Identities: Exploring Self-Representation among the Birhor of Central-East India.” La Rivista Folklorica 69:263-278

By Sherrie Alexander, University of Alabama at Birmingham

Malapandaram living in the forests near the road to Sabarimala in southwest India are showing increased interest in sending their children to the tribal school in Attathode. According to a report published last week in The Hindu, Jayachandran, the headmaster, said that things are looking good since 37 students are expected for the opening of the new school year this coming week. The school opened with 50 students on June 1, 2015, before it got into trouble.

A tribal family at Attathode, probably Malapandaram
A tribal family at Attathode, probably Malapandaram (Photo by jaya8022 in Wikimedia Commons, Creative Commons license)

The school at Attathode will join all other primary schools in the state of Kerala in organizing a program at the beginning of the school year. Called the “Praveshanotsavom” by The Hindu or the “Pravesanolsavam” in many other sources, the program seeks to build interest in education among the children. Attathode, or Attathodu as some sources call it, is the second largest tribal settlement in Kerala. Of the 37 students currently enrolled in the school, Mr. Jayachandran said that about 60 percent—22 children—were Malapandaram.

The headmaster and the other three staff members planned to visit tribal families in the Attathode settlement before the school year begins to see if they can persuade more Malapandaram families to enroll their children in the school. They also planned to visit Malapandaram living in nearby forested areas, in the settlements of Nilackal, Chalakkayam, Pampa, Rajampara, and Laha, with the same goal in mind.

The Hindu reporter reviewed the history of the school last year. It opened to widespread optimism—and publicity—at the start of classes in June, but it quickly ran out of money and was threatened with closing. Then, the District Collector for the Pathanamthitta District of Kerala in which the Malapandaram settlements are located, Mr. S. Harikishore, intervened and found extra funds to keep the school open and operating.

The forest of the Pathanmthitta District near Chalakkayam
The forest of the Pathanmthitta District near Chalakkayam (Photo by rajaraman sundaram on Panoramio, Creative Commons license)

He arranged funding for a driver to operate a vehicle that would transport the children to school each day from their homes in the Sabarimala forests. He also arranged for government funding to give three meals to the kids in school every day.

 

Doctors in the 1930s described a series of fainting spells by women on Tristan da Cunha as female hysteria, a diagnosis that would no longer be acceptable to medical authorities.

A picture of Tristan women and children published in 1910 in Katherine M. Barrow’s, Three Years in Tristan da Cunha
A picture of Tristan women and children published in 1910 in Katherine M. Barrow’s, Three Years in Tristan da Cunha (In the public domain)

Instead, Lance van Sittert analyzes them as political expressions. In a recent journal article, the Associate Professor of Historical Studies at the University of Cape Town describes his research based on reports by visitors to the island in the first half of the 20th century. He concludes that the episodes of fainting were a way for island females to make political statements against male supremacy. His background information about conditions for women and the social structure on Tristan during the period add a lot to our understanding of that society.

The author points out that 19th century romantics maintained an unrealistic view of Tristan da Cunha as a utopia, which it was not. The island had become polarized, with an elite of Scandinavian-looking upper class people and a much more swarthy looking, much poorer underclass. Outside observers noted that members of elite families on the island referred to the lower class people contemptuously as “the poor.”

Professor van Sittert argues that race, class, and wealth tended to be perpetuated on Tristan since young people with fair skin were highly prized as marriage partners, while young people with darker skin had a harder time finding a mate. Discrimination on the island resulted in the people with darker skin remaining poor. Wealth begat wealth, he writes, and poverty begat poverty, since the people stayed within their differing racial groups.

A sign posted in the Settlement of Tristan da Cunha
A sign posted in the Settlement of Tristan da Cunha (Photo by Brian Gratwicke on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Another important social factor on the island during the first half of the century was the isolation of Tristan da Cunha. The island people took pride in their incredible isolation, but since relatively few vessels visited Tristan there was a limited diversity of potential marriage partners. However, van Sittert maintains, since there were 1.5 unmarried men for every unmarried woman on the island, the young women did gain some sense of security from the demographic situation. They tended to have lots of male admirers lined up in the living rooms of their parents.

After about 1900, Tristan women started undercutting the pattern of male dominance because they were more literate than the men. Their superior reading and writing skills allowed them to more effectively interact with powerful figures in Europe and solicit charity and support from them than the Tristan men could do.

Countering that, missionaries of the Anglican Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, on the island for most of the interwar period, typically had a goal of restoring the patriarchy. The arrival of the missionary Harold Wilde in February 1934 epitomized this tendency to repress island women. He was determined to end charity from the north, mostly secured by the women, by impounding all donations in a locked storehouse. In effect, he confiscated the donated goods, forcing the women back into a state of dependency.

The seal of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts
The seal of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts (Image from Anglicans Online in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

Wilde left on a ship for home in February 1937, leaving the storehouse key with the Chief Islander, William Repetto, son of Frances Repetto, the matriarch of the society. The islanders may have expected that, with the dictator gone, Mr. Repetto would scrap the centralized control of the island storehouse. But he followed the instructions of his mother and declined to leave it open as it had been in the past. She reasoned that it was only an attraction to the lazy people (i.e., the underclass) who did not work hard and save up their goods for a rainy day.

The first fainting spell, by Frances Repetto herself, occurred in July 1937. She had had a history of fainting, labeled as “sleeping spells” over the decades, in response to crises on the island. The context in 1937 was the absence of Mr. Wilde and the agitation to open up the storehouse. In a situation where the woman is denied any political voice, and where the missionary had restored all symbols of male authority, Ms. Repetto’s so-called hysteria was really an expression of her frustration with political denial. Her sleeping spell expressed passivity and hopelessness.

Ms. Repetto’s performance was quickly mimicked by other women in her immediate family. They had no convulsions; they just fainted and moaned slightly from time to time. Some of them had many such spells in a single day. In August, the spells by unmarried women began to change from the submissive sleeping style of fainting to a more kinetic, loud, and defiant style, referred to as “fighting spells.” The victims started by fainting, but they soon changed into convulsions and jerking movements. Then, the women tried to tear off their clothes, grabbed at their breasts, and simulated arousal, though they soon subsided into semi-consciousness. The “fighting spells” were unique, a novel addition to the political arsenal of the Tristan women.

The spells continued in September with the married women joining the ranks of performers. The author argues that they represented “a generational revolt within female politics against the Repetto matriarchy and its enforcement of the new missionary morality on island youth (p.114).” The young women had invented a unique way of performing to dramatize their issues. They had borrowed from the matriarch the spell, as well as, from the missionary, the ideal of the ecstatic vision.

Peter Munch as a young man
Peter Munch as a young man (Image in the Wikipedia, available for fair use)

In December 1937 a ship arrived bringing the members of a Norwegian scientific expedition, including the sociologist Peter A. Munch, for a four-month stay and, on the same vessel, the dictatorial minister Harold Wilde. Van Sittert’s examination of the information recorded by the Norwegians during their four month stay on the island shows that the fainting spells were more suggestive of gender politics than of gender pathology.

The author maintains that Munch followed his medical colleagues on the expedition in diagnosing the condition of the women as “spells.” He wrote, in his Sociology of Tristan da Cunha, that they were “a form of unconscious, or only half conscious, outbreaks of repressed temperamental dispositions (p.74).” Van Sittert strongly disagrees, and he makes his point by recounting the history of the outbreaks of fainting.

The diary of Peter A. Munch, which he kept on Tristan in 1937 – 1938 and his daughter published in 2008
The diary of Peter A. Munch, which he kept on Tristan in 1937 – 1938 and his daughter published in 2008

However, the diary kept by Peter Munch, translated and edited by his daughter Cathrine Munch Snyder and published in 2008, reveals more freely than the earlier published works by the famed ethnographer what van Sittert refers to as a “medieval feudal estate” on Tristan. It was “presided over by an alcoholic and sexually predatory missionary-lord whose immiserated and illiterate serfs lived in daily dread of his whims (p.115).”

Some problems with van Sittert’s presentation need to be mentioned, however. He castigates the investigations of ethnographers in general, who assume “not only an essentially static society governed by custom, but also the absence of conflict based on class, race or gender and hence of any island politics (p.101).” His sweeping dismissal of ethnographic work is highly questionable. Furthermore, he frequently places sarcastic quotation marks around words and phrases, which cheapen his otherwise interesting arguments. Despite these weaknesses, van Sittert provides a lot of interesting information about social conditions on the island during the first half of the last century.

van Sittert, Lance. 2015. “Fighting Spells: The Politics of Hysteria and the Hysteria of Politics on Tristan da Cunha, 1937–1938.” Journal of Social History 49(1): 100-124