The Women Taking on the Macho World of Mariachi

Mariachi is a folkloric tradition as macho as it is Mexican. Eight years ago, Mireya Ramos and Shae Fiol sought to up-end convention and founded Mariachi Flor de Toloache, New York City’s first all-female mariachi band. With their bandmates Julie Acosta and Eunice Aparicio, the musicians traded in traditional mariachi skirts for homemade suits and created an empowering space for women while staying true to the music and spirit of mariachi.

What is Ashura? How this Shiite Muslim Holiday Inspires Millions

Tens of millions of Shiite Muslims from around the world will visit Iraq on Sept. 10 this year to see the shrines of Hussain, grandson of Prophet Mohammed, and his brother Abbas on the day of “Ashura.”

This annual pilgrimage marks the 10th day of Muharram, the first month of the Islamic new year. As the Islamic calendar is a lunar one, the day of Ashura changes from year to year.

Muslims visit the shrines to observe the martyrdom day of Hussain, who was killed in the desert of Karbala in today’s Iraq in A.D. 680. Shiite Muslims believe that Hussain was their third imam – a line of 12 divinely appointed spiritual and political successors.

Muharram may be an ancient festival, but as my research tracing the modern-day impact of Islamic pilgrimage shows, its meaning has changed over the centuries. What was once a commemoration of martyrdom today inspires much more, including social justice work around the globe.

Martyrdom of Hussain

The story of Muharram dates back 13 centuries, to events that followed the death of Prophet Mohammed.

After the prophet’s death in A.D. 632, a dispute emerged over who would inherit the leadership of the Muslim community and the title of caliph, or “deputy of God.” A majority of Muslims backed Abu Bakr, a close companion of the prophet, to become the first caliph. A minority wanted the prophet’s cousin and son-in-law, Ali. Those that supported his claim later came to be called Shiite Muslims.

Even if Ali was not made the caliph, Shiite Muslims would consider Ali their first imam – a leader divinely appointed by God. The title of imam would be passed on to his sons and his descendants.

Political leadership largely remained out of the hands of Shiite Imams. They would not be caliphs, but Shiites came to believe that their imam was the true leader to be followed.

By the time Ali’s second son, Hussain, came to be the third imam, divisions between the caliph and the imam had further deepened.

In A.D. 680, during the holy month of Muharram, a caliph of the Umayyad dynasty, Yazīd, ordered Hussain to pledge allegiance to him and his caliphate – a dynasty that ruled the Islamic world from A.D. 661 to 750.

Hussain refused because he believed Yazīd’s rule to be unjust and illegitimate.

His rejection resulted in a massive 10-day standoff at Karbala, in modern-day Iraq, between Umayyad’s large army and Hussain’s small band, which included his half-brother, wives, children, sisters and closest followers.

The Umayyad Mosque in Damascus. Alessandra Kocman, CC BY-NC-ND

The Umayyad army cut off food and water for Hussain and his companions. And on the day of Ashura, Hussain was brutally killed. Among the men, only Hussain’s sick son was spared. Women were unveiled – a violation of their honor as the family members of the prophet – and paraded to Damascus, the seat of Umayyad rule.

Passion plays and performances

This history is reenacted throughout the world on the day of Ashura.

In Iraq, millions of pilgrims fill the streets to visit the shrines, chanting poems of lamentation, and witness a reenactment of violence in Karbala and the capture of the women and children.

From New York and London to Hyderabad and Melbourne, thousands take part in Ashura processions carrying replicas of Hussain’s battle standard and following a white horse. This symbolizes Hussain’s riderless horse returning to the camp after his martyrdom.

Persian passion plays known as “taziyeh,” music dramas of the many martyrs and tragedies of Karbala, are performed across Iran and many other countries. Taziyeh performances are meant to evoke deep emotions of grief in the audience.

A powerful set of themes

Numerous historians and anthropologists have explored how communities across time and space have adapted the story of Karbala or the rituals around Ashūrā.

In the 16th century, a vast majority of the population across Persia, or today’s Iran, would be converted to Shiite Muslims. In this region, the passion plays evolved into a popular form of religious and artistic expression.

The character of Zainab, the Prophet Mohammed’s granddaughter, has also come to play a central role in remembrance of the Karbala story.

Scholars have drawn attention to speeches in which Zainab denounced the violence in Karbala and lauded Hussain’s “martyrdom.”

Today, Zainab is seen as a strong female model of resistance.

In the Iranian Revolution in 1979, the story of Karbala became a rallying point for opponents of the shah, who were fighting against the shah’s brutal and oppressive regime. They compared the shah to the caliph Yazīd and argued that ordinary Iranians had to stand up to an oppressor, just like Hussain had.

Zainab’s resistance to oppression helped emphasize the role of women in Islamic society.

Anthropologist Michael Fischer calls this the “Karbala paradigm” – a story that captures a powerful set of themes, including people standing up to the state and fighting for justice and morality.

Inspiring change?

Today the story of Karbala has become a powerful tool of fight for social justice in Muslim communities.

“Who is Hussain?,” a social movement with chapters in over 60 cities worldwide, carries out charitable activities and blood donations in the name of Hussain. Volunteers are encouraged to organize around events that will be meaningful in their communities and will tie into social justice issues that Hussain is believed to have fought for.

In 2018, local volunteers donated tens of thousands of bottles of water in Flint, Michigan in remembrance of Hussain and his companions, who were denied water for three days before they were killed.

As historian Yitzhak Nakash points out, the tragedy of Karbala gives Shiite Muslims a common narrative to pass on to the next generations. And commemorating it in multiple ways is an part of their unique identity.

NOORZEHRA ZAIDI is an Assistant Professor of History at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON THE CONVERSATION

Hawaii’s Long Legacy of Lei Making

In Hawaii, there’s no better way to say and share aloha than with a lei. The floral craft, which dates back to traditional times, may seem straightforward to outsiders, but it comes in many forms created across the Islands. Travel to the island of Oahu, where three master artisans want to introduce you to the lei’s vibrant past and thriving present.

Modern Shamans: Financial Managers, Political Pundits and Others Who Help Tame Life’s Uncertainty

Aka Manai explains that there are two kinds of people in the world: simata and sikerei.

I am a simata. He is a sikerei. Sikerei have undergone transformative experiences and emerged with new abilities: They alone can see spirits.

I’ve experienced a lot since that night in Indonesia when Aka Manai told me this. I was there when an initiate first saw spirits, when he and the other sikerei wept as they saw their dead fathers swirling around them. I’ve attended seven healing ceremonies, witnessing the slaughter of dozens of pigs to accompany nights of dancing. But that chat with kind-faced Aka Manai, more than any other experience, grounded my understanding of sikerei in particular and shamanism more generally.

A sikerei treats an initiate’s eyes so he, too, can see spirits. Manvir Singh, CC BY-ND

I’m a cognitive anthropologist who studies why societies everywhere develop complex yet strikingly similar traditions, ranging from dance songs to justice to shamanism. And though trancing witch doctors may sound exotic to a Western reader, I argue that the same social and psychological pressures that give rise to healers like Aka Manai produce shaman-analogues in the contemporary, industrialized West.

What is a shaman?

Shamans, including the sikerei I’ve known in Indonesia, are service providers. They specialize in healing and divination, and their services can range from ending a drought to growing a business. Like all magical specialists, they rely on spells and occult gizmos, but what makes shamans special is that they use trance.

Trance is any foreign psychological state in which a practitioner is said to engage with the supernatural. Some trances involve complete immobilization; others appear as tongue-lolling convulsions. In some South American groups, shamans enter trance by snorting a hallucinogenic powder, transforming themselves into crawling, unintelligible spirit-beings.

Being a shaman often carries benefits, both because they get paid and because their special position grants them prestige and influence.

But these advantages are offset by the ordeals involved. In many societies, a wannabe initiate lacks credibility until he (and it’s usually a he) undergoes a near-death experience or a long bout of asceticism.

One aboriginal Australian shaman told ethnographers that, as a novice, he was killed by an older shaman who then replaced his organs with a new, magical set. When he woke up from the surgery and asked the old shaman if he was lost, the old man replied, “No, you are not lost; I killed you a long time ago.”

A long time ago, a short time ago, here, there – wherever you look, there are shamans. Manifesting as mediums, channelers, witch doctors and the prophets of religious movements, shamans have appeared in most human societies, including nearly all documented hunter-gatherers. They characterized the religious lives of ancestral humans and are often said to be the “first profession.”

Why are there shamans?

Why is it that when we lanky primates get together for long enough, our societies reliably give rise to trance-dancing healers?

According to anthropologist Michael Winkelman, the answer is wisdom. Drugs and drumming, he’s argued, link up brain regions that don’t normally communicate. This connection yields new insights, allowing shamans to do things like heal sickness and locate animals. By specializing in trance, shamans uncover solutions inaccessible to normal brains.

Based on my fieldwork, I’ve argued against Winkelman’s account. Rather than all integrating people’s psychologies, trance states are wildly diverse. Chanting, sipping psychoactive brews such as ayahuasca, dancing to the point of exhaustion, even smoking extreme quantities of tobacco – these methods produce profoundly different states. Some are arousing, others calming; some expand awareness, others induce repetitive thinking. In fact, the only element shared among these states is their exoticness – that once altered, the shaman’s experience stands apart from those of his onlookers.

As part of his anthropological fieldwork, author Manvir Singh speaks with an Indonesian shaman. Luke Glowacki, CC BY-ND

Not only are shamans’ experiences exotic, their very beings are, too. As Aka Manai emphasized to me, people understand shamans to be different kinds of entities, made “other” by their ordeals. The Mentawai word for a non-shaman, simata, also describes uncooked food or unripe fruit; it implies immaturity. The word for shaman, in contrast, means a person who has undergone a process: one who has been kerei’d and come out the other side a sikerei.

This otherness is crucial. Convinced that shamans diverge from normal people, communities accept that they have superhuman abilities. Like Superman’s alien origins and the X-Men’s genetic mutations, shamans’ transformations assure people that they deviate from normal humanness, making their claims of supernatural engagement more believable.

And once people trust that a specialist engages with gods and spirits, they go to them when they need to influence uncertainty. A sick child’s parent or a farmer desperate for rain prefers to nudge the forces responsible for their hardship – and a shaman provides a compelling conduit for doing so.

This, I suggest, is why shamans recur around the world and across time. As specialists compete in markets for magic, they fuel the evolution of practices that hack people’s intuitions about magic and special abilities, convincing the rest of us that they can control uncertainty. Shamans are the culmination of this evolution. They use trance and initiations to transcend humanness, assuring their clients that they can commune with the invisible beings who oversee uncertain events.

Who are the shamans of the industrialized West?

Most people assume that shamanism has disappeared in the industrialized West – that it’s an ancient tradition of long-lost tribes, at most resurrected and corrupted by New Age xenophiles and overeager mystics.

To some extent, these people are right. Far fewer Westerners visit trance-practitioners to heal illness or call rain than people have elsewhere in the world or throughout history. But they’re also wrong. Like people everywhere, contemporary Westerners look to experts to achieve the impossible – to heal incurable illnesses, to forecast unknowable futures – and the experts, in turn, compete among themselves, performing to convince people of their special abilities.

So who are these modern shamans?

A specialist you can turn to for help divining the mysterious forces at work in financial markets. Matej Kastelic/Shutterstock.com

According to the cognitive scientist Samuel Johnson, financial money managers are likely candidates. Money managers fail to outperform the market – in fact, they even fail to systematically outperform each other – yet customers continue to pay them to divine future stock prices.

This faith might come from a belief of their fundamental otherness. Johnson points out that money managers emphasize their differences from clients, exhibiting extreme charisma and enduring superhuman work schedules. Managers also adorn themselves with advanced mathematical degrees and use complicated statistical models to predict the market. Although money managers don’t enter trance, their degrees and models assure clients that the specialists can peer into otherwise opaque forces.

Of course, money managers aren’t the only experts to specialize in the impossible. Psychics, sports analysts, political pundits, economic forecasters, esoteric healers and even an octopus similarly sate people’s desires to tame the uncertain. Like shamans and money managers, they decorate themselves with badges of credibility – an association with the White House, for example, or a familiarity with ancient Tibetan medicine – that persuade customers of their special abilities.

As long as hidden forces shape our fates, people will try to control them. And as long as it’s profitable, pseudo-experts will compete for desperate clients, dressing in the most credible and compelling costumes. Shamanism is not some arcane tradition restricted to an ancient past or New Age circles. It’s a near-inevitable consequence of our human intuitions about special abilities and our desire to control the uncertain, and elements of it appear everywhere.

MANVIR SINGH is a PhD Candidate in Human Evolutionary Biology at Harvard University.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON THE CONVERSATION

In Bhutan, a History of Matriarchy and the Question of True Equality

Much like the diverse landscape of Bhutan, women’s representation and access in the country features impressive peaks as well as low-lying valleys.

Paro Taktsang, a Himalayan Buddhist sacred site and temple complex, located in the upper Paro valley. Arian Zwegers. CC BY 2.0

The tiny Buddhist kingdom of Bhutan is known for its ornate fortresses, or dzongs; the breathtaking Paro Taktsang, or Tiger’s Nest, temple complex, which clings to a steep cliffside; and its matriarchal traditions—but while Bhutan has much to be proud of in terms of gender parity, it still has a long way to go in creating true equality and professional mobility for its women.

Traditional society in Bhutan, which lies in the Eastern Himalayas between China and India, is matriarchal, and Bhutanese women do not have to contend with any institutionalized forms of discrimination. Participation in decision-making in the local and national spheres is accessible to all genders, with female involvement reaching as high as 70 percent at the grassroots level. Women account for nearly half of land owners, a figure that increases to 60 percent in rural regions. Summing up her own experience as a Bhutanese woman before moving to the Netherlands, journalist Karma Pem Wangdi writes, “My life has been created and shaped by the fact that our society has generally allowed us women the same freedoms and equality of opportunity as men.”

Nevertheless, entrenched inequalities lurk beneath the surface. Lily Wangchuk, the first and only woman president of a Bhutanese political party, referred in 2013 to “huge gender gaps” in societal attitudes, which have inspired her to continue pursuing her political ambitions. Wangchuk, whose Druk Chirwang Tshogpa party was eliminated in the first round of elections that year after garnering only 6 percent of the vote, told the Indian business news publication Mint: “During my campaign, my male opponents said, ‘[How] can a woman assume such an enormous responsibility?’ If I quit now I will be proving them right.”

Writing the previous year, Wangdi pointed specifically to gaps in economic and governmental participation, with far fewer women than men in the civil service workforce, and women making up just 8.5 percent of the National Assembly and 24 percent of the National Council. On the personal level, female reproductive rights lag in certain aspects: while women in the public and private sectors receive three months’ maternity leave with 100 percent of wages, abortion is illegal except in certain specific cases, leading many women to cross into India and seek abortions in unsafe conditions.

Thimphu Dzong, which has been the seat of the Bhutanese government since 1952. Robert GLOD. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Attitudes toward abortion may be traced to the tenets of the Buddhist religion, which has otherwise played a key role in many facets of gender parity, given that its tradition and values view men and women as equal. In terms of participation in the public sphere, two factors are broadly to blame, the first being a historical lack of education for women. In the 1950s and ’60s, when Bhutan began to prioritize national development and education, more boys than girls were sent to India for formal learning—a disparity that stemmed not from gender discrimination but rather from fears about girls’ safety during the long journey to school.

Also of concern is the burden on women as caretakers and unpaid workers in the home, which may hinder or entirely preclude professional development. In the case of divorce, Bhutanese law grants custody of children under nine years old to the mother, a statute that may further ingrain the stereotype of women as primary caregivers. A 2001 study found that, in rural areas, women were responsible for cooking, washing clothes, and preserving food for over 80 percent of households; urban regions presented an even starker figure, with more than 90 percent of households leaving cooking, cleaning, washing, and food purchasing to women. These time-consuming tasks undeniably present a barrier to engaging in activities outside the home: A 2012 study revealed that nearly 62 percent of women felt their household responsibilities prevented them from taking a more active role in public life.

Bhutan’s Punakha Valley. Andrea Williams. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Fortunately, Bhutan has recently made strides toward closing gender gaps in various arenas, and thus envisioning an end to the self-perpetuating cycle in which women—missing role models in positions of power—lack the structural support needed to pursue such positions themselves. In 2016, more girls were attending school than boys, with 98 percent vs. 97 percent enrolled at the primary level, respectively. Bhutan’s first woman Dzongda (District Governor) was elected to office in 2012, and its first woman minister in 2013, ushering in a wave of successful woman candidates in 2016: that year witnessed a 68 percent increase in female representation compared to the previous election in 2011.
With evolving attitudes toward gender representation, however, come increased pressures brought on by a globalized and digital media: in 2013, Siok Sian Pek-Dorji, executive director at the Bhutan Centre for Media and Democracy, told Mint that the changing media landscape has created “a pressure to conform that is eroding the natural confidence of Bhutanese women.” Just last month, in March 2019, Bhutan gained an advocate for media representations of women in the form of Namgay Zam, who was appointed as the executive director of the Journalists Association of Bhutan. Speaking with the International Federation of Journalists, she addressed the lack of managerial role models for women, and pointed to the fact that a preponderance of male media magnates leads to the perpetuation of gender stereotypes.

Zam, looking toward a future in which Bhutanese women take their rightful place at the helm of Bhutan’s civil society as well as its media sector—thus fully realizing the matriarchal ideals on which the country was built—commented: “I think top-level management need to rethink gender representation at the workplace. Women also need to believe in themselves more. Hopefully, things will change for the better sooner than later.”

TALYA PHELPS hails from the wilds of upstate New York, but dreams of exploring the globe. As former editor-in-chief at the student newspaper of her alma mater, Vassar College, and the daughter of a journalist, she hopes to follow her passion for writing and editing for many years to come. Contact her if you're looking for a spirited debate on the merits of the em dash vs. the hyphen.

Life While Traveling

"Life While Traveling" is a short film about the way we look to the world when we travel. It's about colors, shapes, textures and details that surrounds us every day, but we only realize when we are far from home.

A film by Joan Bosch

The Hawaiian Rain Dancers Who Summon Storms

On the island of Hawaii, the rain dancers of Waimea perform their art for the only audience that matters: their ancestors. When they call for rain and snow, they dance not to entertain, but to feed and nourish their land. Each performance is a physical manifestation of the spiritual world, a chance to connect with the natural land we inhabit. Practicing a centuries-old form of hula rarely seen in public, these dancers carry on generations of tradition with every graceful move and each handmade kapa garment. 

“Untouchables” Still Struggle for Equality in Indian Society

With 1.2 billion citizens India is the second most populous country in the world, and while today’s India is governed by a parliamentary system, for more than three millennia, India’s massive population lived under a rigid caste system that forced many Indians into occupational roles with no hope of advancement.  Though modern India has officially done away with castes, the old system’s influence is still felt, particularly among those formerly identified as “untouchables”.

According to Hindu texts, the caste system was brought to India by the creator god Brahma. The top caste was occupied by Brahmins, India’s priests and teachers. Next came Kshatriyas, who were warriors and rulers. Below them, Vaisyas made up the middle class of merchants and traders while Sudras were unskilled workers or peasants. Dalits were “untouchables,” outcasts who existed outside of the caste system entirely and were often relegated to undesirable tasks like street sweeping, toilet cleaning, and disposing of dead animals. A person’s surname identified to which caste they belonged., While one could never hope to ascend to a higher caste in a single lifetime, it was believed that through dedication to one’s Dharma, or caste-specific duty, one could earn a higher position in the next life.

In 1950, the caste system was abolished, creating new opportunities for social mobility and intermingling between India’s various social groups.  India even elected a Dalit president, K.R. Narayanan, who served from 1997 until 2002. Tensions remain, however, as Dalits, still identifiable by their surnames, continually find themselves subject to discrimination, harassment, assaults, and rapes. Many attacks go unreported, and local police tend to show leniency to the attackers.

India’s caste system has been likened to South African apartheid or the Jim Crow laws, both of which required many years of legislation and social pressure to affect changes which could be embraced by the general populace—if they were ever fully embraced at all. As India wrestles with its own history of social stratification, the future of its Dalits remains unclear.  But it is clear that Dalits, who make up a quarter of India’s population, are an integral part of Indian history, culture, and society, and they won’t be leaving any time soon. Greater equality could be vital to India’s overall health as a country.

JONATHAN ROBINSON is an intern at CATALYST. He is a travel enthusiast always adding new people, places, experiences to his story. He hopes to use writing as a means to connect with others like himself. 

Masters of Ceremony: Hip-Hop’s Influence in the Tibetan Diaspora

Ask a person for their opinion on rap and they may tell you that it’s all about money and material possessions- they would be right. More precisely, it is all about money and material possessions that the rapper never thought he or she would have when he or she was poor, and the “haters” who want to harm the rapper, emotionally, physically, or both. Rap in America tells the story of social advancement in low-income neighborhoods, where anyone doing anything that might take them to a new landscape or living standard will incur the resentment of their peers. The lyrics often fly over the heads of middle and upper-class listeners, who can reach the same the stature as the rapper they are listening to, but without the same arc. Hip-Hop tends to find its voice among the lower classes, and not just in the US. The genre is finding an audience among Tibetans as well, and they are using the music to tell the story of their own struggles inside and outside of their homeland.

The Tibetan autonomous region lies in the southwest part of China, bordering India, Nepal, and Bhutan. It is considered to be the traditional home of the Tibetan people, though some members of the Tibetan community have also asserted rights to parts of the Qinghai, Sichuan, Yunnan and Gansu Provinces. Tibetans viewed their homeland as an independent country, governed by spiritual and temporal leaders known as Dalai Llamas, but in 1950 the Chinese Communist party asserted its sovereignty over Tibet, sending troops to crush the Tibetan army and annex the land. A failed revolt against the Chinese forces in 1959 prompted the 14th Dalai Lama to flee Tibet and establish a government in India. From there he continued to push for Tibetan independence from China. Even today, Tibet is a very touchy subject in China and one best avoided by foreigners visiting the country.

After the occupation, much of the Tibetan community was scattered, with some remaining in the autonomous region while others spread to neighboring countries or left Asia entirely. As American Hip-Hop became more popular and international it was adopted by the Tibetan community but modified to reflect Tibetan cultural values. In 2009, Swiss-Tibetan rapper Shapaley ’s single “Made in Tibet” called for Tibetans around the world to stay strong and remember where they came from. Shapaley spent his childhood years in Lhasa, an experience that profoundly shaped his views on the condition of Tibet and Tibetan people under the Chinese Communist regime. The song was banned by Chinese authorities. In 2017, female rapper TibChicks won international fame when she released several songs on the internet without the backing of a record label. Singles like “Fearless” reflected a new bolder ideology that is spreading among the Tibetan youth. There is a belief now that anything is possible, and through music, Tibetans are not only preserving their identity but evolving it.

JONATHAN ROBINSON is an intern at CATALYST. He is a travel enthusiast always adding new people, places, experiences to his story. He hopes to use writing as a means to connect with others like himself. 

Fighting to End Child Marriage in Lebanon

Ghassan Idriss knows firsthand the harmful effects of child marriage on society. Having married at a young age to a woman even younger than himself, Idriss and his wife faced struggles that so many other couples in his home country of Lebanon grapple with. Now, with three daughters of his own, Idriss is doing everything he can to educate those around him about the dangers of this antiquated institution. By hosting talks, he’s using his voice to spark change within his community.

Pounding Mochi With the Fastest Mochi Maker in Japan

Mitsuo Nakatani is a mochi master, and to watch him do his work is a genuine thrill. Turning sticky rice into Japan’s traditional soft and chewy treat requires pounding, flipping and smashing the glutinous rice at high speeds in perfect coordination with a team. While visitors come to Nakatani’s mochi shop to taste the best, they stay to watch him make it.

Sumo Soup: Living Large with Chanko Nabe

Want to bulk up like a sumo wrestler? Try chanko nabe, an ancient Japanese dish that is synonymous with sumo culture. While the average wrestler eats about 10 bowls of it per day, non-wrestlers can enjoy this traditional soup at any number of chanko restaurants, including Kotogaume.

Why Native Americans Struggle to Protect Their Sacred Places

Forty years ago the U.S. Congress passed the American Indian Religious Freedom Act so that Native Americans could practice their faith freely and that access to their sacred sites would be protected. This came after a 500-year-long history of conquest and coercive conversion to Christianity had forced Native Americans from their homelands.

Today, their religious practice is threatened all over again. On Dec. 4, 2017, the Trump administration reduced the Bears Ears National Monument, an area sacred to Native Americans in Utah, by over 1 million acres. Bears Ears Monument is only one example of the conflict over places of religious value. Many other such sacred sites are being viewed as potential areas for development, threatening the free practice of Native American faith.

While Congress created the American Indian Religious Freedom Act to provide “access to sacred sites,” it has been open to interpretation. Native Americans still struggle to protect their sacred lands.

Land-based religions

Native Americans have land-based religions, which means they practice their religion within specific geographic locations. As Joseph Toledo, a Jemez Pueblo tribal leader, says, sacred sites are like churches; they are “places of great healing and magnetism.”

Some of these places, as in the case of Bears Ears National Monument, are within federal public lands. As a Native American scholar, I have visited many of these places and felt their power.

For thousands of years, tribes have used Bears Ears for rituals, ceremonies and collecting medicines used for healing. The different tribes – the Hopi, Navajo, Ute Mountain Ute, Ute Indian Tribe and the Pueblo of Zuni – have worked to protect the land. Together they set up a nongovernmental organization, the Bears Ears Inter-Tribal Coalition to help conserve the landscape in 2015.

Native American tribes believe Bears Ears is the last of undisturbed sacred lands. Mark Stevens, CC BY-NC-SA

The tribes believe Bears Ears is one of the last large undisturbed areas in the lower 48 states and contains the spirits of those who once lived there. Bears Ears Navajo elder Mark Maryboy emphasized, “It’s very important that we protect the earth, the plants, and special ceremonial places in Bears Ears for future generations — not just for Native Americans, but for everybody.”

Sacred landscape

My great-grandparents, Páyotayàkχkumei and Kayetså’χkumi, (translated as Aims-while-flying-through-the-air and Hollering-in-the-air), were well-known religious leaders on the Blackfeet reservation. They lived in the foothills of the south side of the reservation. However, they went into the mountains and onto public lands in an area now called the Badger-Two Medicine in northcentral Montana to practice their religion.

My great-grandfather traveled into Badger canyon to trap eagles and gather their feathers which he used in ceremonies and for divine protection. My great-grandmother gathered medicinal plants used in healing ceremonies. Together they prayed and sought solitude in this sacred landscape.

Similar to Bears Ears, the Badger-Two Medicine, a 130,000-acre area within the Lewis and Clark National Forest, became embroiled in a controversy over potential natural resource development between 1982 and 2017. The Blackfeet tribe argued that these lands were sacred. And that tribal members, such as my great-grandparents, had used these lands for years for spiritual purposes.

The Blackfeet tribe ultimately succeeded in stopping development, but only after a 35-year-long fight with the Department of Interior, which initially approved almost 50 oil and gas leases. In 2017 Interior Secretary Jewell canceled the last of these leases. This means these public lands will not be used for natural resource development in the future.

Now my family and other Blackfeet, who have used the Badger-Two Medicine for millennia, can use these public lands for their religious practice in solitude.

Forty years later

The reality is, however, that not every dispute between tribes and the U.S. government ends up in favor of the tribes. Historically, Native American tribes have struggled to explain why certain landscapes are sacred for them.

In 1988, just 10 years after the passage of the American Indian Religious Freedom Act, the Supreme Court considered a case involving the construction of a U.S. Forest Service road through undeveloped federal lands sacred to northern California tribes in the Six Rivers National Forest.

The lower court had ruled in favor of the Yurok, Karok and Tolowa tribes stating the road would impact their religious practice.

However, the Supreme Court reversed the decision, ruling that building a road through a sacred landscape would not prohibit the tribes “free exercise” of religion.

The tribes lost, because the Supreme Court viewed the American Indian Religious Freedom Act as a policy and not a law with legal protections.

Ultimately, the road was not built because Congress stepped in and added this sacred area to the existing Siskiyou Wilderness, which is a protected area by federal law.

What was noteworthy in the SCOTUS deliberations, though, was the dissenting opinion of Justice William Brennan, who defended land-based religions. He said,

“Native American faith is inextricably bound to the use of land. The site-specific nature of Indian religious practice derives from the Native American perception that land is itself a sacred, living being.”

Indeed, religion scholars such as Yale professor Tisa Wenger point outthat “the most important religious freedom issues for Native Americans” center around protecting their sacred places.

At a time when the Trump administration has created a new task force to address discrimination against certain religious groups, the exclusion of Bears Ears and other places of religious significance from these discussions raises important questions about religious freedom in the United States and also the legacy of the American Indian Religious Freedom Act.

ROSALYN R. LAPIER is an Associate Professor of Environmental Studies at The University of Montana.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON THE CONVERSATION

How an Ancient Islamic Holiday Became Uniquely Caribbean

A throng of Trinidadians line up along the streets of St. James and Cedros to admire the vibrant floats with beautifully bedecked models of mausoleums. Their destination is the waters of the Caribbean, where the crowds will push them out to float.

This is part of the Hosay commemorations, a religious ritual performed by Trinidadian Muslims, that I have observed as part of the research for my forthcoming book on Islam in Latin America and the Caribbean.

What fascinates me is how a practice from India has been transformed into something uniquely Caribbean.

Re-enacting tragedy

During the 10 days of the Islamic month of Muharram, Shiite Muslims around the world remember the martyrdom of Hussein, Prophet Muhammad’s grandson, who was killed in a battle in Karbala, today’s Iraq, some 1,338 years ago. For Shiite Muslims Hussein is the rightful successor to Prophet Muhammad.

Ashura, the 10th day of Muharram, is marked by public mourning and a re-enactment of the tragedy. Shiite Muslims put on passion plays that include inflicting suffering, as a way to remember Hussein. In Iraq, Shiite are known to beat themselves with swords. In India, mourners whip themselves with sharp blades. Some Shiite also visit Hussein’s shrine in Iraq.

Ashura procession in Pakistan. Diariocritico de Venezuela, CC BY

The commemoration has also become a symbol for the broader Shiite struggle for justice as a minority in the global Muslim community.

Early history

In Trinidad, the 100,000 Muslims who make up 5 percent of the island’s total population, celebrate the day of Ashura, as Hosay – the name derived from “Hussein.”

The first Hosay festival was held in 1854, just over a decade after the first Indian Muslims began to arrive from India to work on the island’s sugar plantations.

But Trinidad at the time was under British colonial rule and large public gatherings were not permitted. In 1884, the British authorities issued a prohibition against Hosay commemorations. Approximately 30,000 people took to the streets, in Mon Repos, in the south, to protest against the ordinance. Shots fired to disperse the crowd killed 22 and injured over 100. The ordinance was later overturned.

The “Hosay Massacre” or “Muharram Massacre,” however, lives in people’s memories.

Colorful floats of Trinidad

These days, Hosay celebrations in St. James and Cedros not only recall Hussein, but also those killed during the 1884 Hosay riots. Rather than recreate the events through self-flagellation or other forms of suffering, however, people in Trinidad create bright and beautiful floats, called “tadjahs,” that parade through the streets to the sea.

The tadjah, a colorful model of a mausoleum. Nicholas Laughlin, CC BY-NC-SA

Each tadjah is constructed of wood, paper, bamboo and tinsel. Ranging from a height of 10 to 30 feet, the floats are accompanied by people parading along and others playing drums, just as is the practice in India’s northern city of Lucknow. Meant to reflect the resting place of Shiite martyrs, the tadjahs resemble mausoleums in India. To many, their domes might be a reminder of the Taj Mahal.

Walking ahead of the tadjahs are two men bearing crescent moon shapes, one in red and the other in green. These symbolize the deaths of Hussein and his brother Hassan – the red being Hussein’s blood and the green symbolizing the supposed poisoning of Hassan.

The elaborateness of the tadjahs continues to increase each year and has become somewhat of a status symbol among the families that sponsor them.

A bit carnival, a bit Ashura

Trinidad’s Hosay brings in a more carnival-like joy to a somber remembrance. Nicholas Laughlin, CC BY-NC-SA

While the festival is certainly a somber one in terms of its tribute, it is also a joyous occasion where families celebrate with loud music and don festive attire. This has led some to compare Hosay to Trinidad’s world-famous carnival with its accompanying “joie de vivre.”

But there are also those who believe that the occasion should be a more somber remembrance of the martydom of Hussein. More conservative Muslims in Trinidad have made attempts to “reform” such celebrations. These Muslims believe local customs should be more in line with global commemorations like those in Iraq or India.

What I saw in the festival was an assertion of both the Indian and Trinidadian identity. For Shiite Muslims, who have dealt with oppression and ostracism – both in the past and in the present – it is a means of claiming their space as a minority in Trinidadian culture and resisting being pushed to the margins. At the same time, with its carnival-like feel, the festival could not be more Trinidadian.

Indeed, the celebrations each year illustrate how Indian and Trinidadian rituals and material culture merged to create a unique festival.

KEN CHITWOOD is a Ph.D. Candidate in Religion in the Americas and Global Islam at the University of Florida

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON THE CONVERSATION

SARDINIA: Spinning Silk from the Sea

For over a thousand years, Chiara Vigo’s family has been keeping up an ancient tradition, spinning silk from the sea. Creating the sea silk, or byssus, involves an intricate process shrouded in secrecy. Living on the Sardinian coast, Chiara follows in her family’s footsteps as a master weaver—perhaps the last remaining on Earth.

Feel The Sounds of Senegal

A 3 week trip in Senegal allowed Cee-Roo to capture the culture of a people and feel the power and importance of music in a country where the joy of living takes over poverty.

China’s Village of Real-Life Rapunzels

For thousands of years, the Yao women of Huangluo Village have been keeping up an incredible beauty regimen, growing long, luxurious locks. Believed to symbolize beauty, wealth and longevity, long hair is considered sacred, and women in the village only cut their hair once in a lifetime when they are ready for adulthood and marriage. With over 200 women living in Huanglao, the village hopes to continue the centuries-long tradition, passing on their beauty secrets from generation to generation.

INDIA: Valleys in the Sky

'Valleys in the Sky' takes you on a journey to one of the highest altitude and least populated regions in the world, located in the Indian Himalayas. Experience the beauty and magnificence of this remote area and witness the incredibly rare celebration and arrival of his Holiness the high Lama, to the small town of Mudh for the first time during "this life's incarnation".

Freediving With Japan’s Pearl Divers

Aiko Ono was working as a photographer in the bustling megalopolis of Tokyo, but she had long dreamed of the ocean. When an unexpected opportunity arose, she left her life in the city to join Japan’s legendary female “ama” divers. For centuries, ama divers have scoured the ocean floor for pearls and seafood, passing on their expertise to future generations of women. Now, she’s found honor and peace in upholding this 3,000-year-old tradition.

Wolves of the Sea

INTRODUCTION

The photo documentary ‘LUPIMARIS, Wolves of the Sea’ began in 2010 with an art project on Paros, a small Greek Island. I had always been fascinated by the islanders’ traditional, wooden Greek fishing boats, or Kaïkis, and I wanted to photograph them from a new perspective.

In 2013 I returned Paros again and realized that half of the boats I had photographed in 2010 did not exist anymore. They had all been destroyed, abandoned, or sold to tourists. The few boats that are left today will soon be gone too, not only on Paros, but across all of the Greek islands. None of today’s younger generation are interested in becoming fishermen, and the traditional Greek fishing craft, a millennia-old practice, is dying.

During October of 2014 I traveled to Paros with a camera crew. We captured the work and life of the fishermen — the ‘wolves of the sea’ — and spent time with the only remaining boat builder on the island. I took thousands of photos, collected hours of interviews, and shared many moments with the old fishermen on Paros, listening to their stories. These fishermen really are the last of their kind. They are threatened with extinction.

I hope that LUPIMARIS will create a lasting memory of the Greek fishermen and their traditional colourful wooden boats, the Kaïkis, and help to preserve this history and stories for future generations.

In this story I will share some of the images that capture the lifestyle, the traditions, the adventures, and the endangered future of these last Wolves of the Sea. You can explore the full book at www.lupimaris.com.

BOAT NAMES

Greek fishermen have a special relationship with their boats, and they are traditionally often given the name of their wife or daughter. A logical consequence, because the Greek word for boat, βάρκα, is female. It is also common to give the name of a saint. These names have an extraordinary importance for the fishermen, and reflect a special relationship with their spiritual namesakes, or honour the memory of an important person.

MYTHS, LEGENDS, STORIES, LIES

The life of Greek fishermen is full of fantasy. They spend days, weeks, or even months with the same visual and auditory impressions in permanent solitude on the seas. This stimulates the imagination. The myths and legends they tell develop on one hand from their need to come to terms with dramatic and traumatic experiences at sea, while on the other hand it is often an attempt to explain or idealize their intimate relationship with nature.

It is common for the fishermen to describe their fellow fishermen as untrustworthy daydreamers or even liars. The results are usually funny or naughty defamatory nicknames, but are sometimes meant more unkindly. Nevertheless, there is a strong code of honour. Older fishermen who have more experience are respected and their stories will not be questioned.

FAITH & SUPERSTITION

No matter which religion or which country, fishing and Faith have always been close-knit. Greece is no exception, and rumour says that the islanders are generally more religious than their fellow residents on the mainland. The majority of fishermen from Paros are religious and this is reflected in the plethora of icons and crosses found on their fishing boats. Icons of Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of sailors, and Saint Andrew, the patron saint of fishermen, can be seen on many boats.

The most impressive monument to their faith can be found at the entrance to the Bay of Paroikia, where the fishermen of Paros built the church of Aghios Fokas. In addition to faith, superstition also plays a big role in their day-to-day lives. Certain events are interpreted as good or bad omens for a trip out to sea and will often influence the decisions of the fishermen.

NATURAL ENEMIES

There are enormous problems with dolphins, seals and migrant fish. Dolphins and seals have always existed here, but due to the over-fishing of the Aegean Sea they often tear fish from the nets and damage the nets or themselves, so that the fishermen not only lose their catch but also have additional expenses such as laborious net-repairs that must be made.

In the past fishermen hunted the animals with guns or dynamite. Today, this practice has been discontinued due to the efforts of environmental and animal welfare groups, so that the populations have recovered and even more dolphins and seals will hunt for prey in the fishermen’s nets.

Another threat are migrant fish species such as the silver-cheeked toadfish (lagocephalus sceleratus) which came into the Mediterranean through the Suez Canal. This particular fish is toxic and strong enough to damage the nets. Since it has no natural enemies, it can multiply unchecked — at a great cost to the local fish population and fishermen.

DESTRUCTION

Greece has the largest number of fishing boats in the EU — mainly due to the numerous individual fishermen. However, by European standards, the catches they make on each trip to sea are rather low.

The collective fishing fleet of the EU member countries is too simply large compared to the fish available to be caught in European waters and their capacity exceeds a number that would result in a sustainable maintenance of resources. One of the central elements of the Common Fisheries Policy was the reduction and rejuvenation of the fleet.

The self disarmament of national fleets was a key element of the European fisheries policy. The EU developed programmes and put money at their disposal. The precise implementation was determined by each country. The Greek Government developed incentives for handing over fishing licenses (mainly for amateur fishing) and at the same time fishermen had to destroy their boats. As a result, thousands of boats have been destroyed since the 1990s, mainly the traditional wooden boats owned by individual fishermen.

In reality, what all fishermen want instead is the maintenance of these boats. There were at times programs aimed at the preservation of selected boats (for example, special boats with a socio-historical value) but the results were rather sobering and there was no significant implementation of these projects. Instead of destroying the boats they could also have been converted for tourism purposes, but this practice too was hardly implemented.

The Greek reality, and the Greek bureaucracy, has led to the destruction of many traditional wooden boats and to a part of national identity.

BOATYARD

An interview with Petros Aliprantis, the owner of the boatyard Naoussa.

“I have built seventy-eight boats. These are all my boats. Although I have sold them, I still call them my boats because I built them. They are all in the Cyclades, some in Crete. I do not use plans, it’s all in my head. I learned the craft from my father and my grandfather. There are no offices and no ties. If you want to make a living out of it, you have to work day and night.

But there is no interest in such boats anymore. This has something to do with the crisis, but I have seen it coming for some time that we will not survive much longer. Most people buy plastic boats. Besides that, there are no young people interested in learning this craft.

It’s hard work, without rosy perspectives and without support from the state. When I retire, it’s over with the shipyard.

There are only a few of us left, and also only a few wooden boats.

Now come the plastic boats.”

You can find the full book, which captures a total of 99 traditional boats and 31 fishermen, at www.lupimaris.com. The research and text in this story (with the exception of the introduction) is by Giannis Mavris.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MAPTIA.

CHRISTIAN STEMPER

Christian's great passion is to tell stories photographically reinterpreted. “LUPIMARIS, Wolves of the Sea” is one such photo project, and you can learn more at www.lupimaris.com