Photoksar, sometimes spelled “Fotoksar,” a remote Ladakhi village, made the news last week for finally getting electricity from the outside world. The village of 241 people, as of the most recent census of India, is located high in the mountains about 100 rough road miles west of Leh beyond a pass that is closed in the winter.

Rural students dancing at a village school function in the Puga Valley of the Chang Tang region, southeastern Ladakh. (Screenshot from the video “Ladakh ‘Six Souls of Puga: The Wind of Change’” by Chamba Kaysar on YouTube, Creative Commons license)
Rural students dancing at a village school function in the Puga Valley of the Chang Tang region, southeastern Ladakh. (Screenshot from the video “Ladakh ‘Six Souls of Puga: The Wind of Change’” by Chamba Kaysar on YouTube, Creative Commons license)

On Sunday November 30, news sources reported that Tashi Gyalson, the Chairman and Chief Executive Councillor (CEC) of the Ladakh Autonomous Hill Development Council (LAHDC), Leh, turned on the electric power in the village. It was the first experience with electricity in the community.

In his remarks at the inauguration event, Gyalson made all the appropriate comments. He singled out Prime Minister Narendra Modi and the local member of parliament for their support. He described impending projects to electrify and install telecommunication facilities in other remote villages.

Ladakhi children (Photo by Daniela Hartmann on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
Ladakhi children (Photo by Daniela Hartmann on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The residents, according to the reporter, were thrilled. A Ladakhi man named Chandol was pleased that their new supply of electricity would help the children do well in their schooling. “We are very happy now that we finally have electricity in our village. Now our children can study well and progress in life,” he said.

Photoksar village is remote even by Ladakhi standards. Fernanda Pirie, in her landmark 2007 book Peace and Conflict in Ladakh: The Construction of a Fragile Web of Order, indicated that remoteness from other communities and especially from governing agencies was an important part of the strategy of maintaining peacefulness in Photoksar. Basing her analysis on her fieldwork in the village, she wrote that the people avoid outside control as much as they can, even when serious crimes may have been committed.

For instance, in another village a boy disappeared during a hike with older boys into nearby mountains. When his body was found, the villagers couldn’t ascertain exactly what had happened. But rather than call the police, the parents of the boys who presumably were responsible for the death agreed to pay the parents of the victim a very large fine in order to settle the matter and prevent a lingering dispute.

The people talked about taking the matter to the police but they did everything possible to avoid that. Pirie observed that local conflict resolutions of issues, with ceremonial apologies and restoration of harmonious relations, help them define their village as an autonomous community, their ideal.

Pirie added to her analysis that the villagers idealize a peaceful community, one free of anger and conflict. Conflict, they feel, is a manifestation of a society that is degenerate—yet they recognize that their own village is far from ideal. When she suggested that the village did not seem to have much conflict, one of Pirie’s informants quickly disagreed. “Oh no, we have a lot of arguments, which is very bad … We drink too much chang,” he told her (p.126).

But the people’s attitudes toward violence, their insistence on order in the community, is based on their fundamental ideal of a harmonious, united, and peaceful village. They believe that order is an individual responsibility, not a divine condition or an idea based on laws. Peacefulness is established by individuals acting voluntarily, not something that is imposed from above, they are convinced.

It is not clear from the news last week if, in their pleasure about finally becoming connected to the electric grid, the residents of Photoksar are considering the implications of additional ties to the rest of Ladakh that the development might imply.

The Yanadi of coastal Andhra Pradesh are monitoring the nests of the ocean-dwelling olive ridley turtles that come ashore to lay their eggs. The people are hoping their efforts will help protect the species from declining.

A Yanadi fisherman paddling a log boat (Photo by Only the Best that was on NationMaster.com and copyrighted, but released for all uses without reservation)
A Yanadi fisherman paddling a log boat (Photo by Only the Best that was on NationMaster.com and copyrighted, but released for all uses without reservation)

A news story in The Hindu at the beginning of last week indicated that wildlife authorities are directing the volunteers—Yanadi and other fisherfolks—to protect the newly laid eggs in two different ways along the coast. The reason for the different approaches is the relative security of the eggs before they finally hatch into baby turtles.

When the adult turtles swim ashore at the beginning of winter and lay their eggs in the Godavari River estuary, the eggs are left in their natural habitats—the coastal beaches where they have been laid. According to C. Selvan, Divisional Forest Officer, 70,000 hatchlings returned to the sea at the appropriate time earlier this year.

At least 15 breeding places have been identified where the turtles are laying their eggs this season. The Yanadi “will constantly monitor the situation in vulnerable areas observing the arrival of turtles besides protecting the nesting sites,” Selvan said.

An olive ridley turtle hatchling at a beach in Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India (Photo by Thangaraj Kumaravel on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
An olive ridley turtle hatchling at a beach in Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India (Photo by Thangaraj Kumaravel on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

However, eggs laid in the Krishna River beaches are removed and protected in special hatcheries. That is a way to prevent them from being eaten by jackals and wild boars. Last winter, people gathered and protected 30,000 eggs and over 29,000 of them hatched and were released into the sea at the end of the winter. Officials are predicting that the egg laying will be delayed this year on the beaches due to recent flooding in the Krishna River.

News stories in 2017 and 2018 about the Yanadi involvement in protecting the turtle eggs indicated that the young turtles are heavily consumed by predators in the ocean. Only about one out of one thousand hatchlings released into the sea will survive into adulthood and attempt to return to the same beach so they can lay their own eggs.

Inspired by their success over the years in stopping the construction of a big hydroelectric project in Kerala, the Kadar have decided to contest the construction of another dam on a different river in the state. A post on an Indian environmental blog on October 20 provided some details of the latest attack by the state electricity development authority on the forest rights of the people. The Times of India (TOI), one of the nation’s leading newspapers, covered the story on November 18 and provided an update the next day describing some of the actions the Kadar and their supporters are taking to dramatize their opposition.

Kadar children engage in a standing protest of the proposed Athirappilly Dam on the Chalakudi River (Photo was from International Rivers with a Creative Commons license)
Kadar children engage in a standing protest of the proposed Athirappilly Dam on the Chalakudi River (Photo was from International Rivers with a Creative Commons license)

The long-delayed project, covered by many news stories over the years and so far fought to a stand-still, was proposed for the Chalakudy River above the famed Athirappilly waterfall. The more recent dam is now proposed for a river near the Kadar village of Anakkayam, which is located in the buffer zone of the Parambikulam Tiger Reserve (formerly known as the Parambikulam Wildlife Sanctuary).

The Kerala State Electricity Board, the agency that the Kadar have been challenging for years, has directed the clearing of eight hectares of primary forest in the ancestral lands of the local Kadar without bothering to discuss the project with them. The land involved in the proposed dam, called the Anakkayam Small Hydro Power Project, includes 625 massive, old-growth trees that would have to be sacrificed. The latest dam proposal would require the construction of a tunnel five kilometers long. The construction would destroy the habitat of the birds and mammals that inhabit the old-growth forest.

A huge teak tree in the Parambikulam Wildlife Reserve in Kerala (Photo by Prashanth dotcompais on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
A huge teak tree in the Parambikulam Tiger Reserve in Kerala (Photo by Prashanth dotcompais on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The Kadar in the area assert that India’s Forest Rights Act of 2006 (FRA) gives them the rights to the natural resources of the forest, the same claim they have made over the proposed project on the Chalakudy River. Their economy depends on sustainable gathering of non-timber forest resources and produce from the rivers.

The November 18 news story quoted Ajitha G., the secretary of the Community Forest Rights Coordination Sangham, a group established in 2015 to help the Kadar manage their non-timber products in the area they claim under the terms of the FRA. Ajitha said that the people gather from the forest produce such as thelli (black dammar), wild turmeric, wild ginger, and wild nutmeg. They also collect wild tubers such as Chandana Kizhangu and Chavali Kizhangu for food.

The TOI news story dated November 19 reported that the Kadar staged a standing protest on the 18th in which the tribal people, including women and children, stood about holding signs expressing their opposition to the dam proposal. Various environmental organizations in Kerala, including the Chalakudi River Protection Forum, also staged similar peaceful protests to express their support for the Kadar position.

The world’s most remote Roman Catholic parish, located on Tristan da Cunha, has no priest and only 42 members but it appears to be thriving anyway. At least that is one of the conclusions in an article published on November 6 on the website of the prominent American Catholic news analysis and opinion magazine, America.

Saint Joseph’s Catholic Church on Tristan da Cunha
Saint Joseph’s Catholic Church on Tristan da Cunha (All photos by Brian Gratwicke on Flickr, Creative Commons licenses)

After carefully describing the remote location of Tristan and some basic facts of the island’s history, the author, Dominic Lynch, writes that Catholicism was founded among the Tristan Islanders in 1908 by Agnes Smith, an Irish lady who settled there with her husband. She and her sister Elizabeth were the first two members of the church community, which has endured for over a century as a minority group in a total island population, today, of 246.

Despite the small population of Catholics, the church maintains a building, St. Joseph’s Church, near the center of the Settlement, the only village on the island. Lynch describes the building as “nondescript,” though unmistakably a church. Inside it features a stained-glass window depicting Mary, Star of the Sea.

James Glass, the Chief Islander and the administrator of St. Joseph’s, told the author that the number of Catholics on the island has varied over the years as they have married Anglicans and the couples have chosen memberships in one or the other church community. Mr. Glass said that St. Joseph’s was built in 1987 which prompted some Anglicans when they married Catholics to convert. “The Catholic population is actually increasing,” he said.

Inside St. Joseph’s Catholic Church on Tristan
Inside St. Joseph’s Catholic Church on Tristan

St. Joseph’s does not have a permanent, resident priest but the church is able to get around the problem effectively. The Rev. Hugh Allan of the Norbertine Order was appointed in 2016 as the ecclesiastical superior for Tristan and the other British Atlantic islands of St. Helena and Ascension. Abbott Hugh leaves his base in the U.K. once a year to visit Tristan and care for the needs of his parishioners there.

His visits to Tristan usually last from several weeks to several months. While he is on the island, he celebrates sacraments that the islanders cannot celebrate in the absence of a priest. “My task, then, is to support the islanders in trying to live the Gospel,” he told the author.

But he makes it possible for the church community to thrive during the rest of the year when he is gone. Abbott Hugh consecrates enough hosts before he leaves to last the Tristan Catholics until he comes again. During his final mass he consecrates around 4,000 hosts which the church members preserve in vacuum sealed plastic containers that they put into a large ciborium. They are then brought out and used at the weekly services.

The albatross stained glass window depicting Mary, Star of the Sea, in St. Joseph’s Catholic Church
The albatross stained glass window depicting Mary, Star of the Sea, in St. Joseph’s Catholic Church

Thus, even while the priest is away, the Tristan Catholics have their weekly communion services and masses. The eucharistic ministers can also perform weddings, baptisms, and funerals. Mr. Glass adds that they must wait for the priest to arrive to hear confessions and to celebrate confirmations.

According to Anne Green, a member of the congregation, “it is always a special time when the priests come.” She said it is important for them to support the people in their faith. She added that before the present church was built, it used to be much more difficult to practice their Catholic beliefs. Priests would visit but much more sporadically.

Abbott Hugh, speaking about the remoteness of Tristan, expressed his opinion that modern communication technology can help the islanders overcome some of the problems—though in some ways the isolation can be beneficial. “It is always a great privilege to visit the island communities and to spend time with the good people who live there. I have encountered so much kindness and goodness,” he concluded.

This article in America supplements a piece published in 2018 by Abbott Hugh Allan which covered some of the same ground about the Catholic Church on Tristan.

 

 

A group of Semai residents in Malaysia’s Perak State are continuing a legal struggle against two developers who are seeking to construct a hydroelectric dam on a river in their ancestral territory. A Malaysian news report of November 3 brought the controversy, which has been covered in the news over the last several years, up to date.

A Semai village in Gopeng
A Semai village in Gopeng (Photo by lets.book in Flickr, Creative Commons license)

According to a report last year, the proposal to build a dam on the Geruntum River in the town of Gopeng, which was first announced in 2012, was immediately opposed by the Semai, who argued that they have customary rights to the land and the river in the area proposed for the dam. They were alarmed by the destructive preparatory work by the developers along the river. The Semai filed a suit in the Perak High Court in the state capital of Ipoh to stop the project.

The latest report about the situation indicates that the Semai are trying to stop any further work on the project by filing requests for injunctions in the court. On October 9, a group of 22 Semai from Ulu Geruntum, in Gopeng, filed an application for an injunction to stop all work on the project until their court suit can be scheduled. Lawyers for the developers replied that they needed time to study the matter. On October 14, G. Bhupinder Singh, the Judicial Commissioner, issued a temporary restraining order preventing the developers from encroaching any further on the lands claimed by the Semai.

Semai kids in Gopeng
Semai kids in Gopeng (Photo by lets.book in Flickr, Creative Commons license)

On December 15, the High Court will hear the Semai application for an injunction to stop the developers until the entire matter can be resolved.  In the meanwhile, according to attorney K. Vinu, the temporary injunction will continue to apply.

The Semai in Ulu Geruntum claim that the preliminary work by the developers destroyed some fruit orchards, about 50 burial grounds, and polluted their source of drinking water. The six villages involved in the issue are Kampung Sungai Kapor, Kampung Sat, Kampung Ulu Kepayang, Kampung Empang Main, Kampung Poh, and Kampung Ulu Geruntum.

The High Court of Perak in Ipoh
The High Court of Perak in Ipoh (Photo by Miss Prema Darshini in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

In their suit, the Semai seek to have the court declare that they are the legal owners of the land and that the companies lack the right to invade or damage it. They seek a court order requiring the companies to leave immediately and to compensate them for the damages they have already caused. They also are requesting the court to require the state and the national governments to provide compensation.

A date for the full trial on the issues raised by the Semai will be set once the injunction is settled—presumably on Dec. 15. With reports about corporate  interests taking precedence over the rights of indigenous peoples in many places, it is heartening to learn that this group of Semai persists in their efforts to obtain justice despite the developers.

 

Political machinations in India’s West Bengal state are threatening the Lepchas, or so they feel, and they are responding, characteristically, with peaceful protests. The Telegraph, a major Indian newspaper, described the dispute on Wednesday last week.

Mamata Banerjee
Mamata Banerjee (Photo by Biswarup Ganguly in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The issue revolves around the overall management of the Mayel Lyang Lepcha Development Board (MLLDB), which Mamata Banerjee, Chief Minister of the state, established as a development vehicle for the Lepcha communities in 2013 at the height of a power play by the Gorkha leaders. The Gorkhas are a rival society that is much more aggressive in their demands for power.

The Chief Minister, in a speech she gave a couple weeks ago, indicated that the development board and the boards of the other comparable organizations in the state, were going to become the responsibility of a new monitoring committee. The new committee will be under the direction of the Gorkhaland Territorial Administration (GTA). The MLLDB and the other development boards have all been administered directly by the state government until now.

Eman Lepcha, coordinator of the Indigenous Lepcha Tribal Association (ILTA), formally requested the state to not move the development board under the aegis of the GTA. He added that although members of the ILTA were participating in the protests, the agitation was in fact being organized by ordinary Lepcha people. They describe their protests as a “dharna,” a form of sit-down protest that is defined by Indians as strictly peaceful.

Binoy Tamang
Binoy Tamang (Photo by Ritzkprasad on Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The article in The Telegraph indicated that the proposed coordinating committee would include Aroop Biswas, the Minister for North Bengal Development in the state government, plus two Gorkha leaders. They will be Anit Thapa, chief of the GTA and Binoy Tamang, leader of the Gorkha Janmukti Morcha, a political party which campaigns for a separate Gorkha state that they argue should be created out of North Bengal.

Members of Ms. Banerjee’s political party, the Trinamool (or Trinamul) Congress, in North Bengal also are getting caught up in the controversy. One person said that “If we lose our grip on the development boards, our party will be further weakened.”

Another party leader tried to mollify feelings by expressing the thought that the development boards would only be monitored by the new committee. They would continue making their own decisions as to the allocation of funds for proposed projects. The boards allocate their budgets of 200,000 Indian rupees (US$2,600) for such projects as constructing houses, improving drinking water, and building pathways.

Lepcha villagers in Darjeeling
Lepcha villagers in Darjeeling (Photo by Patricia Perkins on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Eman Lepcha said that the demonstrators were urging Lepcha leaders to work together for the good of the whole community. They wanted a resolution of the issues and allegations made about the work of the development board. The newspaper did not indicate if any Lepchas were commenting about the creation of the Lepcha language radio programming initiative taken by the board a month ago.

 

With so much focus in the media lately on the continuing grim news about the pandemic, it is good to read about peaceful people such as the Paliyans who thrive on having fun.  On Thursday last week, S. Ramarajan posted in his blog a description of six different games that are—or at least used to be—played enthusiastically by the Paliyan people.

Six Paliyan kids
Six Paliyan kids (Photo courtesy of Steven Bonta)

The title of the blog post indicates the substance of the text: “Six Traditional Games Played in the Paliyar Tribal Community that Guarantee a Fun Time!” Ramarajan writes that games and entertainment are especially important to the people, an essential aspect of their lives, or at least they were before the era of electronic devices allowed people to be entertained by activities on small screens. His ancestors, he writes, “played a wide variety of games, which are nowadays hard to come by.”

Ramarajan describes in detail the ways six of the games were, and in some cases still are, played. “The Tree Game,” based on their lives in the forest, was played by children who climbed into trees and swung around from limb to limb chasing one another. The person being chased was already in a tree while the chaser was on the ground waiting for the game to start. If the person being chased escapes to another tree, the chaser has to go after another player.

The second game, called “Stick, Stick, Tray,” is played by two people. The first player dumps a pile of mud on the ground, breaks a stick into pieces, and attempts to hide the pieces in the mud. The object of the game is for the second player to find the pieces. When the stick is recovered, it is the turn of that player to hide the stick in the mud. It is a great way to “get our hands dirty,” the author writes.

The “Game of Pebbles,” number three in the list, is enjoyed by any number of players. The object of the game is for the players to accrue points by seeing who can get the most pebbles when they are tossed into the air. In the different rounds of the game, players toss a stone into the air and see how many other stones on the ground they can pick up before catching the first stone. They note the different numbers of stones the players have caught and conclude the game by adding up the scores to declare a winner.

Barefoot hopscotch in Vanuatu
Barefoot hopscotch in Vanuatu (Photo by KirrlyRobert in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

“Hopscotch,” the fourth game, is entertainment for players hopping around squares drawn on the ground. They must hop from one square to another, stopping to pick up pebbles with their bare toes on the other foot. They must pick up a stone from each of the squares in turn and then the other players attempt to follow suit.

“Tony King” is a game played with marbles. The players dig a small hole just large enough for a marble. They then mark a boundary line that must not be crossed a short ways away from the hole. The object of the game is for the players to attempt to roll a marble into the hole. The player whose marble is closest to the hole has the right to roll another to see about getting one of them into the hole. Whoever is able to score by getting the most marbles into the target hole is declared the King. The game is played by children and adults.

Indian kids playing with marbles in Mumbai
Indian kids playing with marbles in Mumbai (Photo by Whit Andrews in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The last game, called the “Pentagon Marble Game,” is played with two teams. Ramarajan takes many paragraphs to describe the complexities of the game but in essence the players roll their marbles to try and scatter target marbles inside a boundary line marked on the playing ground. The teams take turns in their playing.

This blog post about of the games played by the Paliyans adds another perspective to the information provided by anthropologist Peter Gardner, reporting on his fieldwork among them about 50 years ago. His observations about the importance of games to the people of that time can be compared to the blog post last week.

Gardner wrote in 1966, p. 394, that the Paliyan people avoid competition and have a strong belief in non-violence. When they play games, he continued, particularly games adopted from neighboring peoples, they exhibit neither competition nor cooperation. In fact, their individual performances are of no interest to other Paliyans.

A Paliyan woman with her kids in the Sirumalai Hills of Tamil Nadu
A Paliyan woman with her kids in the Sirumalai Hills of Tamil Nadu (Photo by vdakshinamurthy in Wikipedia, in the public domain)

Six years later, Gardner (1972, p. 423-425) provided more details about the Paliyan aversion to competitive games. He wrote that they are highly individualistic, neither cooperating very much nor competing at all. Any behavior that hampers the autonomy of an individual, such as cooperation or competition, is considered to be disrespectful—or, in their terms, to lower one’s status. Thus, their egalitarian ideal prohibits cooperation and competition. Their desire for autonomy is also manifest psychologically—they refrain from forming emotional ties except within the nuclear family, and ties with other relatives will be friendly but not effusive.

They express their code of nonviolence quite strongly, Gardner continued—one turns the other cheek if one is struck in the face. They extend their injunction against violence to a prohibition of competition, which comes, they feel, from desires for superiority, control, and rivalry. They play a game comparable to prisoner’s base, though the game has no competition or cooperation in it. No one catches anyone else, people are hardly interested in the performance of others, and the game mostly resembles a ballet of prima donnas. They do not like to be set off above their peers.

Clearly, the approach to playing games differs in the Paliyan community described by Ramarajan last week from the observations by Gardner years ago. Such is to be expected from different communities and from the changes brought about by the availability of smartphones and the internet, even in remote areas of southern India.

 

Last year, the Batek village of Kuala Koh became infected with a mysterious illness that ultimately killed 15 villagers and hospitalized over 100 others. The mystery illness turned out to be measles. Over a year after the height of that epidemic, the question for today is how are the people of the village reacting to the COVID-19 pandemic, which is affecting Malaysia as well as most other places on earth?

A Batek boy in Kuala Koh
A Batek boy in Kuala Koh (Photo by Heng Fu Ming on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The answer is that they are reacting to the current pandemic the same as they did to the epidemic last year: by fleeing into the forest. According to a recent news story in the Malaysia Chronicle, over 300 residents of Kuala Koh fled the village on October 5 when news of the latest spike in COVID-19 cases in Malaysia reached them.

Papan Majid, 47, was one of the villagers who spoke with the reporter. He said they moved deep into the forest out of fear of the coronavirus. Their fear is based in large part on memories of the epidemic last year. He lost two daughters last year, one day apart, from measles, and many members of his family are still grieving.

Since the pandemic reached Malaysia in mid-March, he said they have been frequently moving into the forest because the epidemic last year “keeps playing in our minds.” They only return to their village once every two weeks. He added to the reporter, “In the last seven months since the pandemic began, we have been living with unease and are worried that we are exposed to the virus.”

Batek children near Kuala Koh
Batek children near Kuala Koh (Photo by Heng Fu Ming on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Pikas Langsat, 35, said that another reason his fellow villagers have moved back into the forest is that they want to have access to clean water. He added that the residents of Kuala Hoh do appreciate the pristine water and the availability of animals to hunt for their meals. He said the same thing as Papan: the community feels safer when they shelter in the forest.

Pikas concluded, “we feel protected from the pandemic when we stay in the forests and we move into other areas after two weeks.” Their most recent flight represents the 10th time the Batek of Kuala Koh have fled since the start of the pandemic in March.

Government officials have recently gone out of their way to be friendly and helpful to the residents of a Paliyan village in the forest of South India. A news story in The Hindu on October 5 provided details.

The Karuppanadhi Dam in the mountains of southern Tamil Nadu
The Karuppanadhi Dam in the mountains of southern Tamil Nadu (Photo by Uyarafath in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

The setting for the story is the village of Kalaimaan Nagar, located near the Karuppanadhi Dam in the Tenkasi District of Tamil Nadu. That district was created late last year out of the Tirunelveli District.  When district officials drove on a primitive road into the village some months ago to check on the community, they found that the Paliyans, having heard of the spreading COVID-19 pandemic, had abandoned their homes and moved deeper into the forest to escape it.

The chief executive of the district, Collector G.K. Arun Sundar Thayalan, was appalled by the dilapidated condition of their dwellings. He ordered the construction of 22 new “green” houses for the community and he said that the old buildings must be removed. The residents are temporarily housed in a Public Works Department building until the construction is finished. Kalaimaan Nagar has 22 Paliyan families with 137 people, 74 of whom are males and 63 females.

On Monday last week, the residents suddenly became tense. Two police vehicles had driven into the village. Nothing unusual had happened that they were aware of so they were alarmed. They relaxed when they saw the district Superintendent of Police, Seguma Singh, and his wife Dhanalakshmi emerge from one of the vehicles, smiling broadly.

A Paliyan family near a Murugan Temple in the Theni District of Tamil Nadu
A Paliyan family near a Murugan Temple in the Theni District of Tamil Nadu (Photo courtesy of Steven Bonta)

“We have come to meet you, especially your children,” the SP told the people. The primary purpose of the visit was to distribute to the tribal people gifts that had been gathered by the Officers Wives’ Association of the Indian Police Service (IPSOWA). The police chief and his wife distributed blankets and groceries to members of the community who had gathered around. If the gifts bring happiness to the people, Ms. Dhanalakshmi said, “it is the happiest moment for all of us.”

With a seemingly endless stream of bad news in the American press about cops doing horrible things to Black people, it is refreshing to read in a leading Indian newspaper about the positive things that some police in India are doing for poor, minority citizens such as the Paliyans.

 

The Batek firmly oppose laughter yet they sometimes laugh together anyway, feeling guilty about engaging in the forbidden activity. Their prohibition against laughing is an important part of a complex of beliefs regarding the natural and supernatural agents that surround them in their Malaysian forest homes.

Alice Rudge
Alice Rudge (Image on the Allegra Laboratory website, Creative Commons license)

Alice Rudge, an anthropologist who is employed by the University College London as a Junior Research Fellow, has been doing fieldwork among the Batek since 2014. She published a piece about laughter among the Batek in September 2019 that was reviewed in this website on September 12 last year. She amplified her analysis of the implications of their laughter last week in a post on the website Allegra Laboratory, which is devoted to publishing peer-reviewed anthropology papers that fall outside the purview of standard academic publishing.

Rudge opens her discussion with a story of how she and two Batek ladies, sisters, spent an afternoon together making decorations out of leaves. The two ladies asked the visitor to film them singing songs from their younger days since cutting the leaves reminded them of activities they had engaged in as teenagers.

But whenever Na? Srimjam, one of the sisters, reached a particular part of the song, her sister, Naʔ Badək, “would make her laugh by giving her a funny look, and each of us would break down into tears of giggles.” Na? Srimjan would remind the group that laughing was taboo—they needed to stop it. Once they quieted down, the sisters would resume singing until the two looked at one another and burst out laughing again. The situation was made funnier because they all knew their laughter was forbidden by Batek beliefs.

A frog waiting for prey in the Taman Negara National Park
A frog waiting for prey in the Taman Negara National Park (Photo by Rolfklein in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The anthropologist devotes her essay to exploring the ramifications of their belief system. One of the more serious consequences of laughing too much or too loudly, of violating their taboo, is that the laughter might be heard by Gubar, the thunder deity, who might retaliate by attacking the offending village with a devastating thunderstorm. Laughing in different situations, such as in proximity to the smaller forest creatures such as frogs, millipedes, leeches, lice, worms or monitor lizards, is especially forbidden and could arouse the dreaded ire of Gubar.

Rudge suggests that the laughter of the sisters that day was simply too much fun for them to avoid— “subversively pleasurable” she calls it—so they took the risk of sharing the intimate memories. Besides, Gubar is different from human beings so he may not have the same understandings of the meaning of laughter as the women. As the author puts it, “any instance of laughter might be funny to some, but anger-inducing to others.” Relationships with the storm deity, as with human interpersonal relations, can always be misinterpreted. One needs to be careful.

Non-human entities as well as humans fail at their relationships and their interpretations of events. A forest bird called the wãl bird, known for announcing the birth of a human by making its wãl wãl wãl cry, sometimes gets it wrong and no baby has been born. On that day when the anthropologist was present, Gubar failed by not noticing the laughter of the sisters. And sometimes, Gubar’s thunderstorms are not caused by human errors.  These things are fraught with ambiguities.

A Batek family
A Batek family (Photo by Malekhanif in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

Rudge concludes the first section of her essay by writing that these situational ambiguities can foster friction. The rest of her paragraph is worth quoting verbatim: “Different persons are sensitive to the world in different ways. With laughter in particular–as it often emerges spontaneously and uncontrollably–the friction thus caused becomes part of day-to-day life. Part of being a sentient, intentional person among these multispecies entanglements–whether you are human, non-human animal, plant, or thunder-being–is making mistakes. Just as you may misinterpret others’ actions, your own actions–laughter or other–may in turn be misinterpreted by others. Perhaps, even, to your advantage.”

Thus, an underlying basis of Batek peacefulness could be an understanding of the fluidity of failures and successes, of correct and incorrect behavior, of ambiguity among the intentions of humans, wildlife and deities.