Peaceful Societies

David Bacon considers the Zapotec “Dance of the Feather” to be “one of the world’s most beautiful dances.” In an article republished last week from his earlier piece in the publication Contexts from the American Sociological Association, Bacon argues that the unique dance represents the history and culture of the Zapotec of Oaxaca’s Central Valley.

The Dance of the Feather is performed in numerous towns, most notably in Teotitlán del Valle, a community that is celebrated for its many weaving establishments. The dance represents, in part, the defeat of Moctezuma by Cortes. The author quotes extensively from an anthropologist in Oaxaca, Jorge Hernandez Diaz, who describes three different theories as to the origin of the dance.

One was that it was first developed by Martin, the illegitimate son of Cortes by the native woman Malinalli (also known as Doña Marina or Malinche) who was his mistress. Martin became a wealthy landlord in the Valley of Oaxaca after the death of his father. The legend goes that Martin invented the dance to dramatize the Spanish conquest of the indigenous people of Mexico. The dancers represent Cortes, Moctezuma, and their respective allies. The dancers today perform the same characters, though with different meanings.

Other versions of the history of the dance exist. In one, the dance was performed before the conquest. The dancers represented various characters in preexisting, warring kingdoms. Hernandez, the anthropologist, also describes a possible symbolic, astronomical, role for the dance, with Moctezuma representing the sun and the other dancers, the planets.

Whatever the history of the dance may have been, it now has considerable impact in Teotitlán; it is an important part of the fiesta celebrated in the town. Hernandez explains, “it is a tradition that can’t be overlooked, given that it’s part of [the] cultural, ceremonial and spiritual identity [of the community].”

Bacon continues that while the intention of Martin, the son of the conquistador, in initiating the Dance of the Feather may have been to justify Spanish rule and to dramatize to the indigenous people that resistance was futile, today it has assumed very different meanings. It now represents a spirit of Zapotec resistance to anything that would try to take away their dance, language, music, or traditional culture.

It is an important element in the Zapotec maintenance of their cultural values, despite the centuries of colonization and national policies that have sought to minimize their identity. The dance is important in communities that treasure their traditions, such as Teotitlán. It reaffirms what the people believe to be a glorious past—before the arrival of the Spanish—and it prevents forgetting their traditions by the way it celebrates the struggle to maintain the native Zapotec beliefs.

In Teotitlán in particular, the dance also celebrates the renewal of the town as a center of the weaving industry. Fifty years ago, it had become quite poor, its weaving craft fading as many residents had left. But remittances sent back by those employed in urban areas of Mexico and the U.S. helped provide materials to revive the weaving business. An influx of tourists looking for carpets filled with traditional Zapotec designs also helped revive the community.

Hernandez indicates that, for Teotitlán, the Dance of the Feather is “a strategy for defense against what they felt were negative influences of the modern world, against the consequences of migration, against the loss of moral values and customs.” He says that the dance has had its ups and downs in the town, at times not being performed, breaking the ancient traditions, but then later it’s been revived—and modified.

Although the photo above gives an impression of the Dance of the Feather, a 12-minute YouTube video of a performance in Teotitlán in 2014 is even better. While the video does not include any commentary, the wonderful costumes and headdresses of the dancers—all men—and their intricate, highly athletic, dance steps are shown in detail. When readers of Bacon’s essay watch the video, they might want to try and spot the historical and cultural aspects that he describes.

Although gender equality has long been a hallmark of the Batek people, the status of women in that society may be starting to fray, according to a report published last week. Patrick Mills, the author of the scholarly report, observes that recent developments, such as the employment of Batek men, may be threatening their traditions.

Batek book cover He provides careful background in his report. He writes that the Malaysian Conservation Alliance for Tigers (MyCAT), organized in 2003 as an association of several Malaysian conservation organizations, recognized that the Batek possess a special knowledge of the forest and of wildlife patterns in them, particularly the habits of the threatened tigers. The group began employing the Batek in tourism activities. MyCAT started what it called “Weekend CAT walks” (“CAT” stands for Citizens Action for Tigers) in the region between the Taman Negara National Park and the central forest reserve.

Volunteer tourists hiked through forested areas along with experts, documenting such signs of tiger activity as nests and pub marks—as well as poaching activities, which the teams would carefully dismantle when they saw them. MyCAT included the Batek as guides for these expeditions.

A Malaysian social organization, FuzeEcoteer, became the organizer of these weekend projects. It employed the Batek as guides in the Weekend CAT Walks. The author, Mr. Mills, who is the Volunteer Coordinator of the project for FuzeEcoteer, focuses his report specifically on the Batek community of Batu Jalang, located on the western border of the national park.

Mills makes many observations about the Batek based on his experiences and his research, but his comments about their knowledge and connections to the forest and the possible deterioration of their gender relationships may be of most interest to those concerned with the peacefulness of that society.

The author points out that the Batek near the national park have become more and more dependent on farming and wage labor, which help separate them from their connections to the forest and threaten their traditional social structure. Most of the jobs have been reserved for men, prompting them to become the primary wage earners in their families, much like the surrounding majority society of Malaysia. As a result, the Batek women have become dependent on men and have taken on more subservient roles in their families.

In a parallel development, Daniel Quilter, the founder of FuzeEcoteer, recognized that the forest knowledge of the Batek made them ideal for conservation work which would help protect the tigers, such as tracking, establishing camera traps, and collecting data. “They have the basic skills to do everything themselves,” Quilter explained. If the Batek had “a bit more focus on things like how to use the GPS and data recording, then we could really start building a good map of animal movements.” Mills writes that further training for the Batek would allow them to gather data such as seasonal changes of populations that would then suggest better conservation strategies.

Employment in these kinds of forest-based activities would not only be helpful for the conservation goals of the organizations, it would also allow an alternative to wage labor and farming. But the critical issue became the fact that the guiding jobs were only being taken by men, even though Batek women have an equal knowledge of the forest.

In order to address this issue, MyCAT and FuzeEcoteer introduced activities that involve Batek women with the volunteer tourists, including leading camping trips and foraging. As a result, the volunteer tourists are gaining a richer knowledge of Batek society, while the Batek are more equally earning income and sharing their knowledge of both their hunting and their gathering. At this point, the effort is still rather small, with only a handful of male guides for the CAT walks, and a group of 6 to 8 women who are leading foraging trips and camping.

Mr. Quilter held a meeting in August 2015 with members of the Batek village in an effort to explore concerns about the program. The Batek welcomed the new forms of employment but some of their elders were concerned about the numbers of outsiders who might come into their village. Too many visitors might lead the Batek to reveal too much of their traditional knowledge.

For his part, Mr. Quilter described his concerns about the lack of sharing among the Batek families of the different opportunities that were being offered to them. The meeting concluded that no more than 10 outsiders per day should be permitted to visit the community, and that the Batek should introduce a rotation system among themselves to better share the benefits of the employment.

Mr. Mills cites several references at the end of his 1,500 word report, but unfortunately he does not mention the major study of gender equality among the Batek, Endicott and Endicott’s 2008 bookThe Headman Was a Woman. In addition to carefully explaining the importance of equality for men and women in that society, the authors describe the woman who headed a Batek community where they did their fieldwork in the mid-1970s. Named Tanyogn, the head woman energetically advocated for the villagers, effectively confronted rapacious outsiders, and got involved in a hands-on fashion with a range of village projects. The villagers normally followed her lead.

The authors write that the ethical values of the Batek had not really changed when they revisited the community in 1990. One can infer from last week’s report that the concerns Mills expresses about the gender relationships of the people may be a fairly recent phenomenon, based on the introduction of wage labor, and even more recently, the guiding activities.

A news story in August described how Ladakhi women are taking active roles as trekking guides. Mr. Mills’ report implies that the Batek, and their supporters, are striving for comparable forms of gender equality in their own society.

Last month, Paras Loomba led a team of volunteers into Shingo, a remote Ladakhi village, to install a new, solar powered, electrical system for the villagers. The village, located within the well-known Hemis National Park, has never had electricity before.

The national park, home to the densest concentration of snow leopards of any protected area in the world, is a frequent destination for trekking expeditions. Providing electricity in the village may help it attract some overnight paying visitors, according to an article last week in the Times of India.

The 20 volunteers arrived by air in Leh on August 9, took three days to trek into Shingo, and worked on the project in the village until they completed it successfully on August 17th. The work included installing electrical outlets in 28 rooms in the village homes plus a 13th century monastery.

They split into teams, each team working on a different building, where they erected solar panels on rooftops, installed LED bulbs, and integrated charge controllers and batteries, giving the residents—and future visitors—electricity for the first time.

The volunteers said that an important objective of the project was to increase home-stays by trekkers headed west into Zanskar or north toward the Markha Valley. Shingo is an important rest stop along those trekking routes. “We are expecting that this step will increase income generation through home-stay[s] of at least Rs 20,000 [U.S. $300] per family per tourist season,” said Jaideep, one of the volunteers.

In August last year, Paras Loomba led a similar team of volunteers into Sumda Chemno, a different remote village in the mountains of Ladakh, to similarly install a solar electric system.

The headline for the news report was arresting: “Rukwa Men Learning to Treat their Partners with Love.” A story from the Tanzania Daily News last week, reprinted by AllAfrica.com, describes the ways men in the Rukwa Region of Tanzania are treating their wives and how some of them are trying to improve.

While the news story does not mention the ethnicity of any of the Tanzanian people discussed, the section of the Rukwa Region described in the article is primarily inhabited by Fipa people. The article provides a somewhat more hopeful outlook about the prospects for the treatment of women in that society, and of improving male/female relations in the area around the city of Sumbawanga, than a recent scholarly journal article did. It described and analyzed the depressing frequency of witchcraft murders of women.

The reporter for the current news story, who is not named, describes the harvest season for maize, a major crop in the region, as a mixed blessing and a curse—a blessing for the increased supplies of food, but a curse because it is a time for unsafe sex, sexually transmitted diseases, and unwanted pregnancies. During the plenty of the season, many men spend money on sex and alcohol.

But attitudes and practices seem to be changing. A group called Tanzanian Men as Equal Partners (TMEP) has been instrumental in fostering some changes in male behaviors. The Deputy Project Manager for TMEP, Eugenia Madhidha, said that a major goal of the project is to convince society that men and women are equal.

She indicated that the project teaches people that men should help their partners with cooking and other household chores. Further, they should accompany their spouses to antenatal clinics. Dr. William Msinjili, the Senior Medical Officer at the Kirando Center in the Nkasi District, part of the heartland of the Fipa people, said that there used to be incidents of men beating their pregnant wives during the harvest season.

The staff at that hospital has provided training programs to change the perspectives of the men. “We conduct training at our centre. When couples attend the training we teach them how women and men are expected to relate to each other,” he said.

Imelda Honga, a police officer at the Gender and Children Desk, said that incidents of domestic violence have been decreasing. “The training has helped many people be aware of measures to take once a woman is violated[;] as the days go by the mindset of the community is changing and now communities report these incidents,” she said. Ms. Honga added that sex education and knowledge of the law have helped stem gender violence.

But evidently the changes go deeper than just avoiding direct, physical violence. Dr. Msinjili admitted that in the past he did not help his wife do household chores—at least, not until he took the training program. He did not feel it was his duty to help her with what he viewed as her housework. He says he didn’t beat her, but he also never helped her cook. His observation is worth quoting: “Now that I help her I have realised she now has more time to express her love for me,” he said.

Duncan Mlella, the headmaster at a school in Sumbawanga, similarly said that he has started helping his wife with household chores as a result of training provided by the TMEP program. He tells the reporter that he helps with cooking, laundry, and looking after their baby while his wife is doing other chores around the house. He used to believe that making their bed was woman’s work, but he has changed his attitude on many things such as that.

The TMEP program in the Rukwa Region, sponsored by the Swedish Association for Sexuality Education, was handed over to Tanzanian authorities in July. The district council, the individual communities, and service providers are working to continue it. People are being trained as peer educators to carry on the program.

The literature about traditional Fipa society shows how much their beliefs and habits have been modified over the past century under the influence of changing conditions. Smythe (2006) points out in her book Fipa Families that while boys traditionally handled chores such as farm work, caring for livestock, and collecting wood, while girls did such things as cooking, caring for younger children, and carrying water, the roles were not rigid. Boys would help the girls with the work they normally did if circumstances required, and sometimes the girls would help to take care of the livestock for the boys.

The Catholic missionaries who sought to convert the Fipa to Catholicism beginning over a century ago opposed those practices. They strove to get parents to make sure their children followed the proper separation of gender roles as practiced in Europe at the time. Smythe writes that the Fipa, however, resisted the gender ideas of the missionaries.

Willis (1985) explains those relatively relaxed traditional Fipa gender relationships in terms of their ideology, which fostered a strong sense of gender respect, if not an absolute equality. The basic Fipa ideology, he points out, did not include opposite categories or definite conceptual boundaries; instead, it emphasized unitary processes. For instance, they were quite relaxed about menstruation: they had no prohibitions about it and their word to menstruate simply meant to cleanse oneself.

The major Fipa myth, Willis writes, symbolized and explained their attitudes. It taught that the original king, Ufipa, lost his kingship while out hunting one day when three women—strangers—who represented the Earth came along. The king subsequently reached an agreement with the women that he could retain his office and title, but they would retain rule over most of the territory. This myth, Willis argues, helps clarify the lack of categorical gendered distinctions in their society; it formed one of the building blocks of their peacefulness.

The tradition of hunting walruses in some Inuit communities, such as Igloolik and Hall Beach, remains an important, even a vibrant aspect of their culture. Desjardins (2013) points out that for millennia walruses, particularly on the perimeter of the Foxe Basin, which is on the Arctic Circle just south of Baffin Island, have provided an essential source of food, fibers, hides, and tusks. Portions of the walrus skulls would be brought back to the villages by the hunters so the ivory tusks could be removed and used.

And to judge by a news report from the CBC last week, walrus skulls have also been used, at least in legends, as soccer balls. The news story indicated that two Inuit carvers are at work carving a 26-ton block of granite into a large sculpture depicting a legend of some spirits using a walrus skull as they play soccer. When it is completed, the sculpture will be on display at York University in Toronto.

The two sculptors, Kuzy Curley from Cape Dorset and Ruben Komangapik from Pond Inlet, are collaborating on the project, called “Ahqahizu.” The pair is enthusiastic about the work. “When it first came here, I thought I felt like I was dreaming,” said Mr. Curley. “I’ve been wanting to do a monument this big since I first started carving as a young boy.” He told the reporter that he normally worked with materials that are not as hard as granite and that are much smaller.

The two artists are excited about the prospect of showcasing the Inuit culture through their carving for a wider Canadian audience. Komangapik is pleased that the sculpture will be located on a major university campus. “By doing something at this scale I hope it really inspires everybody else to look more into our culture and learn,” he said.

As part of their outreach to a broader audience, the two sculptors are also mentoring high school students, teaching them the basics of Inuit carving. Curley says the result will be that they will “have knowledge of Inuit culture and heritage.” He says it has been a challenge teaching the students to carve, since he and his colleague do not draw their creations ahead of time.

Anna Hudson, the leader of the Mobilizing Inuit Cultural Heritage project and an Associate Professor at York University, says that the collaboration is part of a project that aims to center the Inuit voice on their creative works of art. The problem, she explains, is that many Inuit art works are in private hands. The goal, she says, is “creating opportunities where there is greater interaction and more knowledge and awareness of Inuit art as a vital presentation of Inuit culture.”

Visitors to the York University campus should watch for the sculpture, which the two artists expect to complete in the fall. The CBC reporter doesn’t mention the fact that a major result from the spirits playing soccer with walrus skulls is that the game creates the northern lights—at least in Inuit legend. Brekke (2008) writes that the spirits have fun with the walrus skulls “because the sun is away (p.8).” Toronto is 1,800 miles due south of the Foxe Basin, it is not as dark in the winter, and doubtless it does not experience displays of northern lights comparable to Baffin Island, but one can still imagine the spirits visiting the city and liking the granite sculpture of them having fun.

Brekke, Pål. 2008. “The Aurora Borealis.” Scandinavian Review 95(3): 6-17

Ten years ago, during the first full year of this website, almost nothing was reported in the Indian news about the then obscure Kadar society. The situation has changed dramatically since then. Three news reports on the Kadar were published last week alone. This society and its problems seem to have captured the attention of some important media in South Asia.

The first story published at the beginning of last week by Scroll.in, an online Indian news service, reviewed the status of the proposed Athirapilly hydroelectric power dam on the Chalakkudy River, which threatens a couple nearby Kadar communities and the Athirapilly Waterfall located just below the dam site. The essence of the report is that the Kadar are fighting what appears to be a renewed effort by the state—Kerala—to push for the dam construction.

This story—of a small, hitherto obscure, peaceful tribal society, ignored and then threatened by the vast bureaucracy of the Indian and the state governments—may be one of the reasons that the media has focused so much attention on the Kadar over the years beginning in 2006, as a review of the news about the group implies. An article last year in a scholarly journal reviewed the way the Kadar have been treated by surrounding communities and by bureaucrats over the issue.

The report from Scroll.in last week describes the attempts by the state to start construction of the dam, the various reviews of the project over the years, and the controversy surrounding the Kadar communities and their hopes to survive. The review makes it clear that the dam proposal has been approved by various agencies and committees beginning in 1998, but the opposition by the Kadar, expressed in meetings and public rallies starting in 2006, began to turn public opinion against it.

An environmental minister at the national level, Jairam Ramesh, issued a show cause notice in 2010 that required reasons why such a damaging project should not be stopped. His action effectively shut down the proposal. A group called the Western Ghats Ecology Expert Panel, chaired by Madhav Gadgil, reported in 2011 that the dam would irrevocably alter the ecology of the Chalakkudy River, which was threatened by the proposed dam, and harm the Kadar communities.

More recently, however, the High Level Working Group, chaired by K. Kasturirangan, came to a different conclusion. It decided that the project could move forward. According to the Scroll.in news report, the Kerala electricity board took this as an approval to move ahead on the dam project. The national Ministry of Environment allowed the state to reapply, and it was then referred to the River Valley Committee for clearance—for the fourth time. At its meeting in July 2015, that committee withdrew the show cause decision of Mr. Ramesh from 2010. The committee ignored the fact that the Kadar in the affected villages had obtained approval of their Community Forest Rights under the provisions of the Forest Rights Act of 2006; it accepted the information provided by the state—that the project will not harm any Kadar people; and it ignored the contradictory information provided by the Kadar themselves. It approved the project.

In response, a tribal council of the Kadar communities held a meeting on August 23. Geetha, a Kadar leader, had written an open letter in July stating that the Athirapilly project “will destroy 28.5 hectares of riparian (riverside) forests that sustain our way of life.” The purpose of the meeting was to draft a resolution opposing the dam. The Kadar clearly will continue to do everything they can to protect their forest, livelihoods, culture, and society.

But there were two other news reports last week about the Kadar. One, published by the New Indian Express on Tuesday, describes the business processes which some Kadar communities are using to improve the marketing of the non-timber forest products they sell. The Kadar at the Malakkappara community in Kerala have started releasing their products, such as honey, amber and cardamom, labeled with the brand name “Kadars.”

The Kadar are seeking to interest other nearby tribal societies, such as the Malayan and the Muthuvan, into also marketing products they gather under the Kadars brand name. The people are making “staggering” profits, according to the news report. Visitors are even surging into their hamlets in search of the products.

According to Mohanan, a local official in Malakkappara, the district government is providing training to help the Kadar sell their forest products better. Once that training process is complete, the Kadar plan to organize an exhibition in Athirapilly or Vazhachal, where the well-known waterfalls attract many tourists, to further promote their sales. If the other tribal groups want to launch their own products under their own names later, they are free to do that.

Mohanan added, “another Kadar ooru [village] in Vazhachal is in the process of commencing production of indigenous products for sales to tourists and we will be looking for a business tie-up so that we can sell our products in their stalls.”

The third news report on the Kadar last week, appearing in The Hindu on Thursday, was much less upbeat. The issue is that the number of males in some of the Kadar colonies has dropped to very low levels, which is limiting the stability of the population. In the Cherunelli settlement, near the Nelliyampathi hill station and the famous Parambikulam Tiger Reserve, there are now 9 males and 45 females. About 15 years ago, the colony had 150 males. In another settlement, Pullukad, there are 8 males and 29 females. In other settlements—Karappara, Aditharanda, Ailoor, and Kalchadi—the situation is similar.

The distress is caused by alcoholism and by an excessive use of tobacco products, which exacerbate the problems of poverty and malnutrition, the newspaper reports. An elder at the Cherunelli colony, Ravi Mooppan, compared the plight of his village with the better known Kadar communities in the Vazhachal region.

“Now they [the Vazhachal Kadar] are getting better privileges and their forest rights have been approved by the government. In the case of those who are living in adjacent Nelliyampathi, life is a constant battle against heavy odds including ill-health and lack of social security measures,” he said. These Kadar have not gotten their Community Forest Rights approved for them, they have no tribal schools in their region, and the major plantations in Nelliyampathi are not doing well, so Kadar laborers have lost their jobs.

“The Kadar community in Nelliyampathi needs immediate intervention of the State government,” argues S. Guruvayurappan of the Asryam Rural Development Society, which campaigns against tobacco and alcohol use among the Kadar.

Researcher Samir Bukab maintains that Nubian music has 12 rhythms, which inspire different meanings for different listeners, though none are symbolic of the warfare that is common among other Sudanese societies. His comments appear as part of an article on the music of the Nubian people of northern Sudan and its importance in their society. It appeared last week in the Sudanese news magazine SudaNow.

Mr. Bukab also told the journalist, Ishragah Abbas, that Nubian rhythms are derived from natural sources—birds, the plough, the rustling of leaves on the date palm trees, the waterwheel, and the waves of the Nile. Nubian dances derive from similar sources: a dance that is like the movements of the nightingale, or another which imitates waves in the river.

He added that the words and phrases of Nubian songs describe and resemble the local environment and are free from obscenities, in accordance with the ethical values of the Nubian people. They also have songs about decorating with Henna and songs for women that are improvised and played during celebrations such as weddings. They sing political songs that are critical of the government of Sudan, and that state the opinions of the people about the construction of more dams that will have an impact on them.

Several individuals interviewed by Ms. Abbas, including Mr. Bukab, indicated that Nubian music had been suppressed from radio and television broadcasts for a number of decades due to the Arabization of Sudan, but recently a revival of interest in the ancient art form has taken place. Many songs are now being recorded and broadcast, and the Sudanese people in general, as well as just the Nubians, are listening and enjoying them.

Dr. Graham Abdul Gadir, a music scholar, told the author that the revival of Nubian singing is revitalizing the heritage of Nubia. It is encouraging the people to maintain and treasure the values of their ancient civilization, as well as serving to help preserve their language. Furthermore, the growing popularity of the Nubian songs among the people of Sudan is helping strengthen the unity of that nation, Abdul Gadir maintains.

Fatima Abbas, a Nubian woman from Dongola, a town on the Nile River, told the writer that she is proud of their culture and particularly of their tradition of singing. She said that while she did not have any Nubian songs sung at her wedding, she has changed her attitude; she organized singing at the wedding of her son. Another son will be married this year and again she wants there to be a similar evening of singing. “I want to make my sons and their friends, even the non-Nubians, to be aware of, and enjoy this gleeful singing which the new generations are not aware of,” she told the journalist.

She said that even when she hears just the rhythms of the tambour, the traditional drum, it makes her feel an intense yearning and nostalgia. The music reminds her of people who are not with her, and of her distant relatives. The singing reminds her of rural Nubian life—their farming, their conversations, and their love for one another. “When I hear those songs I feel as if I am among them, something which makes me feel very happy,” the housewife said.

The singer Dawlah Atta said many of the same things to the writer. When he performs at parties, he notices that listeners to his Nubian songs seem to achieve a surprising state of exultation. He feels that is because the Nubian singing evokes emotions due to the rhythms, which are inspired by nature. They link the listener harmonically to the natural environment. He also ascribes these emotions to the words of the songs, which express the good times of the past and which invoke pleasant memories.

He added that the rhythms used in the songs will prompt even non-Nubians to start dancing. He recalled an incident when a Swiss man and his wife started dancing when he was performing in the national theatre in Omdurman, a major Sudanese city across the river from Khartoum.

However, Abu Zar, a young Nubian man, expressed some reservations about the revival of their music. He said that while it is appropriate for people to revive their heritage, it must not lead to tribalism that threatens the establishment of the modern nation of Sudan. A journalist named Abdulla al-Haj disagreed. He said that listening to the traditional music represents a potentially valuable self-searching mechanism.

He illustrated his argument by describing the exile of Nubians when the Aswan Dam was built, from the Wadi Halfa into the Khashm al-Girba region in East Sudan. The exile caused a shock to their culture, music, and songs, which expressed feelings of estrangement and calamity that they have transmitted to their children. However, he said, a new generation of Nubians in Sudan is listening to their stories and songs which remind them of their roots. The songs are inspiring some of the young people to form groups that are trying to revitalize their heritage.

Discussions of music and dancing appear in various sources on Nubian society, among them Elizabeth Warnock Fernea’s (1991) description of the elaborate ceremonies, including a lot of singing, during a traditional wedding celebration (p.79-93). Jennings (2009, p.78-81) also describes a Nubian wedding that included a lot of singing. A YouTube search for “Nubian Singing” yields many videos of their music being performed in Egypt and Sudan.

One of the features of Amish society that fascinates outsiders is their use of a dialect referred to as “Pennsylvania German,” which is also frequently called “Pennsylvania Dutch.” A recent journal article by Steven Hartman Keiser, a faculty member in the Department of English at Marquette University in Wisconsin, describes the background and development of Pennsylvania German. He provides an intriguing theory that some of the ways the Amish use their language serve as markers for humility, one of their key beliefs.

Keiser’s background information about the language is just as important as his interesting theory. He explains that Pennsylvania German (PG) was a distinct dialect that developed among the German speaking inhabitants of Pennsylvania who came from southwestern Germany in the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries. By the end of the 1800s, over 700,000 people in the central and southeastern sections of the state, including Lancaster County, spoke the dialect, only a small portion of whom were Amish or Old Order Mennonites. Many PG speakers belonged to Lutheran or Reformed church communities.

However, the situation has changed dramatically since then. Lutheran and Reformed people of Germanic origin in Pennsylvania have almost completely stopped speaking PG. At the same time, the Old Order groups—Old Order Mennonites and Amish people, almost all of whom speak PG—have rapidly multiplied due to their high birth rates. Today, the author writes, probably only a few thousand non-Old Order PG speakers remain, most of whom are quite elderly, while about 300,000 Old Order people speak Pennsylvania German much of the time.

The Old Order Mennonites and Amish speak English as well as Pennsylvania German. PG is the language of the homes and churches, while English is the language of literacy, schools, and usually of businesses. However, while there are a lot of diverse practices among the several thousand Old Order groups, that diversity has produced only minor variations in language usage patterns. PG varies primarily because of geography: Eastern PG is spoken in Pennsylvania and Midwestern PG in Ohio, Indiana and surrounding states.

The author’s major argument stems from a different angle: that the practice of humility serves as a marker for some linguistic differences, particularly the lexical borrowings of what he calls “the phonological incorporation of English loanwords.” Keiser explains his argument carefully. He points out that words borrowed from English and used by PG speakers may account for about 20 percent of their lexicon when speaking Pennsylvania German.

There are wide variations in the uses of those loan words right within the Old Order communities, even just within Pennsylvania. However, there is no clear regional marker of the extent of usage of loanwords. He points out that the literature about the extent of word borrowings is contradictory: some authorities argue that the Mennonites in Lancaster County use more English words in their PG, while other scholars are just as convinced that the Amish in that county borrow more.

The author considers these variations to be relatively minor. Of more significance, he argues, is whether PG speakers use loan words at all and how much. Most of the Old Order people are fluent in both English and Pennsylvania German, so the use of a loan word from English represents primarily a stylistic choice for the speaker.

The Amish speakers of Pennsylvania German are usually quite willing to discuss differences in the ways other Amish communities speak their language, though they are typically unwilling to evaluate those differences. When they do judge the usage of their language, it is usually in terms of a key Amish concept: Demut, humility.

For Demut pervades Amish life. The simplicity of dress, the relative absence of decorations in their homes, and the absence of pride in personal accomplishments are all evidence of a proper humility. When the linguist points out errors in their spoken language, the Amish person welcomes the information. It is simply not their way to take pride in correctly speaking or writing Pennsylvania German. But speaking PG is nonetheless symbolic of separation from the larger “English” society, a marker of nonconformity with the outside world.

Amish speakers thus are not ashamed or concerned about their borrowing of words from English, and they acknowledge that the trend is increasing. The reason is that anyone who is overly attentive to the purity of their spoken language might be perceived as being vain. Thus, for example, some Amish speakers of PG from the southern portion of Lancaster County believe that Old Order Mennonites in the northern part of the county speak Pennsylvania German more properly than they do. In saying that, they are unselfconsciously implying that they themselves may be a bit more orthodox in their humility, their Demut, than their neighbors 20 miles to the north.

Demut in essence serves to explain both the Amish retention of their native German vocabulary and its loss to English loanwords. Amish people who use the loanwords shrug off their usage as a reasonable aspect of their humility, even if that usage does serve to remind them that they are slipping a bit in maintaining a key symbol of their distinctness from the larger society. It all seems a bit contradictory.

Some people use good-natured teasing to caricature and even gently mock the speech of others in different communities. In essence, the good natured rivalry between various Old Order Amish groups is based, Keiser argues, on attempts by each community to justify and strengthen the importance of Demut among themselves. The presence of the loanwords reminds them of theirDemut. Of course, they would not consciously take pride in that aspect of their spoken language.

The author does not claim to be making an empirical proof. But his argument—that the uses of loanwords can serve as markers for the Amish perceptions of their own humility—is intriguing indeed. Old Order Amish in different areas may share common religious beliefs, but they demonstrate a lot of diversity in the ways they practice their belief in humility. Their choices of English loanwords thus serve as markers that identify their commitments to their ideals.

Several examples of spoken Pennsylvania German can be found on YouTube, but two good audio clips of spoken PG with the printed English translations provided, are on the American Languages: Our Nation’s Many Voices website from the University of Wisconsin. It is easy for non-PG speakers to follow the comments of the two Amish people because their PG phrases are interspersed with English loanwords that occur in almost every sentence. The first clip, in fact, is of a recording of an elderly non-Amish, non-Mennonite PG speaker in Pennsylvania, one of the few remaining.

The website indicates that Real Audio Player is necessary for a computer to play the clips, and it provides a link so that the player can be downloaded, but the QuickTime plug-in also works. A dark gray bar just below the description of each speaker—e.g., male Amish speaker in Franklin County, PA, or female Amish speaker in Nappanee, Indiana—needs to be clicked in order for the personal computer to link its audio player to the website in Wisconsin. It’s worth the hassle.

Keiser, Steven Hartman. 2015. “Religious Identity and the Perception of Linguistic Difference: The Case of Pennsylvania German.”Language & Communication 42 (May): 125-134

Every year on August 9, people in many countries organize events to celebrate the International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples. Ekta Parishad, an organization in India’s Tamil Nadu state, convened a celebration in the city of Madurai on Monday the 10th that included Paliyan and Kadar people from the Anaimalai Hills of Tamil Nadu and Kerala, plus individuals from some other Adivasi societies. They participated in a variety of cultural programs as a way of celebrating the special day.

Both The Hindu and the Times of India reported that the major attraction of the event was the singing and dancing of the Paliyan and the Kadar participants. About 100 students from a local institution, the Lady Doak College, participated along with about 20 tribal people. S. Thanaraj, the coordinator of Ekta Parishad, commented that many developments have changed the way of life of people such as the Paliyans and the Kadar, but the point of the program that day was to highlight their traditional dances and songs, as well as to present some of their poetry.

The Times of India reporter quoted a social science student from the college named C. Sugirtha who said that it was important for the tribal people to be recognized in the broader society, which ought to acknowledge their needs. Another student noted the importance to the tribal people themselves of identifying with their own cultures and traditions.

D. Radha, a Kadar woman, told The Hindu that the dance her group was presenting was performed on both sad and happy occasions in their village. She said that the song had been written in their language and had been known by them for generations.

Another Kadar, R. Ravi, told the paper that many of their customs, practices, and traditions were vanishing. He said that the Kadar used to get most of their daily food from their gathering in the forest, but recently they have adopted small-scale farming, which has led to changes in their diets and made them more susceptible to diseases.

Thangaraj, a Paliyan man from Madurai, said that many of his people had become ignorant of their own cultural traditions due to changes made by decision-makers in the majority society. As an example, he cited four different Paliyan settlements where regulations made by agencies such as the Forest Department have restricted entry to the forests. These restrictions have prevented the people in those communities from going up into the hills to say prayers to Palichiamman, a deity, on the appropriate days.

S. Thanaraj, the coordinator of Ekta Parishad, seconded this theme. He said that the larger Indian society needed to be aware that external developments could harm the lives of the indigenous people. “There are a lot of values and ethics of living followed by tribes which need to be taken seriously. While development has rampantly affected them, the fact that they can rejuvenate and conserve the environment in their own way has been overlooked,” Mr. Thanaraj said.

Both reporters commented on the fact that some students from the Lady Doak college got up on the stage and tried to join in with the dancing done by the Kadar, who taught them a few of the simple dance steps. The Hindu reported that the performance by the Paliyan people also received loud enthusiastic applause from the student audience.

Fortunately, a YouTube video entitled “Dance of the Paliyans” presents a four and one half minute snippet of them performing on a stage. A narrator provides an introduction in English, which is followed by an engaging, effective dance number by the Paliyan themselves. The narrator explains that while the performance we watch is obviously staged, it is normally performed around a bonfire early in the evening. A symbolic bonfire is visible at the center of the dancers on the stage as they do the dance called “Rice De-husking Lore.”

It is not clear if this particular dance number was performed by the Paliyans in Madurai last week. It is also unclear if any of the dances that Gardner (2000b, p.137-139) discussed in his book on the Paliyans were presented in Madurai. Gardner described dances, some of which were playful in nature, which were part of the rituals involved with visits of the caamis, the protective deities of the Paliyans. But it is obvious from the video, and from Gardner’s descriptions of dances he witnessed, why the college students would have been so excited that some of them would have joined in.

A new primary school in Kerala that opened in June to much fanfare for Malapandaram kids, but which was threatened in July with closing due to insufficient funds, has been kept open after all.The Hindu reported last week that the school at Attathode, located on a major road to Sabarimala, was saved due to quick action in securing funds by a local official—the District Collector, S. Harikishore.

Map of Malapandaram settlements Mr. Harikishore has been able to find the funding to ensure that the children attending the school are given three meals every day, one of the major issues reported last month. Another problem was that promises to provide daily transportation service to and from the school to the other nearby Malapandaram communities in the forest areas of Chalakkayam, Nilackal, and Laha had not been fulfilled.

The District Collector was able to arrange for money to pay for a driver to transport the children. He used Kerala funds from the Gothra Sarathi scheme, launched by the state in 2013 to provide transportation for tribal children so they could attend schools.

The article in The Hindu announcing this development also reported that the school has been given a laptop computer, pictured in the report with numerous Malapandaram children and some adults gathered around it. The gift was presented by an Indian from a nearby community who has settled in Houston named Reji Kurien.

The children watched some PowerPoint presentations and some short films. The laptop has been loaded with education software and it will be used to expose the children to the digital age. Mr. Kurien was accompanied by the Member of the Legislative Assembly, Raju Abraham, and other officials in a presentation at the school on Tuesday last week.

Another article in The Hindu described the outreaching efforts of the District Collector, Mr. Harikishore, to get to know the tribal settlements of Pathanamthitta District, many of which are Malapandaram. He is the chief administrative official of a district of about 1.2 million people. He has initiated a program he is calling “A day in a tribal hamlet,” in which he travels with a couple other officials to each of the hamlets in turn and listens to what the people have to say.

He told the reporter he is finding that the young people are eager to leave the forests and move into settled communities, as are many women if they are given shelters, food, water, and the necessary clothing. He has found that malnutrition is a serious problem among the tribal people. A majority of the women and children turned out to be anemic, and they tend to use salt excessively, which elevates their blood pressure.

The Malapandaram families at Chalakkayam, near Sabarimala, had several requests for Mr. Harikishore: they asked for sheets for their beds, food grains, and plastic sheets in order to cover the roofs of their huts. That request prompts the reader to wonder what their living conditions are really like—why the plastic sheeting? Brian Morris’ book about the Malapandaram, Forest Traders(1982a), provides some insight into their physical living conditions.

Morris distinguished between the temporary forest camps occupied by one to four nuclear families and the larger settlements, places allotted to the people by the Forest Department for semi-permanent dwellings. The people living in those settlements tended to make day trips into the nearby forests for food and supplies.

He described the Paranthadi settlement, located on the northern bank of the Achencoil River. It consisted of around 10 huts made of grass thatching, though the number varied depending on the individuals and families coming and going. About six families were normally associated with the settlement. The huts were constructed in various ways, but the most substantial of them were quite simple.

The hut of a man named Daniskody, who referred to himself as the headman (though he had very little authority when Morris was there) was the largest of all. The anthropologist described that hut as rectangular, built with nine upright support posts and a framework of other poles that held up a roof thatched with grass. The hut faced the river and was open on two sides, with the northern side slatted with bamboo strips in an attempt to keep out the rain.

Other huts that Morris described were smaller but constructed essentially the same way—mostly covered with grass thatching. In some other settlements, huts were thatched with bamboo leaves, though he indicated that some of the older settlements had more permanent structures.

His summary of the forest settlement huts appears to still be accurate: “Hill Pandaram huts are in general much smaller, and often flimsily made; they are frequently open on at least one side, and very often … they are not enclosed at all and are essentially only roof shelters (p.58).” It is no wonder that the Malapandaram at Chalakkayam requested plastic sheeting—to provide better protection from the rain than their traditional structures did.

Peaceful Societies

Peaceful Societies

A Dance that Promotes Zapotec Values

Concerns for Batek Gender Equality

Ladakhi Village Electrified

Fipa Men Boil the Maize

Walrus Skulls Used as Soccer Balls

Brekke, Pål. 2008. “The Aurora Borealis.” Scandinavian Review 95(3): 6-17

The Kadar Are in the News

Nubian Singing in Sudan

Spoken Pennsylvania German Focuses Amish on Humility [journal article review]

Paliyan and Kadar Dances

A Malapandaram School Remains Open

Subscribe to our weekly digest

Subject Listing

Previous News and Reviews