Peaceful Societies

A peaceful protest march by tens of thousands of poor, landless, tribal peoples toward Delhi ended last Thursday in Agra when the government of India agreed to meet the demands of the marchers. The Rural Development Minister, Jairam Ramesh, signed an agreement with the march organizer, the NGO Ekta Parishad, that was quite similar to one he had refused to sign earlier, as reported in the news the previous week.

As the marchers slowly made their way toward the capital last week, the government began to cave in to most of their demands. They had left Gwalior on Wednesday, October 3, planning to arrive in Delhi on October 29. On Wednesday, the 10th, the news broke that Mr. Ramesh was going to meet the march in Agra the next day, a little less than halfway to the capital, with new proposals—and apparently a renewed willingness to negotiate.

Many of the tribal peoples subsisting on the fringes of rural Indian society are denied the rights to own the lands that they have lived on for millennia. The protest march, which was receiving increasing publicity in the Indian news media, with nationally prominent individuals joining the tribal peoples every day, apparently became too much for the government to resist.

The agreement it signed promises that within the next six months it will draft a National Reform Policy, after consulting with other interest groups and the state governments. However, a similar foot march in 2007 also organized by Ekta Parishad, resulted in a promise to establish a National Land Reforms Council, headed by the Prime Minister. It has never even met.

The government on Thursday agreed to establish fast-track land tribunals. In addition, it will start a national database that will record the properties that individuals own, with the intent of revealing the names of people who have purchased more lands than the laws allow. Perhaps most critically, the agreement provides for the distribution of one-tenth of one acre of land to every landless person, plus the additional land needed for housing.

Ekta Parishad gave up its demand for the establishment of land rights commissions in the various states. The national government would be constitutionally unable to promise such a thing. But the government did agree to establish a system of legal aid, and to promise it will pressure the state governments to grant homestead rights for both tribal peoples and the Dalits, formerly called the Untouchables.

According to The Hindu, Mr. Ramesh told the crowd in Agra, “Ekta Parishad should continue putting pressure not only on the Centre [the national government of India], but also on the State governments.”

While 60,000 people set out from Gwalior on the 3rd, and the march organizers had promised that the numbers would swell to 100,000 by the time the group reached Delhi, in fact only about 20,000 remained in Agra to witness Mr. Ramesh and P.V. Rajagopal, the founder of Ekta Parishad and organizer of the march, as they signed the agreement.

Mr. Rajagopal expressed his pleasure with the agreement, saying that progress is slow and gradual. He mentioned other important social improvements that have taken time to bring about in India, and said that one-tenth of an acre of land is better than nothing. The tribal people should feel safe living in huts when they own the land they are erected on. He also said, “the next step is the fight for agricultural land. We want a guarantee of one hectare of farmland for every rural household.” One hectare equals nearly two and one half acres, or 25 times the 0.1 acres promised in the current agreement.

The marchers were not all thrilled with the outcome. Malliga, one of the Paliyan women who expressed opinions about the importance of marching the previous week just before the march had started, was still there and still willing to be quoted. She was dismissive of the promise of such tiny strips of land. “What will I do with one-tenth of an acre? What can I grow on it? If I throw my seeds on that land, can my children eat from it?”

Another Paliyan woman quoted the previous week, Dhanalakshmi, had also not left the march early. Now that the protest had ended, she said that she was planning to see the Taj Mahal in Agra before returning to her village in Tamil Nadu. “But if the government does not keep its promises, we will bring more people from our villages and we will come back.” The landless Paliyans are clearly learning the power of nonviolent protests.

Anthropologists have characterized many hunting and gathering societies as “immediate return,” a phrase that describes people who consume their food immediately since they have no way of accumulating and storing surplus. Such foraging societies often lack competition and are highly egalitarian. The Chewong certainly fit that description.

In contrast, “delayed return” societies, especially peoples who practice settled agriculture, have economies based primarily on accumulation and savings. They tend to have social systems that emphasize the ownership of land, the accumulation of personal wealth and, frequently, the establishment of hierarchical orders and social inequalities. The Malay and Chinese peoples who live in the rural valleys of Peninsular Malaysia surrounding the Chewong forests have been settled agriculturalists and traders for many years.

Signe Howell, writing an article published in a recent book on the relations between foragers and agriculturalists in Southeast Asia, explores the effects of the settled Malaysian peoples on the Chewong. Her piece brings to life the importance of looking carefully at the economic ways of a society like the Chewong in order to better understand the possible changes in their peacefulness.

For while Chewong society appears to be evolving, they also seem to be retaining at least some of the stabilizing factors from their traditional culture. Their world has been opened up by outside forces in recent decades, first through invasive logging, then from pressures by government agents, missionaries, and traders that they should join the Malaysian state society. The Chewong are resisting those pressures, at least to some extent.

They define themselves as hunters and gatherers. Their terms for themselves are bi breté (forest people) or bi bay (digging people), and they explicitly contrast themselves with neighboring farmers. However, Howell has noticed in her recent visits with them that they no longer use as much forest land for foraging and hunting as they did in the 1970s when she did her first field work there.

Many Chewong have settled into a permanent village, but others are less inclined to do so. They are ambiguous in their feelings about staying in one house more or less permanently. While they want to take advantage of new opportunities, such as foods that are easy to purchase, or attractive technological gadgets, they also want to retain the best of their former world—the stability and peace of the forest.

One of their primary, long-term cultural values has been to condemn people who eat alone. A person who eats alone violates their supreme principle of sharing food. A Chewong who did eat alone, who violated such an important rule, would never be punished by humans, but the superhumans certainly would condemn the action. For the human and the spirit worlds are co-existent to the Chewong.

Traditionally, all produce caught, trapped, or gathered in the forest would be brought back to the community and shared according to very exacting rules. The people had no way to preserve food, and no knowledge of how to do so anyway. Eating alone is symbolic of cheating on the system. However, foods that people purchase from outside sources—for instance, from a store in the village using personal earnings—are increasingly falling outside those social rules. To some extent, they can now eat alone.

But they still have not given up their “immediate return” way of thinking. Some Chewong are raising and selling cash crops, though they quickly spend their earnings. An accumulation of wealth is alien to them. The immediate return implied by their subsistence economy is modifying into an immediate spend mentality today.

They will work hard to raise money to purchase rice, or to afford the costs of a wedding. But unless they have specific items they want to buy, they rarely save for long-term goals, much less for unforeseen circumstances. Their attitudes are a hold-over from their hunting and gathering heritage. When they need something, they will get up, go out, and work for it. As a result, the process of developing agricultural crops that require long-term planning and harvesting is still not attractive to them.

Their sharing lifestyle fostered a belief in equality in which no one could hoard, or accumulate, wealth. They believe in punén, the conviction that hoarding would prompt dangerous desires in others who might became envious or resentful. That state of punén could provoke the attacks of tigers or poisonous millipedes. The violator of the punén rule, thus, was responsible for the attacks. The culture, in other words, strongly condemned selfishness, and maintained equality through those punén sanctions.

The introduction of money has changed the rules. As the people have begun establishing rubber plantations near the village, or developed permanent farming plots, they have begun considering the tracts of land on which their crops are planted as their own. Individual land ownership was alien to them not many decades ago. People who now accumulate lands, and consumer goods, are becoming wealthy. Money carried home in the pocket is not visible, while a game animal carried back into a forest clearing most definitely was. Inequalities are springing up.

Wives whose husbands are out working and earning cash are less equal in the homes than they used to be, when men and women were both bringing home food for the family. Men are increasingly becoming the decision makers in the homes. Furthermore, some men are better able to earn money than others, so the inequalities between Chewong families is becoming more noticeable. So far, Howell observes, there have been no dramatic changes, but she notices these gradual shifts.

But Howell believes that the traditional values of the Chewong are deterring them from becoming active, enthusiastic agriculturalists. They periodically, in some case frequently, like to return to the forests. Those habits inhibit the long term care required for plantation agriculture. Their earlier practice of sharing, plus their inclination to immediately spend their money on food or consumer goods, are slowing the change into a farming lifestyle.

Living permanently in the forest, yet having access to some consumer goods, may seem ideal to many Chewong, but it is not clear how much they will change. Some may well continue to prefer the peacefulness of the forest over the attractions of the TV.

Howell, Signe. 2011. “The Uneasy Move from Hunting, Gathering and Shifting Cultivation to Settled Agriculture: The Case of the Chewong (Malaysia).” In Why Cultivate? Anthropological and Archaeological Approaches to Foraging-Farming Transitions in Southeast Asia, Edited by Graeme Barker & Monica Janowski, p.95-104. Cambridge, UK: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research, University of Cambridge.

Competition is anathema to some of the peaceful societies, such as the Kadar, Semai, Piaroa, and Chewong, where people fear it might provoke resentment, anger, and even violence. For other peaceful societies, it is simply a harmless and enjoyable part of life. Tristan da Cunha is one of those places, where the spirit of friendly competition prevails.

A news story on Friday indicated that the Tristanians enjoy golf matches, and another several days earlier reported on football on the island. The islanders are obviously enthusiastic about their competitive sports.

A football (soccer in the U.S.) blog early last week carried an interview with the man who coordinates that sport on Tristan. Christian Rizzitelli spoke with Leon Glass, labeling him as “the remotest manager in the world,” on “the most remote island of the world,” to get his views on the place of football on the island.

Glass indicated that it is difficult, considering the small population of Tristan—just 260 people—to field two teams of 11 on each side. So they usually play with just five people per team. But the play is very competitive. He said that the sport was either introduced by visiting missionaries, or by personnel on visiting ships, though he wasn’t sure when.

Asked if Tristan has a national team and plays matches with other places, Glass replied that the island doesn’t have the population, or the funds, to send a team abroad. “So all our matches are classified as friendlies,” he added. Asked if he had plans for the 2012/13 football season, he replied that the scheduling of their matches varies—but they do try to train at least once a week to keep in shape.

Mr. Glass said that the Tristanians play against the crews of visiting ships, perhaps three to six matches per year. In 2012, however, they only had one football match, and that was between a team fielded by the government employees, against another from the fish processing plant. The government won, 2 to 1.

Rizzitelli asked Glass if the Tristanians would like to play against other South Atlantic islands, such as Saint Helena. He said that would be ideal, but so far it hasn’t worked out. The journalist asked him about the most notable win by his island, and Glass replied that they have had few real matches against outside teams, but they were very proud to have a football series against a construction crew visiting from South Africa a few years ago. After a very close series, the Tristan team won the final game, just before the construction crew had to depart, 14 – 2.

Glass did admit that they watch the various international football competitions on TV, plus the games played in the English Premier League and the Champions League. Most members of the Tristan teams root for Manchester United, he admitted, but some players also like Arsenal and Liverpool.

The interviewer did not ask Mr. Glass how the Tristanians react to the occasionally violent football riots by fans of the European teams.

In his book Non-Violent Resistance, Gandhi wrote that satyagraha is not a weapon of the weak, it is a tool of strength. He acknowledged the existence of passive resistance, particularly in the Christian tradition, but he dismissed it as a characteristic of weakness. Passive resistance does not completely exclude violence, he argued, if the passive resisters should turn in that direction. It is not clear if he was aware of the Paliyans and the other tribal peoples in India who express their nonviolence by passive resistance, often called nonresistance, by fleeing from confrontations.

If asked, the Paliyan would certainly not have agreed with Gandhi’s assessment. Anthropologist Peter M. Gardner (1972) quoted a Paliyan man who told him bluntly, “if struck on one side of the face, you turn the other side toward the attacker.” The Paliyan express their reluctance to engage in fighting by retreating from it—sometimes precipitously.

Gardner amplified Paliyan attitudes toward peaceful nonresistance in a 2010 article, which appeared in a book on nonkilling societies. He suggested that Paliyan nonresistance must be seen from their perspective, rather than from the viewpoint of outside societies. Since the Paliyans still confront aggression in the same manner as the gentleman quoted in 1972, they do not see nonresistance in Gandhian terms, as a weakness.

Instead, they view their way of retreating from confrontation as a completely approved social style. They feel no stigma in avoiding conflicts, no humiliation in retreating from fights, no sense of cowardice. Gardner wrote that, for the Paliyan, retreating “is an unambiguous act of strength, strength in controlling oneself.”

Thus, there are two perspectives on peacefulness operating in India—the active, challenging style of nonviolent resistance perfected by the Mahatma, such as marches, sit-ins, and so forth—and the flee-into-the-forests nonresistance advocated by some of the peaceful societies. The differences may be subtle, but they are significant. Several news stories last week suggest that the continuing tradition of satyagraha in India, exemplified this time by a land rights organization, and the nonresistance of the Paliyans may be starting to converge.

On Wednesday, the Indian land rights group Ekta Parishad launched an epic protest by 50,000 landless Adivasi (tribal) people. They started a march from the city of Gwalior about 200 miles (320 km) north by road toward the national capital in Delhi. The protesters are planning to hand a memorandum to the central government describing the difficulties they face since they are still being deprived of their own lands. They hope to reach Delhi by October 29, marching by day and sleeping by night on the highway.

Ekta Parishad (Hindi for “unity forum”), a federation of about 11,000 community organizations, was founded in 1991 by the activist Rajagopal P. V. It focuses on land rights issues of the rural poor in India, particularly the tribal peoples. It follows nonviolent Gandhian strategies, particularly mass protest marches, in its attempts to negotiate with the national and state governments on behalf of the landless people.

Rajagopal led a similar march from Gwalior to Delhi in October 2007 with much the same demands. After several days of negotiations, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh and his government agreed completely with the marchers and established a National Land Commission. The commission subsequently issued its report, but the government has not yet acted on it. The march this month is designed to press those demands.

A Paliyan contingent took a train to Gwalior early last week to join the march, and were singled out by a reporter from The Hindu, one of India’s leading newspapers. Priscilla Jebaraj, the reporter, spoke with Dhanalakshmi, a 22 year old Paliyan woman, who was listening at the back of the huge crowd along with others from her community. They were skeptical about a speech by Jairam Ramesh, the national Rural Development Minister. He was in Gwalior on Tuesday trying to head off the march with more promises.

“Discussion is always better than agitation,” he said to the vast throng. He listed the measures the government had already put in place to try and protect the rights of the landless. “Go home … we will find the middle path,” he promised. He had earlier agreed to sign clearly delineated policies that would protect the rights of landless rural people, but by Sunday last week the government had backed down and refused to sign. Ramesh said that land rights are issues controlled by the states, so the central government can’t make commitments.

Dhanalakshmi was not swayed by his reasoning, and told the reporter why. She said that in her state, Tamil Nadu, if she tells the government agent that she wants her rights to land, he says that there is no land for him to deliver. She rejects that, saying that the state government has plenty of land to donate to industries and to special economic zones. “He says, you get an order from above. So we are going to Delhi to get an order from above,” the spirited young woman said.

The young woman had never ridden on a train until she boarded the one for Gwalior a few days before. She crowded into an unreserved compartment with 200 other people to make the journey north. She was eager to tell the reporter her story.

She explained how, in 2010, a group of Paliyans were evicted from their traditional lands because of the Forest Conservation Act of 2006, and they had to work as bonded laborers on a mango plantation to survive. They were unable to obtain deeds to their lands, despite the provisions of the law, so 28 families occupied a plot of land and built small huts to live in at Serakkadu, in the foothills of the Bodi Agamalai.

The Forest Department threatened to demolish their houses, but Dhanalakshmi and the others refused to be intimidated. A news story in The Hindu in November 2010 about the 28 families and their hassles prompted the Chief Minister of the state to get involved and make promises that the tribal people would get the land and houses they were demanding.

Ms. Jebaraj, the reporter, noticed that the speakers at the front of the auditorium, Mr. Rajagopal and the government ministers, were mere specks in the distance for the people from Tami Nadu, and since they were speaking in Hindi, the crowd at the back couldn’t understand them anyway. But another Paliyan woman, Malliga, 35, said it really didn’t matter. She recognized that she didn’t have much in common with the people from the north of India. But she quoted a Tamil proverb to her purposes. “If one hand claps, it cannot be heard,” she said. “But if many hands clap, if we all join together, they will have to hear us.”

It sounds as if the precepts of satyagraha are penetrating into Paliyan society, so they may yet find ways to peacefully win their rights. Could Gandhi be persuaded that there is value in both active nonviolence and passive nonresistance—strength in both?

The Kadar workers in the Parambikulam Tiger Reserve were singled out last week as one of the key reasons for the nature sanctuary’s recognition as one of India’s best protected natural areas. The reserve, located in the mountains of eastern Kerala state in southern India, has been accorded top honors along with other internationally-known treasures such as the Corbett National Park and the Periyar Tiger Reserve.

The reason for the recognition of Parambikulam has been the comprehensive management approach taken by the park, which has 15 to 18 tigers, and the way the Kadar and the other indigenous peoples living in it are incorporated into its management.

The reserve will be recognized at a meeting of the United Nation’s 11th Convention on Biological Diversity, which will be held in Hyderabad beginning on October 8th. Parambikulam has won its recognition, according to a news story in the Times of India last Friday, by reducing human-animal conflicts and increasing biological diversity. India has more than 800 protected areas—parks, preserves, forests, and so forth.

An Indian Supreme Court decision prohibited tourism activities in the core areas of the nation’s tiger reserves, but Parambikulam has nonetheless been able to employ the local tribal people for forest protection work, according to Wildlife Warden K. Vijayanandan. He told the newspaper that the reserve helped develop the tribal peoples through a form of community-based eco-tourism. Over 250 tribal peoples have benefited from the program, both as park workers and as helpers and guides to the tourists.

According to a study by M.S. Mahendrakumar (2005), the Kadar are one of the major tribal peoples in the Parambikulam. They live in the Parambikulam Colony itself, the Kuriarkutty Colony, and the Earth Dam Colony, while other peoples—the Malamalasar, the Muthuvan, and the Malayan peoples live in other colonies in or near the reserve. Mahendrakumar reported that 190 people lived in the Parambikulam colony, 264 in the Kuriarkutty Colony, and 170 people in the Earth Dam Colony as of the date of his report.

The news story last Friday indicated that enhanced tiger protection afforded by the designation of the wildlife sanctuary as a Tiger Reserve had required the tribal peoples to get rid of all their livestock, including poultry. The reporter wrote that they don’t mind, since they have steady incomes instead.

One result of the effective human/animal management strategy has been the decline of poaching. N. Babu, a tribal person not identified by the newspaper with a particular society, said that the reserve had not witnessed a single incident of tiger poaching since 2004. Furthermore, there has not been a forest fire in the reserve since 2007, he asserted. “We were able to do tourism in a very eco-friendly way,” he said.

As an added benefit, the tiger reserve has had increasing revenues, which doubtless the managers and officials appreciate. Revenues generated by Parambikulam increased from Rs.1.25 crore ($US236,000) in 2009-10 to Rs.1.86 crore ($US352,000) the next year, and Rs.2.45 crore ($US463,000) in 2011-2012. The park disbursed Rs.85 lakh ($US161,000) in salaries to the local tribal peoples, and Rs.90 lakh ($US 170,000) to upkeep and maintenance.

“Tribal people have become part of the Social Tiger Protection Force and are effectively combating forest and wildlife-related offences. Here there is no man-animal conflict,” said Warden Vijayanandan.

The young Buid are giving up a key symbol of their identity, the bahag, or loincloth, an article of clothing that some of their elders see as an essential part of their traditional culture. Younger people increasingly see it as an artifact of the past.

Some older Buid, such as the mediums performing a pig ritual in the accompanying 2010 photo, continue wearing the bahag whether or not others approve. It is their way of expressing their identity as indigenous persons wherever they go. Note that almost all of the Buid, young and old, surrounding the five mediums in the photo are wearing modern, Western clothing.

The bahag has long been a symbol of respect and an essential element in Buid rituals. The Buid, and the other Mangyan peoples living in the mountains of Mindoro Island in the Philippines, have been wearing loincloths as identity markers since before European colonization, according to a news report from the Philippines last week. The Wikipedia confirms that the bahag used to be worn throughout the Philippines, but its use is now confined to mountainous tribal peoples, such as the more traditional Mangyans.

The reporter quoted several young Buid, such as Wilbert Panganiban, who expressed embarrassment at wearing the loincloth—it exposes the wearer’s rear end. Laet, another Buid, didn’t like the fact that the loincloth was an identifying symbol marking a person as indigenous. The major issue appears to be that such identification exposes the Mangyans to discrimination.

Older members of the Buid communities have not taught their children the value of wearing loincloths, according to Helen Awang, a teacher. She makes an effort to teach the Buid children the importance of their traditional culture. She pointed out to the reporter that their culture suggests men should wear loincloths and women aprons at their weddings. The photo suggests that she is not getting very far.

A year ago, on September 18, 2011, a powerful earthquake devastated many communities in northern Sikkim. In a strange rehash of events this year, a minor tremor rattled the same Indian state on the same day, within about 15 minutes of the time of last year’s quake. It appeared to do no damage, though people in Gangtok, the state capital, rushed out of their houses in fear. Authorities quickly shut down electric power supplies. Many were jumpy about a repeat of last year’s tragedy.

kids in Chungthang The powerful quake last year occurred near the border of Nepal, in the heart of Lepcha territory. It caused extensive damage and killed nearly 80 people, most of them Lepchas. Reporter Prianka Gupta visited Chungthang, a major Lepcha community in northern Sikkim, to see what effects remain from the quake last year. She writes that “Chungthang looks almost frozen in time.”

One year after, she observed people still living in heavily damaged buildings, and others trying to subsist in temporary shelters. Paden Lepcha told her that people had heard the government was going to help rebuild, but nothing has happened yet. Passangkit Lepcha told the reporter that if another earthquake struck, it might be better to die. There is nowhere else to go.

The schools in Chungthang have been affected. The Everest Academy is constantly threatened by boulders tumbling down the mountainside, and half of the pupils have left due to fear. Another school holds classes in an abandoned stable.

Landslides continue to destroy roads in the geologically unstable region, and prime tourist destinations are frequently inaccessible. The government of Sikkim blames the weather and the national government. The Chief Secretary, Karma Gyatso, indicates that the state has received only one-fifth of the funds promised by New Delhi. While the relief agencies provided help quickly last fall, long term rebuilding is proceeding very slowly.

Last Thursday, a federal jury in Cleveland, Ohio, convicted Samuel Mullet, Sr., and 15 of his followers for conspiracy and hate crimes in their hair and beard cutting attacks on other Amish people in 2011. The trial included three weeks of testimony, and it took the jury nearly a fourth week to reach its verdict. The judge will impose the sentences in January. The testimony was at times lurid, but it also provided fascinating glimpses into Amish customs and more specifically into the ways of the psychopathic leader of the breakaway Amish sect.

One of the highlights of the trial was the testimony by Donald Kraybill, eminent authority on Amish society. Kraybill, who is on the faculty of Elizabethtown College in Pennsylvania, testified at the beginning of the third week of the trial. On Monday, September 10, he told the jury that the humility and nonviolence practiced by the Amish are based on their beliefs that Jesus himself exemplified those virtues. “The Amish believe that we should do no harm to anyone in any way,” Kraybill said.

He added that central tenets of their beliefs are “the rejection of revenge, the rejection of force, and forgiveness…” He described a 2006 Amish leadership meeting held in Pennsylvania during which hundreds of bishops overturned some excommunications that Mullet had ordered against a few of his followers. They had disobeyed him by moving away from his community.

According to Kraybill, the excommunications Mullet ordered were not for religious or biblical reasons. Kraybill described this dispute as comparable to an earthquake in the Amish world. Federal prosecutors argued that this dispute was what provoked Mullet’s subsequent fury and led to the hair and beard cutting attacks on his disobedient followers.

News reports last autumn describing the attacks were clarified and amplified during the trial. For instance, Barbara Miller, a sister of Mr. Mullet, testified about the events that occurred to herself and her husband Marty in their home at this time last year. She and her husband had moved out of Mullet’s community near Bergholtz, Ohio, as a way of ending their dispute with him and his autocratic ways.

She said that as a result of the split, she and her husband had had strained relations with six of their children and their spouses, but she was initially thrilled when her family appeared at their doorstep late one night last September. When she saw her son Lester at her door, she said she wanted to hug him. But her joy quickly turned to terror.

Her son and the others pushed past her. Lester grabbed his father by his beard and pulled it so hard it distorted his face. While the women chopped off Barbara’s waist-length hair, the men shaved Mr. Miller’s lengthy beard. “I started praying ‘forgive them God,’” Mrs. Miller testified, but she added that one of her sons screamed at her, “God is not with you.” To the Amish, long hair, uncut since baptism and marriage, is symbolic of their religious identity. Having it cut off has been humiliating to the victims.

News accounts over the past month of the trial have described the other attacks by the Bergholtz Amish. The defense never denied that the attacks took place, but they characterized them as community disputes, not hate crimes—Mr. Mullet’s way of imposing discipline on his followers. No one charged him of any personal involvement in the attacks, but the government prosecutors did charge him with being the mastermind behind them. The jury finally agreed.

Testimony at the trial included some evidence of the ways Mr. Mullet liked to treat members of his congregation. One woman, not named in news accounts, told the jury that Mullet had forced her to have sex with him, his way of turning her into a better wife, she said. The judge warned the jury that there were no sex crimes charges against Mr. Mullet, so they should only consider the testimony in relation to the actual indictments.

The lady testified that her husband had had a mental breakdown and was in a hospital. In response, Bishop Mullet suggested that his troubles stemmed from his dissatisfaction with their marriage. He suggested that she move into his home with him so he could do some marriage counseling.

His counseling at first consisted of hugs, then of kissing and her sitting on his lap. Even asking for hugs was upsetting for her, since Amish beliefs encourage modest behavior. She went along with him because she believed she might help her husband. Then he insisted that she come into his bedroom, despite her opposition.

She moved back with her husband when he was released from the hospital, but continued to visit Mullet at his insistence. “I was afraid not to go,” she told the jury. When she finally told him that the relationship had to stop, he told her she was a whore. She and her husband solved the situation by abruptly packing their clothing and leaving for Pennsylvania.

Others also testified about the way Mullet had disciplined his followers by requiring them to spend time sitting in a chicken coop reflecting on the errors of their ways. Other women testified that they had had to submit to Mullet’s style of sexual counseling.

Testimonies for the defense emphasized that the hair cutting attacks were part of a series of family squabbles, which included disputes about money, child-rearing, and the ways people dressed. Last Thursday, the jury concluded that the prosecutors were right. The attacks were hate crimes, the result of a conspiracy. Sentences could include ten years or more in prison for Mr. Mullet and his 15 followers.

A series of news articles over the past month about the Ju/’hoansi of Namibia provide some interesting new information about the desert dwellers.

Richard Lee, an anthropologist who has studied the Ju/’hoansi extensively, wrote an article picked up by the news aggregating serve allafrica.com about an initiative to foster the bio-cultural rights of the Ju/’hoansi and the other San peoples of southern Africa. Lee explains that the San have enduring values and norms that prescribe how they should manage and relate to the land and its natural resources.

Bio-cultural rights, Lee explains, are essential elements in preserving the biodiversity that protects the San communities, thus guaranteeing their income, fuel, food security, and, by extension, their self-determination. He describes various workshops and meetings that have sought to build on San values to ensure that the people evaluate contemporary conditions and issues based on their traditional knowledge. A wide range of African organizations are helping out with this work to strengthen the cultures of the San peoples.

On September 4, allafrica.com carried a story by Mathia Haufiku about the changes that are needed for Tsumkwe, the major Ju/’hoansi town in the Nyae Nyae Reserve of Namibia. Likoro Masheshe, the chief control officer of the town of nearly 10,000 people, discussed some developments that are desperately needed in his community.

One of the foremost is the need for a paved road. Tsumkwe is connected to the outside world by a 246 kilometer (153 mile) gravel road, and Masheshe claims that many lives have been lost along it. He is also agitating for the construction of a hospital nearer to Tsumkwe than the present facility, which is 80 km away.

Mr. Masheshe advocates a change in the legal designation of Tsumkwe, from its present status of “settlement” into that of “village”. He argues that such an improvement in the status of Tsumkwe would make the community much more attractive to investors, who should be interested in investing in projects related to tourism in the area.

The article points out that a new solar-diesel hybrid power plant has been installed in Tsumkwe. The community now has continuous electric power without the constant interruptions caused by the older, more inadequate, generators that depended solely on diesel engines. The closest point on the Namibian electric grid to Tsumkwe is 180 km. The old diesel plant could only operate for short periods of time due to the cost of the fuel. The new power plant uses the nearly continuous solar energy, with customers paying only a modest charge to cover the cost of fuel for the backup diesel generation.

Two days later, another news story by Ms. Haufiku reported that the health clinic in Tsumkwe has recently experienced an up-tick in tuberculosis cases. Alisia Okebe, a social worker at the clinic, indicated that, as of the 6th of September, 60 patients were being treated for the disease. She said that the diet of many in Tsumkwe is not very good. Some people subsist on porridge, sugar, oil, and coffee, and basically there is not enough food in the community. “Many people also lack health knowledge so it is difficult to assist them,” she added.

Because of the isolation of Tsumkwe, HIV/AIDS has not become much of a problem yet, but that could change. The health clinic manages a garden project that produces tomatoes, onions, spinach, carrots, and other vegetables, and it runs a soup kitchen that relies on them.

The district coordinator, Johannes Hausiku, indicated that sex education is provided to the inhabitants of Tsumkwe, and officials distribute condoms. But, he complained, he was not sure if people use them. The population keeps growing.

The next day, September 7, a third news story by Ms. Haufiku expanded on the issue of poverty among the Ju/’hoansi in Tsumkwe, undoubtedly the most impoverished community in Namibia. People earn up to N$100 (US$12.00) per month from menial labor.

The reporter interviewed Jacob Khankhan, an unemployed man in Tsumkwe. He spoke of how he gets up early every day and chops firewood to earn some money, but he complains that he is not allowed to hunt, primarily, he says, because commercial farms are being develop in the area. He feels that only some of the people in Tsumkwe are benefiting from the Nyae Nyae Conservancy, and more hunting there would help the people, an activity that the Ju/’hoansi have engaged in for millennia.

Another unemployed resident of the community, Wensinslaus Ushuka, said that jobs are just not available in Tsumkwe, so all he can do is rely on government handouts for survival. Sometimes he just sits all day and listens to the radio.

Mr. Hausiku, the district coordinator, responds somewhat defensively. He says that creating jobs in Tsumkwe is difficult because many people are not inclined to attend school. Children only go to school from January to May each year and many leave after grade 10. He also said that the people are permitted to hunt in the conservancy so long as they use traditional hunting tools—bows and arrows—and not modern equipment.

Ms. Haufiku wrote in her final article about Tsumkwe on September 10 that Ellanie Rossouw, manager of the Tsumkwe Country Lodge, a modern tourist facility near the Ju/’hoansi settlement, established in June this year the Cry for Help Day Care Centre for the children of unemployed mothers in Tsumkwe.

She explained that mothers bring their babies from 8:00 AM to 5:00 PM every day. The staff provide clothing and food for the children. One of the workers at the new center, Renate Gomes, said that some of the babies are quite ill when they are first brought in, but the day care center is helping them.

The tribal people of Lohardaga district in India’s Jharkhand state, particularly the Birhor, have been suffering lately from attacks by Maoist guerilla groups. The latest strategy by the terrorists has been to forbid merchants from entering the local villages. The guerillas also demand levies from both the local people and the outside traders.

They appear to have figured out an effective way of disrupting the lives of the rural people. Village farmers derive much of their income from the sale of the vegetables they grow, which then have to be taken to urban markets to be sold. Due to the threats of violence from the guerillas, vegetables from village farmers now rot before traders can buy them.

The Birhor derive income by gathering minor forest products and fabricating them into items, such as ropes, for sale in the village markets. These items, too, cannot be sold with the ever-present threat of guerilla reprisals. Traders from larger communities in the state have basically stopped coming to the local markets in Lohardaga.

Sandip Kujur, from the village of Tissia, indicated to a reporter from the Times of India last week that the people now have to travel 25 km just to purchase basic, everyday items. A local trader, Jamil Ansari, said that the markets are virtually deserted with almost nothing for sale, in comparison to the normal crowds of people.

However, Beni Lal Rajak, a local official, expressed optimism that government attempts to provide security for the village markets will change the situation. The Times of India reporter did not provide any information to indicate that the government is really doing anything to help the villagers.

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