The Pirahã and Environmental Security

“Pirahãs laugh about everything. They laugh at their own misfortune: when someone’s hut blows over in a rainstorm, the occupants laugh more loudly than anyone. They laugh when they catch a lot of fish. They laugh when they catch no fish. They laugh when they’re full and they laugh when they’re hungry. When they’re sober, the are never demanding or rude. Since my first night among them I have been impressed with their patience, their happiness, and their kindness. This pervasive happiness is hard to explain, though I believe that the Pirahãs are so confident and secure in their ability to handle anything that their environment throws at them that they can enjoy whatever comes their way. This is not at all because their lives are easy, but because they are good at what they do” (Everett 2008: 85)

Don’t Sleep, There are Snakes was the first ethnography I ever read and my introduction to the world of anthropology. Looking back at this book now, it looks unlike any of my other anthropological texts. Its pages are unmarred by my pencil, pen or highlighter. I did not know what to look for when I first read these pages; I was innocent, ignorant yet unencumbered.

Looking at this quote now I feel both the academic in me pulling away from the phrasing “I believe that the Pirahãs…” (pronounced pee-da-HAN, by the way) because of its lack of observational and analytic evidence, but also intrigued by this idea that anybody anywhere could feel so comfortable in their environment that they can laugh at anything. This book was written in 2008. What of the Pirahãs now? With the Amazon being cut down and burned to a crisp they surely are living in an extremely unpredictable world. Cultures like these have collected knowledge for generations about the irregularities of their natural environments so that they can be ready when unpredictable environmental phenomenon occur, but now the are faced with the threat of losing that environment for good, no matter the amount of knowledge they possess…

References:

Everett, D.L. 2008. Don’t Sleep There Are Snakes: Life and Language in the Amazonian Jungle. New York, NY: Vintage Books.

Learning Nature in the Amazon and Himalayas

“I would suggest that young people in Sacha Loma–given their participation in routinized forms of practice that hinge on the aspiration to future participation in wage-work in the local eco-tourism and service economy–are applying a reasoning frame about local forest species styled on a basic assumption imported from Western-style environmentalism: that non-human environments are fundamentally fragile and in need of protection” (Shenton 2018).

Jeffrey Shenton makes an interesting point about ecological understandings in his article titled, “Going to School in the Forest.” His fieldwork took place in an Amazonian village in Peru. While many similar studies looking at the transmission of ecological knowledge focus on the amount of knowledge younger generations are learning (for example, they may be learning less than elder generations), Shenton looks instead at how children are learning, and how they evaluate the importance of ecological knowledge. He notes that even though children today are going to school during weekdays instead of working on farms as they would have in the past (this is what he calls a sort of habitual reorientation), they are still interacting with the natural world: “Though this community reorientation was far-reaching, it still took place in a context in which young people had consistent access to local biota. School standards, though, indexed a clear division between town activities and forest activities. Students traveling to school went to great lengths to stay meticulously free of the omnipresent rain forest mud, wearing a uniform that included a white polo shirt, dark blue dress pants for boys or skirt for girls, and black dress shoes” (Shenton 2018). Children still learn about the forest, but they do so with a different overarching mindset than their parents may have.

In a similar yet distant case, Jeremy Spoon in his article on tourism in the Himalayas, discusses how younger generations have grown up deeply embedded in a world of tourism, which affects how they perceive their environment: “Younger Sherpa experienced most if not all of their lives so far inside a tourist destination engaged in the host-guest drama. For these individuals, tourism may be causing the land to seem more as a tourism commodity and less spiritually endowed” (Spoon 2012: 52).

In both cases – Peruvian rain forest or Nepali mountains – children continue to interact with their natural worlds daily. For many of them, future jobs in tourism demand that they know their environments well. However, the way in which they are learning about their world has shifted, their daily rituals reoriented, and thus nature reinterpreted. While young Kichwa villagers think that the forest is in need of protection, elders believe it provides useful materials for everyday life. Young Sherpas believe nature should be preserved for tourism, while elders believe it should be protected because of intrinsic spiritual qualities. Neither is necessarily wrong, but as Spoon points out, Western concepts tend to create a human/nature divide, whereas indigenous ones commonly do not. Western environmentalism works well when its values align with local values, but we must also be aware of how it is changing people’s fundamental relationship to knowledge and the environment, creating fences where there use to be none.

References:

Shenton, J.T. 2018. “Going to School in the Forest: Changing Evaluations of Animal-Plant Interactions in the Kichwa Amazon.” Journal of Ecological Anthropology 20(1).

Spoon, J. 2012. “Tourism, Persistence and Change: Sherpa Spirituality and Place in Sagarmatha (Mount Everest) National Park and Buffer Zone, Nepal.” Journal of Ecological Anthropology, 15(1) pp. 41-57.

Mercury Poisoning and the Destructive Capacity of Capitalism

“In the worldview of contemporary capitalism there is no place for such antiquated forms of societal organization; fishermen and farmers still clinging to the age-old dream of a harmonious symbiosis between man and nature are mere stumbling blocks in the way of our triumphant Ideology of Progress. If we want to avoid what seems to be our unavoidable destiny – that of paving the way for a future apocalypse, the last in world history – let us open our eyes and see ourselves, the whole itinerary of our modern civilization, reflected in the fate of the Minamata Disease patients” (Ishimure 2003, p. 329)

In the 1950s the first victims of Minamata Disease in southern Japan started to display symptoms of methylmercury poisoning: numbness, stumbling, disjointed speech, gradual loss of sight and hearing, all of this leading more times then not to a painful and confusing death. The poisoning was the result of the plastics manufacturing company Chisso, who dumped their polluted waste water into the Shiranui Sea, which eventually made its way onto the plates of coastal fishermen (see my other post on this problem here). This disease was not only medical, but social and political. Those inflicted with the disease were ostracized by those more removed from the sea and while families of victims battled to close the Chisso plant, those who worked for Chisso, and thus depended on them to feed their families, fought to keep it open.

The recent news of mercury poisoning among the Yanomami has brought me to revisit Ishimure’s account of Minamata disease and the horrors that it brought. Chisso knowingly poisoned over thousands of people. Is the government of Brazil not doing the same? In the Amazon, the pollution seems to be less concentrated and more complex; it is not a single factory pumping poison into the environment but a whole horde of perpetrators seeking wealth and glory in the form of gold within the Amazon’s forests and rivers.

Michiko Ishimure’s autoethnographical account of Minamata Disease comes from somebody who lived through the chaos created when putting progress before life. Her text goes beyond the act of polluting and admonishes the root cause of all this suffering: capitalism. It is a political treatise to end the destruction wrought by profit, greed and progress. Today, Michiko’s call to “open our eyes” are echoed by other environmentalists who are fighting for places like the Amazon and people like the Yanomami. When will this ecocide stop? When will we see that “the fishermen and farmers clinging to the age-old dream of harmonious symbiosis between man and nature” are not “mere stumbling blocks” and should be acknowledged as viable contemporaries deserving of the equal right to freedom and a good life, deserving to not be poisoned and murdered.

In the same way that the Yanomami wish to live on their land in peace by their own means, the fishers of Minamata just wanted to return to the sea: “I want to have two strong legs to stand firmly on the ground. I want to have two strong hands with which I can work. With these hands I want to row my own boat and go to gather fresh sea-lettuce. It makes me want to cry. I want so much to be out on the sea again… just one more time” (Ishimure 2003: 158). As for Yuki, the woman whose words Ishimure recorded in her book, it is too late, Minamata Disease took her along with some 1,700 others. But for many of the Yanomami there is still a chance. For more information about how to act against the threats to the Yanomami, visit Survival International’s webpage.

Sunset over the Shiranui Sea in Fukuro, 2016.

References:

Ishimure, M. 2003 [1972]. Paradise in the Sea of Sorrow: Our Minamata Disease. Trans. L. Monnet. Ann Arbor, MI: Center for Japanese Studies.