Embracing Landscape: Living with Reindeer and Hunting among Spirits in South Siberia 9781800730632

Citation preview

EMBRACING LANDSCAPE

INTERSPECIES ENCOUNTERS The last decade has seen significant theoretical advances in critical animal studies, posthumanism, science and technology studies, perspectivism, and multispecies anthropology. This groundbreaking series offers innovative works in the social sciences, which have risen to the challenge of engaging across species boundaries: humans, animals, insects, plants, and microbes, and expands methodological and theoretical approaches in the course of ethnographic engagements with other species. Questioning the distinction between human and nonhuman through innovative narrative and methodological strategies, books in the series will address a range of pressing social and environmental issues. Recent volumes: Volume 3 Embracing Landscape: Living with Reindeer and Hunting among Spirits in South Siberia Selcen Küçüküstel Volume 2 Beyond Wild and Tame: Soiot Encounters in a Sentient Landscape Alex C. Oehler Volume 1 Wolf Conflicts: A Sociological Study Ketil Skogen, Olve Krange, and Helene Figari

EMBRACING LANDSCAPE LIVING WITH REINDEER AND HUNTING AMONG SPIRITS IN SOUTH SIBERIA

iii Selcen Küçüküstel

berghahn NEW YORK • OXFORD www.berghahnbooks.com

First published in 2021 by Berghahn Books www.berghahnbooks.com © 2021 Selcen Küçüküstel

All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Küçüküstel, Selcen, author. Title: Embracing Landscape: Living with Reindeer and Hunting among Spirits in South Siberia / Selcen Küçüküstel. Other titles: Interspecies Encounters; v. 3. Description: New York: Berghahn Books, 2021. | Series: Interspecies Encounters; vol 3 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021015532 (print) | LCCN 2021015533 (ebook) | ISBN 9781800730625 (hardback) | ISBN 9781800730632 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Reindeer hunting. | Dukha (Turkic people)—Hunting. | Human-animal relationships. Classification: LCC SK305.R4 K832 2021 (print) | LCC SK305.R4 (ebook) | DDC 799.2/7658—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021015532 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021015533

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 978-1-80073-062-5 hardback ISBN 978-1-80073-063-2 ebook

CONTENTS

iii List of Figures Preface Acknowledgments Notes on Text and Transliteration Introduction. The Forest Is Watching You

vii ix xii xiv 1

PART I. TAIGA EMBRACING ALL Chapter 1. Map of Memories in a Spirited Geography

27

PART II. LIVING WITH REINDEER Chapter 2. Beyond Domestication: Nurturing Control

47

Chapter 3. Seasonal Cycles and Migration in the Taiga

75

Chapter 4. The Reindeer as an Intimate Partner

101

Chapter 5. Our Parents Know Everything Better

113

PART III. HUNTING AMONG SPIRITS Chapter 6. Respecting the Hunt

127

Chapter 7. The Way We Hunt

149

Chapter 8. Luck in Hunting and Divination

161

Chapter 9. Hunting as a Way of Regulating the Relations

177

Chapter 10. Hunting Ban: Struggling in the Native Land

197

vi

CONTENTS

Conclusion

205

References Index

210 219

FIGURES

iii 1.1 Autumn camp. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author. 1.2 The taiga is alive and full of spirits. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author. 1.3 People make offerings to ˇJer eezi every morning in all four directions. Mongolia, 2016. Photo by the author. 2.1 The reindeer have big furry antlers in summer. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author. 2.2 Reindeer can sometimes be very tame and come to the tents to beg for salt. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author. 2.3 Women milk the reindeer every day in summer. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author. 3.1 A herder catching the reindeer to tie after they have come back from the pasture. Mongolia, 2013. Photo by the author. 3.2 Women take care of the calves in spring. Mongolia, 2015. Photo by the author. 3.3 Winters last for many months in the taiga, and temperatures usually drop below forty degrees in the evenings. Mongolia, 2013. Photo by the author. 3.4 Migration from spring to summer camp. Mongolia, 2015. Photo by the author. 3.5 During long migrations, people sometimes get off the reindeer and let the animals rest and graze for a while. Mongolia, 2015. Photo by the author. 4.1 Children start riding and playing with reindeer from an early age. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author. 4.2 Children grow up listening to stories about the reindeer from an early age. Mongolia, 2013. Photo by the author.

26 32 38 46 61 65 74 78 85 90 95 100 106

viii

FIGURES

5.1 A Dukha woman with her grandchild while milking the reindeer. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author. 5.2 A Dukha man taking children from the taiga to the nearest settlement where they can take a car to go to school. Mongolia, 2015. Photo by the author. 6.1 Men go on long trips in the taiga on reindeer. Mongolia, 2016. Photo by the author. 7.1 Dogs are important members of the camp in the taiga. Mongolia, 2013. Photo by the author. 8.1 Eerens are shamanic protective spirits and are situated across the entrance of the dwelling. The number of eerens in a household depends on the family’s history. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author. 9.1 When a small animal is hunted, people boil it and everyone eats together. Mongolia, 2013. Photo by the author.

112 116 126 153

166 176

PREFACE

iii I always thought that anthropologists have an incredible luxury in life that few people could ever have: the possibility of experiencing more than one way of living in their short life span. So every time I look for a new topic to work on, I am not only choosing something that is of interest to me academically, but also choosing which other way of life, outside of mine, I would like to live and tell others about. In whose shoes would I like to be? I am not sure if this rare opportunity of experiencing a second life, and hopefully even more such lives throughout an academic career, is exciting for everyone. But for me personally, it has been like winning a lottery! However, as exciting as it is, it can also be hard to choose. Although there were many topics that interested me in cultural anthropology, one particular class I took about shamanism during my studies determined my main interests by revealing some long-lost memories. We had been learning about the way animist societies perceive animals and their environment—how they attribute personhood to beings other than humans—and I was amazed by this whole other ontological thinking. I remember how this new way of thinking made me feel as if I had retrieved a world of knowledge I knew when I was a child but had forgotten, or had been forced to forget, through the process of growing up. I had especially been interested in nomadic hunter-gatherer societies, so I started to think about possible opportunities of research to gain access to this world of knowledge again. I always wanted to be a zoologist when I was little, and now that I had become an anthropologist instead, I could study with a community that lives in close proximity with animals. Out of many options, I suddenly remembered hearing, on the last leg of a long bike trip in Asia, about a community in Mongolia, the Dukha. One of the few nomadic reindeer-herding communities that still practice subsistence hunting, they also practice shamanism, and, on top of that, the native language they speak, Dukhan, is from the same family as my own native language, Turkish.

x

P R E FAC E

This fact made my choice easier because I thought that as a native speaker of Turkish, it would probably be easier for me to learn their language, and learning the indigenous language of the community could open a new world of understanding. Although learning Dukhan has not been as easy as I anticipated, today, after having spent around a year living among the community, I can say that this was one of the best decisions I have made. Learning an indigenous language that is under serious threat of disappearing has been an incredibly satisfying experience and indeed opened the doors of a new world, helping me understand their perception better and creating undeniable rapport between us. Beyond the advantages of a common language, working among a nomadic hunter gatherer/herder society and trying to understand how they interact with their environment was something that excited me from the beginning. This book is based on fieldwork in the taiga forest of northern Mongolia with nomadic Dukha reindeer herders/hunters between 2012 and 2016, where over time I spent almost a year in the taiga. The main topic of this book concerns how the Dukha relate to domesticated and wild animals around them and how they perceive their environment, and I aim to question the concepts of domesticated and wild again. For this purpose, I tried hard to forget about previously learned categories in my mind and start investigating those schemas from the start to be able to understand the meaning of them for the Dukha. During the time I spent among the Dukha, witnessing unforgettable moments as well as sad ones, the aim of this research extended beyond academic and theoretical discussions. Indigenous people all around the world are struggling to maintain their lifestyle as governments and big companies are taking their land in the name of development. Most of the time, remote valleys, mountains, and forests that host such communities are perceived as “wild and empty” by outsiders, making them a target for extractive industries such as mining companies, plantation projects, and development plans for dams or conservation projects. Unfortunately, the Dukha have experienced such problems since the area that they live in was declared a national park in 2011 and hunting was strictly banned in the region, especially after 2013. This sudden, large change left the Dukha not knowing what to do, since their livelihood depended on subsistence hunting. Unfortunately, I witnessed tragic moments while I was in the field and had the chance to observe how these changes were affecting the community. Thus, this book not only discusses the interaction between humans, animals, and landscape theoretically, but also tells the story of a small contemporary indigenous community that is struggling to survive in its homeland. After all, in a period when the human species are trying to possess every piece of land they come across in the name of progress and are threatening the whole ecosystem and the right to live for other species, my time among the Dukha was like breathing fresh air again. My mind, which was used to separating everything into categories, went through a new process of traineeship

P R E FAC E

xi

during that period, and I will always be grateful to the Dukha for accepting me in their life and giving me this opportunity. I hope that this book will provide a similar understanding and, more importantly, a similar feeling for its readers.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

iii The most important contributors of this project are the Dukha people who opened their life to me. I would like to express my deep gratitude to all of them for letting me inside their community and giving me a chance to experience their unique way of life. They always made me feel welcomed and at home in the taiga, and I wish I could thank all of them individually for their support and patience. My special gratitude goes to Boyuntoktok, who hosted me in her tent and treated me like a member of her family. I am also indebted to Zaya and Naran, who helped me with the language and transcripts and, more importantly, supported me with their valuable friendships. I would also like to thank Ariuntamir Lkhagvasuren who worked with me for two months as a research assistant at the beginning of my research. I want to convey my deepest gratitude to Prof. Dr. Ingeborg Baldauf and Prof. Dr. Toni Tuber from Humboldt University in Berlin, who supported me during this process with their unconditional support and advice. I am grateful to Prof. Dr. Baldauf for her endless support and patience during my research. It was a blessing to know her presence and guidance throughout this research, a process I could survive thanks to her support and sense of humor. I am also grateful to Prof. Dr. Huber, who has been a great mentor, for his academic guidance and moral support throughout this process. I feel blessed to make this research in such a supportive environment. I am also indebted to all the faculty members and friends in our Central Asian Department at Humboldt University Berlin. They were always there to celebrate the joyful moments and give moral support when needed. And I am grateful to many other colleagues who helped me during the process: I would like to thank especially Dr. Alex Oehler, who supported me during this process and gave me valuable feedback on the book; Prof. Fikret Berkes, who inspired me with his work and encouraged me about the book; Prof. Süer Eker and Dr. İlker Tosun, who helped me with transliterations of the Dukhan words; and Dr. Fatma Albayrak, who shared the

AC K N OW L E D G M E N T S

xiii

literature in Mongolian on the Dukha with me. I am grateful to all others who I could not mention here. Thanks also to all of my wonderful friends Pelin Durmuşoglu, Burçin Önal, Orhan Sönmez, Eser Erzurum, Murat Bayar, Ruwen Warnke, Rianne Wieman, and many others who endured me during this process. Their endless moral support encouraged me to finish this project. My special gratitude goes to Duygu Aksoy and Onur Arslan, who not only lifted my morale but also helped me with technical issues concerning the book. My special gratitude goes to my colleagues and good friends at Magma magazine, especially Özcan Yüksek, who believed in this project with all their hearts. I am grateful for their financial and moral support during this process, giving me endless motivation for what I am doing. I would also like to thank members of Turkish Airlines and AeroFlot Airlines for sponsoring my airfare to Mongolia. Thanks also to my entire amazing family, especially my parents Şükran and Halim Küçüküstel, who never stopped believing in me. I have been blessed with the most generous and encouraging parents a person could hope for. I could never do this project without their endless support. Last but not least, I want to express my gratitude and love to my dear partner, Mutlu Bank, who was always there for me during this process with his endless love and patience. His visits in the taiga during my fieldwork were a great encouragement to me. He not only witnessed my passion but also became a part of it.

NOTES ON TEXT AND TRANSLITERATION

iii The Dukha language, which belongs to the Sayan group of the Siberian branch of the Turkic language family, is an oral language and is under serious threat of disappearing (Ragagnin 2011). Although it is a dialect of Tuvan, there are still some differences between standard Tuvan and Dukhan. However, since there are no written sources in Dukhan, in this book I have written the Dukha words the way I heard them; thus there may be phonetic mistakes with the words. I have used standard English transliteration and, to make sure of the meaning of the words, also checked some Tuvan dictionaries, such as the Tuvan-English talking dictionary, which is supported by Living Tongues, National Geographic, and Swarthmore College.

INTRODUCTION THE FOREST IS WATCHING YOU

iii “Tuya, do you hear this sound?” We were traveling on our reindeer for hours when suddenly the silence was pierced by a sound coming from deep in the forest. Tuya and I were looking for the pregnant reindeer, Sarï mïndï, who had disappeared the night before. We had separated into groups that morning; everyone went looking in different directions. Soon after we passed a few valleys, I completely lost track of where we were but trusted the foresight of this young woman; after all, she was born in this land. The sound I heard persisted, like a whistle, in my ears; it made me question myself. I kept thinking that it must be the sound of an animal I did not know about. “Tuya, do you hear it?” “What?” “Hiisss, listen! Don’t you hear the sound coming from the forest, like a whistle?” She stopped her reindeer and listened carefully to understand what I was talking about. When the footsteps of our reindeer stopped, we could really hear the forest, an endless silence accompanied by the sound of the wind. “No, I don’t hear anything.” Now that Tuya had stopped to listen, the sound had faded. Seeing my surprised face, Tuya asked again what it was that I heard, and I told her about the whistle again. After looking around for a while and thinking what it could be, she cried out, “Ahh, it must be Batïqšan then! People say she sometimes makes those sounds.” “Who??” “Batïqšan.” Suddenly I remembered that I heard about Batïqšan in some stories, the forest spirit who protects the animals on her land and sometimes becomes visi-

2

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

ble to humans in the form of a short woman or girl with long hair. I was still not convinced that what I heard was Batïqšan, but Tuya was certain. After all, we were wandering in her, Batïqšan’s, land—her forests. She likes to warn people that she is there, so that they do not harm the forest. I decided not to think about it anymore, and we just continued. After looking around for Sarï mïndï for another hour, following the tracks in the valley, Tuya said she hoped to find her in our final destination. I had no idea where we were going, not even aware that we had a final destination, so I just followed her without asking much. We continued this way for a while, stopping at important places, where Tuya was looking around with some old binoculars to see if she could spot the missing reindeer. When we passed another valley and crossed a river, she rode up the hill and got off her reindeer to look around. She looked very serious now, and I was very silent so as not to disturb her. It took her a few minutes until she screamed with joy, shouting out that she saw Sarï mïndï over there in the forest. We were so happy and relieved, and jumped on our reindeer to rush to the forest. When we got close to her, Tuya jumped off her reindeer, took the fabric bag of salt out of her pocket, and walked toward the pregnant animal while making comforting sounds, like “hishh hishh,” and shaking the salt bag to attract her. Tuya slowly approached the animal, and when she was close enough for Sarï mïndï to see the salt bag, the reindeer came near her too. In less than seconds, she was licking salt from Tuya’s palm, and Tuya took hold of the rope around her neck. Now that she was holding the animal, Tuya looked so relieved and at peace, checking the animal to see if it was all fine. It turned out that we were at the site of last year’s spring camp, where the animal had given birth. She had remembered and had come back here to give birth again, just like Tuya guessed. “My mom will be so happy that we found her. She was very scared the wolves might attack her, you know, especially after what happened last year.” “What happened?” “My brother shot a pregnant animal by mistake, remember? Since then, my mother keeps thinking our pregnant animals might be taken. Luckily my brother went to a good shaman and made offering for forgiveness, but still, you never know if Ĵer eezi [Land/world owner] is still angry or not.” Tying the pregnant reindeer to hers, Tuya got back on her reindeer, and, happy, we started to rush back to the camp before it got dark. On the way back, we were at ease, just riding fast and daydreaming in our own worlds. It was getting colder and the surrounding nature was getting ready to fall asleep, just like me, until a sound woke me up, the same whistle again, much more obvious this time, coming from not far away. Suddenly I felt a rush of adrenaline in my body, a little scared this time about what it could be. I looked around and turned my back to check where Tuya was and if she could hear the same sound this time. When I turned my head and saw her looking at me smiling, it took me a few

INTRODUCTION

3

seconds to realize that it was Tuya who was doing the sound. Seeing my face so pale, she stopped the whistle and burst into laughter. “I thought you didn’t believe in Batïqšan.” I laughed back, and we continued teasing each other for a while, talking about all the stories and anecdotes that we knew about Batïqšan. After all those months we had spent together, she knew that I was skeptical, but she did not know how nervous I was every night when I woke up to go to the toilet and walked into the darkness of the forest, constantly looking around me in case there was a little woman somewhere watching me. * * * The reason I mention this incident with Tuya is to demonstrate that among the Dukha, everything is part of the same system: the animals (both domesticated and wild) and people are living together in the taiga, and their fate is connected to each other. This is why the fate of a domesticated reindeer can be related to the deeds of a young man, whose fate can be related to the encounters he had with wild animals and so on, which makes us question the separation between wild and domestic spheres. In this geography, nobody is alone; they are all responsible for the acts of one another, from wild animals to relatives among humans or domesticated reindeer. The forests are guarded by the spirits, and the animals in them by those guardian spirits, who would from time to time offer them to the humans as gifts or vice versa. In either case, a forest or a river is not simply a geographical object, but a living thing surrounded by invisible entities. More importantly, the taiga forest is an area hosting all these living beings, humans or nonhuman animals and spirits, bringing all of them together and embracing them. This book aims to shed light on some of those complicated relations between humans, animals, and landscape, hoping to bring new ideas to the discussion of domestication and wildness.

CULTURE AND NATURE DICHOTOMY IN THE AGE OF ANTHROPOCENE The distinction between nature and culture—or, in other words, whether humanity is separate from other living things on earth—has been one of the most fundamental questions occupying philosophers, scientists, and thinkers for centuries. How we define ourselves as human beings, with the philosophical arguments that it brings, has been one of the biggest debates of humanity, and although it has lost its popularity from time to time, with the current climate change crisis, the place of humans on the planet has become a hot topic once again. What is it (or is there anything) that separates humans from other species, and what makes humans “human”? Although a philosophical question in itself,

4

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

in the Anthropocene age, in which global warming and other changes in the environment caused by humans is threatening life on the planet, the question has become a matter of urgency, an issue that needs to be faced with serious care and consideration. The term “Anthropocene” suggests that the role of humankind in geology and ecology has reached extremely high levels, placing anthropos as a dominant figure to such an extent that human activities are now affecting the structure and functioning of the Earth system (Steffen, Crutzen, and McNeill 2007). Thus, living in the Anthropocene—literally, the age of humans—to discuss what is a human and, as a consequence, what is a nonhuman has become an inevitable topic again. Let us begin the journey of human effects on earth from the beginning in a simple way to have a clear picture of how we ended up in the age of humans and how humans have gained a dominant position among other species, deeply changing the relations among humans and nonhuman animals. When studying the relations between humans and nonhumans, domestication of animals and plants are considered as turning points in human history, forming the very beginning of a remarkable effect of humans on their surroundings. It is a development that has potentially created a permanent dislocation between humans and nature. Humans lived among and off wild animals and plants until as recently as twelve thousand years ago; the shift from a hunter-gatherer culture to pastoralism and farming is constitutive and representative of a radical change in human history, affecting almost all aspects of life (DeMello 2012). Most studies point out that hunter-gatherers viewed the wild animals around them as their equals while the shift from hunting to pastoralism and farming produced a fundamental change in human relationships with animals, causing those egalitarian relationships to change forever (Ingold 2000; Stammler and Takakura 2010). This is fairly understandable, since humans without their developed weapons or animals under captivity or ability to produce food were just ordinary members of the animal world. With the domestication of plants and animals, humans started to control nature and view animals as their property instead of their equal partners. According to Ingold (1994), both herders and hunters acknowledge that animals, like humans, have powers of sentience and can act autonomously, but the hunters respect the power of animals, while the herders try to overcome it. Similarly, other scholars think that with the domestication of animals, humans took on the role of masters, and animals became classified as property, possibly causing the absolute divide between human and animal that still persists today (DeMello 2012: 68). Starting with domestication and agriculture, the tendency to position the human species in a different place from other living things has grown stronger through time, even finding its place among philosophers and thinkers in modern times. According to this common way of thinking, while humans are in a separate category, animals, nature, and wildlife—that is, all other living

INTRODUCTION

5

beings—are in a different category. Animals belong exclusively in nature, while humans are the only exception, as the “essence of their humanity transcends nature” (Ingold 1994: 4). The Greek philosopher Aristotle viewed humans’ ability to speak as the main reason they are separate from animals and also as a reason humans have the right to control animals, since animals lack intelligence, language, and self-awareness. Similarly, Rene Descartes considered animals machines because of their lack of ability to speak, operating without consciousness (DeMello 2012). Animals were not only seen as machines but were also considered morally inferior to humans, lacking the capacity for moral and ethical behavior. This is why in early modern Europe, animality was seen as something inferior that must be overcome, so people committed themselves “to maintain distinct boundaries between themselves and animals” (Mullin 1999: 204). This way of thinking, even labeling people who commit crimes as “animal-like,” is quite ironic since nonhuman animals rarely kill or harm other species except to survive, while humankind so often kill and torture other animals, and even kill and abuse other humans (Dunayer 2013: 29). In short, most of those thinkers argued that human abilities such as language, awareness, reason, rationality, and the use of tools—in other words, the capacity to create “culture”—placed human species on a different plane from other nonhuman animals. This way of thinking naturally revealed the following idea: since we, as humans, are able to speak, think, act rationally, and create our own “cultures,” unlike other animal species, then we must be different from nature, and, needless to say, this difference places us in a superior position. The world is therefore divided into humans and others, forming the nature-culture dichotomy, as it is known. Divine religions like Christianity also helped maintain this idea of human superiority, placing animals in a lower position, lacking soul and consciousness and thus created to serve human needs (DeMello 2012: 37–38). The belief in humans’ extraordinary and superior position was unsettled strongly in the mid-nineteenth century with Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution, which made it difficult to make a clear distinction between humans and animals (Ingold 2000; Daston and Mitman 2005). From a biological point of view, Darwin clearly stated that the human was also an animal, not only bringing people and animals under the same category, but also revealing that we come from a common ancestor. This idea radically challenged the core of all philosophical debates until then. In addition, it brought new questions: Do animals suffer like human beings? Do they have emotions and higher mental or emotional capacities than previously assumed (Darwin 1859)? Today, speaking from a biological perspective, we know that humans are indeed animals. It may also be accepted that humans are not necessarily in a superior position to other animals, as we tend to see ourselves. Human exceptionalism, placing humans in a superior position than other species, or speciesism in general, placing some species as lower and others as higher, is considered “bad

6

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

biology,” completely far from the scientific reality (Bekoff 2013: 16). Scientists who study animal behaviors through innovative studies have recently pointed out that there is no or little difference between many animal species and humans in terms of their mental or emotional capacity (Bekoff 2013). Researchers working with different species, such as primates, dolphins, elephants, or parrots, show that different emotions, once thought to belong only to humans, and sophisticated systems of communication or self-recognition, exist in many animal species. It is known that bees are capable of solving complex mathematical problems faster than computers; octopuses can perform complex behaviors; and fish also display long-term memory. According to Bekoff (2013: 20–23), the differences we make among species, considering some of them higher and more valuable, are based on our own understanding and penchant to draw lines separating them, and has nothing to do with reality. Today we even know that some primate species such as chimpanzees and gorillas are quite successful in language skills and possess high intelligence typical of humans. The gorilla Koko has an IQ of 90 (higher than many humans) and can understand English, communicating in American Sign Language using more than a thousand words (Patterson and Gordon 1993). Dolphins possess complex intelligence, self-awareness, and emotional skills, including the ability for abstract thinking and problem solving. They also have highly complex societies with complex relationships (Marino 2013: 95). King (2013) describes in detail in her study how animals such as apes and elephants feel grief and show clear signs of it.

HUMAN-ANIMAL BOUNDARY All that scientific research about animal cognition, emotion, and sentience does not seem to be enough to change our attitude toward animals, and the distinction between humans and nature strongly persists in many societies today. At this point, the question that naturally comes to mind, a question that occupies social scientists, is related to different cultures and how they interact with animals. Is the human-animal boundary or culture-nature dichotomy as strict in all societies as it is in the West? Is the concept of “personhood” specific to humans in all societies? How do different societies in the world perceive animals around them, and how do they communicate with them? In other words, is the idea that places humans in a special and superior position in industrial societies shared with other societies in the world? From ethnographic research, we know that human-animal relations can be shaped very differently in different societies around the world, as the representation of animals and humans is quite diverse in many cultures (Fuentes 2006: 129) Also, as we all know, even in the same culture, the value we give to animals varies depending on how we categorize them—farm animals, wild animals,

INTRODUCTION

7

pets—and this classification affects how we treat them (DeMello 2012: 14–15). Although the issue of how different societies interact with animals and their environment is too broad to make strict generalizations, there are still some societies living today where the separation between humans and nonhuman animals is not that strict, as not all societies share the fixed Western perspective on the human-animal boundary (Russell 2010:16). For example, for most huntergatherer societies, the perception of the world does not consist of two categories: human and nature. Many indigenous societies share a similar worldview where animals are considered sentient beings and treated with respect. This is related to the notion of personhood or autonomy, which is attributed only to humans in Western thought, while most hunter-gatherer societies do not maintain such rigid borders. Hallowell (1960: 21) was one of the first scholars to engage this issue; he noted that other societies view animals as “other-nonhuman” persons. His well-known work on the Ojibwa of North America draws out many examples of this. It demonstrates that personhood is not particular to humans, and the distinction between person and animal, or animate and inanimate, is less defined in other societies (Hallowell 1960). The notion of personhood has also been explored under the topic of “animism,” first described by Tylor (1913) in his famous work Primitive Culture, as the practice of ascribing souls to nonhuman entities. In animistic thought, inanimate objects are considered to have a spirit, but this does not mean that all objects are given the same status in those societies. While some entities, like wild animals, are very human-like, other objects, such as the fire for cooking, have a “more abstract spiritual quality” (Pedersen 2001: 414). The degree of personhood attributed to different objects may change depending on the society; scholars today point out that in some societies, personhood is defined more inclusively, embracing animals and other beings that are considered inanimate in the West (Russell 2010: 16). People in those societies perceive animals as having agency and culture, in which they can speak and influence others. Ingold (2000: 51) took the discussion a step further, claiming that “for northern hunters, animals are not like persons, they are persons.” In many cultures, especially among hunter-gatherers, the idea that people can transform into animals or animals can transform into humans is also widespread. Additionally, in many societies, animals have a special place, and they are believed to act with agency or possess certain powers. For instance, according to the Hopi, snakes are messengers that carry prayers, and they have a vital role during a snake dance performance, where people ceremonially purify and dance with the snakes (Bahti 1990: 132). Many societies have animals as creative figures, or they have animal gods or spirits, or people are reincarnated as animals after death. Despite all those perceptions about animals and the evidence science supplies for us about the capacity of animals, as I mentioned before, ironically the worldview of indigenous people is still considered backward and superstitious

8

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

today. Here, the main difference lies in the perception of different ontologies and how Western understanding of life is seen as superior. The hierarchical relations between different ontologies is so strongly affected by racist ideologies that even scientific data is not considered enough to change this understanding. This is, of course, related to the political dimensions of knowledge production. The development of scientific thought and the claim of validity for specific forms of knowledge have also been an important part of colonial exploitation, since Western culture constantly reaffirms itself as the center of legitimate and civilized knowledge (Tuhiwai 1999). On the other hand, today some anthropologists argue that this approach is not specific to positive scientists, but that anthropologists also evaluate indigenous ideas in a pretty ethnocentric way. Ingold (2000) points out how anthropology, as a product of Western intellect, discusses the egalitarian relations between hunter-gatherers and their environment but describes them as “metaphors,” implying that they are not really happening the way they are described. Nadasdy similarly talks about an “extraordinary experience” he had in his fieldwork when a rabbit he tried to trap in the forest escaped from his trap wounded and a few days later came into his cabin, looking into his eyes as if offering itself to him. Astonished about how the rabbit, who had run away from the trap that he had set up so far away from his hut, could find him, he told the story to the elders— who were unsurprised and began to tell similar stories. This behavior of the rabbit, which seems quite abnormal to biologists and even to the researcher himself, was one of the ordinary events that had been experienced many times by the hunters. At the end of the article, Nadasdy mentions that some of the researchers who have experienced such surprising experiences during the field research do not publish their experiences for fear of being unscientific. From the Western point of view these kinds of accounts are suspected of being inaccurate or the events recounted are considered a great coincidence, while for indigenous peoples this conscious behavior of animals is quite normal (Nadasdy 2007). Although it is easy to read and write about it in front of a computer, I have had to face my own biases and preconditioned way of thinking about this subject many times during my fieldwork, realizing how much I take certain things for granted subconsciously. I would like to mention one of those incidents. The Dukhas, like many communities in Siberia, have great respect for the bear and regard it as a relative. On the other hand, the bear is also hunted and consumed with pleasure, as long as the many detailed rules and taboos are followed when hunting it. One of the most important rules specifically applied to the bear is the agreement made between the bear and the Dukha hunters’ ancestors years ago. According to this agreement, if a hunter sees a bear in the forest and the bear escapes and climbs the tree, the hunter will never shoot that bear. Similarly, if a person runs into a bear unarmed while walking in the forest,

INTRODUCTION

9

he must climb the tree because the bear never attacks the person climbing the tree. This is considered an old agreement between humans and bears. When I was talking to Batbayar, one of the young hunters about this rule in the taiga, I asked him if the bear really obeyed this rule, maybe a little facetiously without even realizing it, and the young hunter was surprised, answering confidently: “The bear is smart enough to know this rule, so he certainly won’t attack. My grandfather used to say that if a man climbs a tree and the bear attacks him, the bear suffers for the rest of his life. So the bears strictly follow this rule because they don’t want to suffer for the rest of their lives” (field notes, 2015). As seen in this example, the reason I asked this question in the first place was related to my own understanding and deep-seated belief that the bear would never have the will and agency to follow such a rule. However, according to Batbayar, bears were nonhuman persons who could understand people and deal with them, and doubting this was pointless and even irrational. Considering accounts such as these, it seems like it is time to reconsider clashing ideas about existence and things that we take for granted and to redescribe what culture is. Especially with the current crisis we are facing on our planet, maybe there is a need for this ontological discussion more than ever, redefining notions such as people, animals, and nature. Although we social scientists already know that worldviews are diverse and socially constructed, the definition of those worldviews and the way we describe them is mostly based on comparisons or understandings of our own culture, which means that the point of discussion usually starts with a culture (usually Western) as a base of comparison. However, as Heywood (2017) expressed in his article about the ontological turn, it is time to ask, if things are relative, what are they relative to, or what is the background against which they are relative, and thus try to look at concepts with a clear mind without comparing them to categories we already have in our minds.

OBJECTIVES AND RESEARCH QUESTIONS This book is a multispecies ethnography (Kirksey and Helmreich 2010), aiming to provide an understanding of human-animal-environment relations among a nomadic reindeer herder/hunter Dukha community in northern Mongolia through an emphasis on reindeer domestication and the importance of landscape as a uniting point to set the relations between people and animals. By focusing on the life of a nomadic hunter/herder society, the book aims to reevaluate the concepts of domestication-wildness, taking them outside the box and reconsidering them from a different angle. The theories of human-animal relations usually focus on herding and hunting as separate systems and evaluate the relations from this angle. The Dukha commu-

10

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

nity, on the other hand, combine these two subsistence types in their daily life, as they are principally hunter-gatherers who keep a small herd of domesticated reindeer for riding, packing, and milking, while the majority of their diet consists of game meat. This is why they provide a unique opportunity to look into hunting and herding systems and the way people perceive the difference between domesticated and wild animals. While discussing the anthropological theories of domestication (and hoping to make a contribution to them), the book seeks to introduce a different way of thinking and understanding landscapes and nonhuman animals through reallife stories, without imposing previously learned categories on them. Although human-animal relations are at the center of those discussions, the book also aims to investigate how people communicate and connect to their environment, how they understand geography, and how their unique ways of interaction with the sentient geography is indeed affecting the relations between people and nonhuman animals, almost serving as a uniting point or mediator between living entities. The fundamental research questions of the book are these: How are human-animal relations established in a society that subsists by hunting and gathering but also keeps domesticated animals with them? How do people interact with their domesticated reindeer and wild animals? What does domestication mean for them? How do the hunter and the prey interact? What are the dynamics that keep people, domesticated animals, and wild animals together? What is the place of landscape in establishing those relations? How do people interact with their environment? The research aims to look for answers to those questions by focusing on three main parts. First, it focuses on the relations between people and landscape, trying to understand what it means to live in a spirited land where the geographical entities are more than just objects. In the second part, once we have grasped the deep meaning of landscape for the Dukha, the book explores the relations between people and domesticated reindeer, focusing on the concept of domestication, what it means for people, and what factors affect or form the dynamics of this relationship between people and reindeer. In the last part, the book discusses the role of hunting for the society—how it is more than a way of surviving and how it deeply affects the relations between people to people, and people to wild animals. Apart from the theoretical discussions and contributions on domestication, landscape, or environment studies, one of the most important aims of this book is also to show the current situation of a nomadic hunter-gatherer society. Today, due to the recent government policies that banned hunting in their region, the Dukha are struggling to survive in their landscape and are treated as criminals. The area they live in was declared a national park in 2011, and hunting has been severely banned since then. This situation, excluding indigenous people from conservation projects, is common all around the world and unfortunately

INTRODUCTION

11

affects communities negatively, stripping them from their territories and way of subsistence. This book aims to show how the perception of the Dukha community on animals and hunting is different from the authorities by focusing on their hunting rituals, and to show how the hunting ban in practice is affecting their lives and social relations. Beyond all the theoretical discussions, the general aim of this book is to confront its readers with a different way of being, living, and thinking about other species through the life of a nomadic herder/hunter society, challenging our understanding on categories of nature and culture.

THEORETICAL DISCUSSIONS OF THE BOOK Was domestication really an irreversible turning point, and do all societies living today communicate with domesticated animals through domination? The separation between domestic and wild has been discussed in anthropology for a long time, still remaining a hot topic today. It has been accepted as a “slippery and imprecise” concept by some scholars, like that of “culture,” since it is as complex and diverse as the concept of “wild” (Cassidy 2007: 3). While different opinions and views exist, most scholars acknowledge that domestication has both social and biological aspects. As I have mentioned before, the most common theory, which I call “hunterherder conflict,” claims that the hunters and herders interact with animals around them in divergent ways, and while hunters exhibit a relationship with wild animals based on trust, the herders have a more dominating relationship with their animals (Ingold 1986; Ullah 2005). This view is connected with the definition of domestication, as early researchers viewed domestication as a oneway process where humans controlled animal populations and directed them as they desired (Harris 1996). However, recent scholars disagree with differentiating hunters’ and herders’ relations with animals along such strict lines. Stammler (2010: 217–37) thinks that the relations between pastoralists and their animals contain characteristics that exceed domination and control, since both parties mutually affect the personalities and decisions of each other, thus “reducing their relationships with animals to just control would be unfair to herders.” Beach and Stammler (2006: 8) coined the concept of “symbiotic domestication,” essentially meaning that reindeer domesticated human behavior as much as they were themselves domesticated. Paine (1988) coined a similar term, “reciprocal learning,” basically claiming that both reindeer and human learn each other’s needs. Although the behaviors that constitute the relationship between domesticated animals and humans is deeply contested, there is one area of agreement— the exceptional situation of the reindeer, considering their relative indepen-

12

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

dence, sharing the same form with their wild relatives. The reason that reindeer domestication is viewed as an exception is that even if the reindeer seek human contact, they can usually survive on their own in the same environment that hosts those wild relatives, so domesticated reindeer are not isolated from their wild relatives (Beach and Stammler 2006; Stepanoff 2012). Harris (1996: 455) writes that the restriction of gene flow between tame and wild populations is a necessary condition for domestication, and the case of the reindeer might be the only exception. All these views about the reindeer focus on the fact that reindeer were not removed from their original area, and for this reason the situation of reindeer is described as semidomestic by some scholars (Istomin and Dwyer 2008). Despite this fact, the role of landscape has not been discussed as a critical issue in reindeer domestication and its dynamics; this is something that I will discuss throughout this book. BEYOND DOMESTICATION: LANDSCAPE AS AN EMBRACING POINT

To be able to understand the story of the Dukha and their reindeer fully, I believe that it is not sufficient to simply evaluate the situation from a domestication perspective; rather, we must learn what the reindeer mean for the Dukha as a matter of survival and the only means they have to remain in their ancestral land. In this sense, the exceptional situation of the reindeer remaining in their native land despite human contact is one of the most critical issues that define relations between humans and animals. One of the theoretical contributions of this research comes to the scene at this point, taking a look at the domestication issue from a different window, focusing on how the role of landscape affects the dynamics of human-animal relations from the core. But for this aim, we first need to understand what the landscape means to the Dukha. Why is it important? Reindeer hold such a distinct value for the Dukha because the reindeer is the only domesticated animal that can survive in the taiga; as natives of the taiga, the people and reindeer share a common sphere. Moreover, the Dukha are dependent on the reindeer if they want to live in the taiga for reasons I will explain. However, the reindeer do not need humans to survive in the taiga, which becomes a factor that affects the dynamics of this relationship. The Dukha live in a geography called “taiga” in the northern forests, surrounded by boreal trees. According to the Dukha, their home “taiga” is perceptibly different from the rest of Mongolia, and they are the people of the forests, mountains, and wild rivers. It is their homeland, where their ancestors were left out (buried), where their sacred trees reside, where their family lineage continues—a sacred geography that defines who they are. Thus, one of the reasons for this radical connection between the reindeer and people is related to the connection people have with

INTRODUCTION

13

the landscape: they believe that if they lose the reindeer, they lose their home. While evaluating the relationship between people and reindeer throughout the book, I first focus on the role of the landscape that brings all parties together, and thereby add a new perspective in the domestication debate, as we cannot totally understand what the reindeer mean for the Dukha without understanding what the landscape means for them. “ WILDERNIZATION” INSTEAD OF DOMESTICATION

Once the book discusses the role of the landscape for the people and how they need reindeer to survive in their home, it focuses on the debate of domestication. The concept of domestication, if it exists at all, and what it means for reindeer herders can obviously change depending on the society being investigated, so it is necessary to leave the scholarly labels aside at times and look at the issue from new perspectives, starting from scratch. For this purpose, the book tries to critically investigate indigenous terms, classificatory discourse, and the actual social practice related to keeping reindeer in contemporary Dukha society without imposing other meanings on them or comparing them with existing categories. For instance, the words for domesticated reindeer and wild reindeer are two completely different words in the indigenous language of the Dukha. This study claims that the way Dukha define those different species has nothing to do with the tameness or wildness of the animal, meaning how the animal behaves, but instead is related to whom the animal belongs, the land or the people, rendering the categories of domestication meaningless for them. After discussing this new theoretical perspective in detail, the book suggests that the concepts of “domestication” or “wildness” do not adequately serve the case of the reindeer and the Dukha and perhaps other similar societies. Since people do not keep the reindeer isolated from its natural habitat, it is people who live in the habitat of the reindeer, in the “wild.” Of course, the word “wild” is also an outsider view, but the taiga is considered a remote, wild geography by outsiders, and the Dukha are the only people who live there. Thus, at this point, we should rather completely avoid the words “domesticated” and “wild” or, if we insist on using those words while defining the relation between human and reindeer, we should define it as “wildernization of people” as opposed to the “domestication of reindeer,” as people did not take the reindeer to their domus but instead live in the habitat of the reindeer in the “wild.” NURTURING CONTROL

The next questions concern the nature of those relations: How do people and reindeer live together in this geography and what keeps them together? How do people interact with reindeer? What is the nature of their relations? The

14

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

dynamics of those relations depend on the season and on specific situations. While it seems that people are the ones who make the decisions in accordance with their own needs or that they are the ones dominating this relationship, this is not always the case. Through certain periods, people prioritize the needs of the reindeer, especially in spring and autumn when they need to stay at unpleasant hilly camps for the sake of calves. At other times, people choose to stay in areas that are more comfortable for themselves (and more practical in terms of connection with the village), but this time is more unpleasant for the reindeer. It can be said that humans and reindeer undergo a negotiation as a means of reaching some sort of mutual accommodation of needs. However, it is hard to deny that although both reindeer and people have certain benefits and drawbacks deriving from this relationship, the decision to live together is made by people, as reindeer could easily live in nature without people. Besides, methods like tying clearly forces the reindeer into conditions they would not normally choose to be involved in. This is why instead of describing it as a symbiotic domestication (Beach and Stammler 2006), which evokes a more egalitarian relationship, I would suggest using the phrase “nurturing control,” since it is impossible to deny that there is a level of control involved in this relationship. However, given the specific power balances present in this relationship, I believe that this control is not a “dominating control.” I suggest that the relations between people and reindeer are more similar to a parenting model, in which humans use parental power over the animals. I call this a “nurturing control,” in which reindeer are protected from wolves or mosquitos and taken care of, but some sort of control is still imposed on the animal, a concept I will explain in detail in the book. I claim that although people are the ones making the decisions, the emotional power is possessed by the reindeer; this relationship is more similar to kinship relations (which are also not exempt from power hierarchies), and reindeer are considered part of the household. I will explain this with valid examples. BILATERAL GIFT GIVING FROM THE POINT OF PERSPECTIVISM

To survive in the vast taiga, in addition to the partnership with domesticated reindeer, the Dukha depend on wild animals to make their living. In the forests of the north, hunting is a way of life that enables people to survive and connects them to their environment. People are dependent on nature and, therefore, wild animals for their survival, and this dependence is reflected in their worldview and their behaviors. Through hunting, people re-remember how they are part of the system alongside all beings, and feel deep down that they can survive as long as this cycle continues. Hunting is one of the most significant ways of communicating with the environment for the Dukha.

INTRODUCTION

15

A good hunter is a person who can connect with his environment in a respectful way, as hunting success is related to the social relations between people, animals, and spirits, requiring much more than technical skill. Some societies also believe that if the hunters behave well, the animals will offer themselves to the hunter (Kulemzin 1984; Laugrand and Oosten 2015; Nadasdy 2007; Ingold 1994 and 2000; Willerslev 2004; Hamayon 2012; Hill 2011). However, the Dukha do not believe that animals offer themselves to the good hunters. Instead, they view animals as gifts from the spirits—gifts that are given only to those who deserve it. The theory of gift giving and how it functions is discussed widely in theories of hunting. Some scholars argue that animal autonomy is very important in hunting (Ingold 1994), while others claim that there is no direct personal relationship between the animal that is hunted and the hunter because it is the spirits that offer those animals (Knight 2012). I show that although the Dukha believe that spirits offer animal as gifts, the animals are still not regarded as the property of the spirits that have come to be shared with the hunter, as animals also receive humans as gifts when they die because the Dukha practice sky burial and leave their dead outside for the animals to consume. In the cosmology of the Dukha hunters, both animals and people are “children” of spirits, and animals are not in an inferior position in the eyes of the spirits. The spirits give animals to the hunter if they behave with respect, but this gift is not specific to humans, as humans are also given to animals when they die. I explain this gift giving, offering of bodies, and death in Dukha society with the idea of perspectivism (Viveiros de Castro 1998), looking into gift giving from this angle. The book discusses this bilateral side of gift giving as a factor contributing to the universal justice among people and animals. Based on this worldview, the morality of killing becomes much easier for the Dukha even if they attribute so much personhood to the animal, which I will discuss. HUNTING AS CONFRONTATION

The next consideration is how the hunter and prey interact when they encounter each other. Is this interaction only predatory or based on deception? Many scholars interpret the encounter between the hunter and their prey as a form of seduction in which the hunter attempts to impress the animal by imitating it. Hence, the hunter will try to abolish his human qualities before a hunt to deceive the animal (Willerslev 2007). I claim that this is not always true; for the Dukha, one of the most important steps before facing one’s prey is purification. The hunter tries to become as pure as he can before meeting his prey so that he can confront him as he is. This is evident in the rituals performed before hunting. A hunter purifies himself with juniper before the hunt and, instead of getting rid of his human qualities, he disposes of any unnecessary items that are

16

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

exterior to the person or taken from another person, in an attempt to become as humble as he can be. Since it is the deeds of the hunter that determine the success of the hunt, a hunter should make himself visible. This necessitates a process of purification—a purge of other energies and an abandonment of all material possessions. Hunting, for the Dukha, is a process of confrontation as opposed to a performance of deception. Only then can the hunter and the animal face each other and appraise each other, which is required for this system of hunting. As one of the hunters told me, “The animal understands the hunter, his intentions and his respect. You cannot deceive an animal.” So the idea behind hunting is explicitness, not deception, as will be discussed in detail.

THE DUKHA: HUNTER-GATHERERS WITH REINDEER The Dukha are a small group of nomadic reindeer herders and hunters who live in northern Mongolia in the northwestern section of Khövsgöl Province, an area characterized by its forests, rivers, lakes, and abundant wildlife, as well as by its remoteness (Pedersen 2009). Since it is bordering the Tuvan Republic in Russia, the area is also identified as South Siberia by geographers. The highland taigas have some of the lowest temperatures in Mongolia, dropping to minus forty degrees Celsius in winter. This geography, rich in biodiversity, is pretty distinct from the rest of Mongolia’s flat steppes and forms part of the northern taiga, making it possible for the Dukha to raise reindeer. They are the only reindeer herders in Mongolia and constitute one of the communities in the southernmost extreme of the world’s reindeer herding region, together with “the Tozhu in the Republic of Tuva, the Soyot in Buryat Republic of Russia and the Evenki in south Siberia and China” (Donahoe 2004: 1). Different scholars, both foreign and Mongolian, have written about various aspects of life among the Dukha (Badamxatan 1960, 1962, 1965; Sagdarsürüng 1974; Wheeler 2000; Kristensen 2004, 2015; Inamura 2005; Keay 2006; Pedersen 2001, 2009; Ragagnin 2011; Endres 2014; Rasiulis 2016; O’Brien and Surovell 2017). The subsistence of the Dukha is traditionally based on hunting wild game and breeding small stocks of reindeer for transportation and milk, usually known as the Sayan type of reindeer herding in literature (Vainstein 1980: 130). Thus, although they are popularly known for their reindeer herds, “they are principally hunters and gatherers who keep domestic reindeer for milking, riding and pack transport” (Ingold 1986: 6). They do not slaughter the reindeer unless an animal is too old or in times of severe scarcity, and they milk the reindeer daily from April to September, mixing the milk with tea. They traditionally hunt wild animals such as bear, deer, boar, elk, moose, sable, etc. to get their protein, and they collect wild potatoes and berries. One of the most significant uses of the reindeer is for transportation, both as riding and pack animals during nomadic

INTRODUCTION

17

movements or when men go out hunting. In this geography with deep snow, reindeer are the only domesticated animal that can survive on their own and feed themselves, making them the most important partner for humans. However, as I will explain further, the Dukha are going through a transition period from hunting to herding, as the area where the Dukha live has been declared a national park, meaning hunting is forbidden as of 2011. Because of this ban and also the Dukha’s emergence into mainstream society, today they buy supplies from the village, and their subsistence is supported by different diets. The social organization of the Dukha, similar to other hunter-gatherer groups, is pretty egalitarian, with no formal leader making decisions. Although elders are well respected and followed, the Dukha do not name a leader, and the autonomy of each family is highly valued. Gender relations are also pretty egalitarian (although that would require a detailed study to claim so with confidence), as one can observe that women are involved in every aspect of society and hardly repressed. While the women are mostly responsible for daily chores such as cooking and milking the reindeer, and the men deal with hunting and chopping wood, there is no strict division of labor, as one can see women chopping wood or carrying things or men washing clothes. Hunting is usually practiced only by men, and collecting plants or milking is mostly done by women or children, while work related to taking care of reindeer is usually shared among the sexes. Today there are only around two hundred Dukha who maintain a nomadic lifestyle in the taiga, living in tent-shaped dwellings called alaȷˇï ög. They are the smallest ethnic minority in Mongolia, with a population of five hundred people in total (Inamura 2005). The Dukha are originally from Tuva, and they speak a Turkic language called Dukhan, although all of them are bilingual today and speak Mongolian fluently. Dukhan, which belongs to the Siberian branch of the Sayan group of the Turkic language family, is under serious threat of disappearing (Ragagnin 2011: 23). Young children no longer learn the language, and most families use Mongolian; only the elders speak the Dukhan language among themselves. The elders in the community are worried about losing their native tongue, as the Dukhan language is very rich for describing life in the taiga, including reindeer herding, plants, and animals. They believe it is an efficient language to maintain a life in the taiga and that all this traditional knowledge might be lost with the language. The loss of language affects the spiritual life of the Dukha as well, since it holds many terms related to shamanic rituals, and the shamans communicate only in Dukhan with spirits during rituals (Küçüküstel 2016). The Dukha are divided into two major territorial groups, one in the western forest, called Baron Taiga, and the other in the eastern forest, called Zuun Taiga, with approximately forty-six families in total (Solnoi, Tsogtsaikhan, and Plumley 2003: 7). The population of the taiga changes dramatically between summer and winter, decreasing to as few as twenty families in winter. Most people who have school-age kids have to move to Tsagaannuur Sum, the nearest vil-

18

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

lage to the Dukha camps, and spend the winter there with their children, usually leaving their reindeer behind with relatives. Some families send their children to boarding schools or leave them with relatives who live in the village, but school is still the biggest factor that ties families to the village. From the Sum center, it takes between twelve hours and two days by horse to reach the Dukha camps, depending on the season.

A BRIEF HISTORY The Dukha originally lived in the border zone between Mongolia and Tuva in Russia, seasonally migrating in the taiga region. They have been called by various names, such as Tagna, Urianghai, Todja, and Soyod (Kristensen 2015:12). Today they call themselves Duxa or Duha, and referred to as Dukha in English. Mongolians commonly call them Tsaatan, which literally means “person with reindeer.” However, the Dukha find this name a little offensive and prefer to be addressed by their original name. The Dukha used to move freely in their traditional herding and hunting territory in the taiga between present Mongolia and the Tuva Republic in the Russian Federation until the 1940s. With the establishment of Mongolian People’s Republic in 1924 and Tuva joining the Soviet Union in 1944, the border was closed, and the Dukha got stuck on one or another side of the border, separated from their relatives. Russia joined World War II at that time, and the situation in Tuva was pretty hard, including food shortages. On top of those problems, when the Soviet government started collectivization campaigns, the Dukha were afraid of losing their domesticated reindeer, and most of the families tried to escape to the Mongolian side of the border (Inamura 2005: 142). However, the Mongolian government did not want them within their borders and started a campaign to expel the Dukha from their territory, thinking that, as ethnic Tuvanians, the Dukha should live in Tuva. According to the older people, between 1927 and 1956, most of the Dukha returned to and were expelled from Mongolia a few times (Wheeler 2000; Farkas 1992). The elders remember their parents speaking of this period as a time when most families had to hide in the forests and were confused about what to do, going between Tuvan and Mongolian territories, both their traditional land. Despite experiencing all these hardships, most families still preferred to stay on the Mongolian side, as the reindeer in Tuva were collectivized by the Russians and men there were forced to join World War II (Wheeler 2000: 44). After all those struggles, in 1954 the Mongolian government finally accepted that the Dukha would stay in Mongolia and granted them citizenship, as well as made an effort to turn them into “civilized” people (Kristensen 2015: 14). This was a relief for the Dukha, who could finally live in peace without

INTRODUCTION

19

escaping from the border officials, but soon after, Mongolia also started collectivization campaigns under Russian influence. In the mid-1950s, the Mongolian government established negdels1 throughout the country and collected the livestock of the pastoralists to make it “communal property” (Wheeler 2000: 47). This is when the Dukha had to integrate into the state for the first time and started to receive salaries in return for what they did. With the establishment of negdels, everybody was working in different jobs: most Dukha were working in the fish factory in the village or as state hunters or herders. The only people who could stay in the taiga were the ones working as “state herders”; they had to give reindeer milk and cheese to the government regularly. Although they were under government control and the state officials would come to the taiga to count their reindeer every six months, most elders remember this short period as rather comfortable, since they had a stable salary to buy some products and access to education and health care. However, the reindeer are few in number, and their economy is not really a pastoral one that provides meat production for selling. Reindeer-herding was not “viewed as something profitable” by the government, and, in the late 1970s, the local government ordered “the slaughter of half of the reindeer to provide meat to the local school” (Wheeler 2000: 52). This incident caused the number of reindeer to drop radically and created a deep feeling of insecurity among the Dukha. The elder informants all mention how they were deeply affected and shocked by witnessing the slaughter of so many reindeer that they had taken care of personally. On the other side, most of the Dukha state hunters, who lived in the village and went on hunting expeditions, suffered from different traumas because their traditional hunting way was not accepted as profitable and they had to kill great numbers of animals even on one trip. Many Dukha felt that they would be punished by the spirits, and some people think that the effects of those days are still present, as the spirits are still angry. When a democracy was established in Mongolia in the early 1990s, the country went through a serious economic crisis, and the negdels were closed. In 1995, the reindeer were “privatized” again, leaving the Dukha on their own again, without any support from the government, such as health care or a stable income (Wheeler 2000: 56). This was a very hard period for the Dukha, and they had to struggle hard to get on their feet again. They had very few reindeer and almost nothing they could sell or trade, so they had to rely on the forest again, as in the old days. Some of the families who settled in the village decided to move back to the taiga, and their relatives gave some of their own reindeer to them, which in the end meant that everyone was left with few reindeer. After years of getting used to government support during socialist times, it was very difficult to maintain a completely independent and self-sufficient life in the taiga because the children had already started going to school and most of them had settled in villages, being dependent on the village. This also created a need for cash in the society.

20

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

After the initial period of adaptation, with the introduction to a market economy, the Dukha started to find new ways to get by and especially at the beginning of 2000s, when the country had returned back to a stable condition after the collapse of the socialist regime, foreigners started to visit the country, and the Dukha had a new income: tourism. Although not stable or enough to survive on, the families started to receive an income from the souvenirs they sold to tourists or the reindeer they rented. The Dukha began to also receive international attention, and a lot of NGOs and social workers visited the taiga to work with them. The Mongolian government also started to support them in different ways, buying solar panels for all the Dukha families, building a radio connection to the village, supporting the education of the young, and giving scholarships to university students. With the help of that support and the introduction of tourism, they could adapt to the new economy and get back on their feet, living once again independently, finding the balance between maintaining their traditional livelihood while earning enough to gain access to “modern life.” However, the Dukha had to adapt again to a different system when their area was declared a national park in 2011 and hunting was banned in the area. I will examine the details of the hunting ban in the book. Today the Dukha are involved in a free economy and, despite following their traditions, changes in the society are inevitable. Once tourists started to visit the Dukha, a new door opened for all to benefit from making an income. Today the Dukha are in a transition period, keeping up with the changes happening in the world. Children go to school; young people use smartphones and watch Korean movies on television; and elders enjoy the comfort of shops or a house once in a while when they go to the village. Thus, the need for cash is inevitable, although it is rarely used between community members, and this obvious necessity to use money renders the Dukha helpless because, as I will mention in the rest of my book, they do not make any economic profits from the reindeer. Hunting and herding the reindeer is great for surviving in the taiga, but the moment they step out of the forest, the need to use money emerges, especially because children go to school, and this gap between need and supply makes people feel desperate. Tourism came out as a remedy at this point for the Dukha. Suddenly there was a way to earn money just by staying in the taiga with reindeer; this encouraged many people to stay put. If they did not have this opportunity, since reindeer do not supply any economic benefits and hunting is banned, I believe people would inevitably move to the village and raise Mongolian livestock or work in paid jobs, and slowly merge into the mainstream society, letting their traditional way of life eventually completely disappear. It is undeniable that tourism has affected the relations among Dukha negatively, as not everyone can benefit from it equally. I noticed that the tour companies who brought the tourists benefited most from this business. The Dukha were usually not able to make much profit, only

INTRODUCTION

21

selling a few carvings that made from reindeer antlers, if they could. With the tour companies earning the most, there were also well-known families who were hosting more tourists since they had more connections with the tour companies and villagers; these families started to earn much more compared to the rest of the community. Staying in the taiga for a few months, I could easily observe that it was mostly the same families receiving the tourists. Thus, while some families started to earn pretty well from tourism, it was not possible to earn this amount of income for most of the other families. Similarly, some families were selling souvenirs because their husbands were very good at it, but single women or elders could hardly earn anything, selling once in a while if they were lucky. Naturally, this started to create discomfort in the society, and although nobody ever spoke out openly, I could sense from listening to the gossip that people accused some families of being greedy or taking all the income for themselves. However, a few times I witnessed two well-known families passing on tourists to other families and sharing other sources quite generously. They clearly had more income than the others, but they were also the ones who hosted the community members most of the time. Entering their tents, one could always see guests eating with them, so in a way they were forced to give away what they had earned by always sharing food in their home with other people. Tourism also affects the health of the herds, as it disturbs the migration patterns of the Dukha. Since the tourism season is in the short summer months, people want to take advantage of this period as much as possible. Thus, they do not migrate as far as they used to, thinking that the tourists will not visit them if they are too far away, and this definitely disturbs their traditional system. Many people mention that the reindeer are not as healthy as before as a result of this change because they cannot graze well and are bothered by the heat of summer in lower altitudes. Some elders think that one of the reasons they have few reindeer nowadays is related to the fact that they do not migrate as often and as far as before. However, despite all those problems, change is inevitable for the Dukha, as for any other community around the world, and, despite modifying the traditional system, it also keeps people in the taiga and helps them survive while maintaining their traditional way of life. They are also still dealing with the recent hunting regulations, and it has been one of the biggest challenges of the society in recent years, affecting their main subsistence, distressing people, and even changing social relations in the community. In addition to all the changes imposed by outsiders, the Dukha are struggling with the effects of climate change, as are many other societies in the Arctic. Most of those changes are related to having milder winters and less snow. Since domesticated reindeer can live only in cold temperatures, the changing levels of snow and temperatures are putting them in a vulnerable position, forcing them to adapt to new ways of herding. Despite living far from the factors causing climate change, unfortunately the Dukha, like other similar societies, are affected by its results more than many other populations.

22

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

METHODOLOGY This book is based on classical anthropological methods of empirical field research, mostly participant observation and in-depth interviews that I conducted during several stays between 2012 and 2016 for a total of almost one year. I have also used other research methods, such as focus groups, life histories, and oral history, throughout my research. Although different topics of inquiry may necessitate different organizations of fieldwork, as a researcher studying hunting and herding patterns in the society, I divided my fieldwork into different seasons so that I could observe the seasonal cycles. As a qualitative researcher aiming to understand human-animal relations, I was aware from the beginning of my research that this would require extensive observations, and for this reason I have lived among the Dukha with a family from the start of my research, which means that I was immersed in the life of the taiga. Living in a small tent with three other people meant that I had no personal space or a suitable environment for writing my notes or reading things, which was a challenge at the beginning but also brought many advantages with it, giving me a chance to observe every single aspect of life. I always stayed with the same family during my research, a single mother who lives with her daughters and often looks after her grandchildren. After a few visits, the mother of the family told me that I could consider myself her daughter, so during my stay I was in the position of an elder daughter instead of a guest. This is why in the rest of the book I will mention the family members that I stayed with as “my adopted mother,” “my adopted sister,” and so on. Once I was part of the family, I had my own duties in the household, and I could learn almost every aspect of reindeer herding by trying and experiencing it. I believe it would be very hard, or maybe even impossible, to comprehend what it means to be a reindeer herder if I myself had not gone out to herd the reindeer in freezing temperatures, tried to catch them when we were back in the camp, or witnessed the birth of a calf. It was only at those times that I could grasp why some questions are hard to answer and can only be comprehended by experiencing life there. Of course, participating in those activities was hard at the beginning of my research, as people would not trust me with certain tasks, especially concerning the health of the reindeer, and treated me like a clumsy child. However, since I got through my training period during my visits, I was trusted more toward the end of my research. Using participant observation was more challenging for me for hunting, as I had a great disadvantage being a woman in this field. The women traditionally do not go hunting among the Dukha. Although this is mostly for practical reasons instead of a strict taboo preventing the women to join in hunting, I did not feel very comfortable asking to join long hunting trips very often because I was nervous about being a burden on them in such extreme conditions, making

INTRODUCTION

23

sounds or walking slowly, and I was also anxious I might break a taboo by accident and cause misfortune on the hunt. This is why I used more participant observation for reindeer herding, and more in-depth interviews for the hunting. During my research, my spouse came two times to visit me, and when we decided to set up our own tent on one of his stays, having our own household was also a different experience because I felt like I was really living there as part of the group. We had our own share of the meat after hunting trips and had our own visitors as an independent household. On top of this, he was a great mediator for entering the hunting domain, as he often went on hunting trips with the men and brought me great insight into the world of the hunters. It also gave me a chance to experience how the women feel while waiting for their husbands to return from a hunt. Joining this whole system of a hunter’s preparation and return helped me learn everything by experiencing instead of asking. I benefited from his visits very much, especially for the hunting part, not to mention the emotional support I felt when he was there. Communication with people was also a challenge at the beginning of my research. As I have mentioned in the preface, I decided to learn Dukhan, the native language of the Dukha, which is a branch of Tuvan, instead of Mongolian, as it was easier for me as a native speaker of Turkish to learn it, not to mention the advantages of learning their native language. The first time I went to the field in 2012, Ariuntamir, a Mongolian research assistant who was also an anthropology student at the time, accompanied me to help me communicate; I have since improved my speaking skills drastically. When I returned to the field, I could already communicate in Dukhan on my own, but I found it hard to understand deep spiritual subjects. For this reason, I asked for help from one of the girls in the taiga, and I was very lucky to receive the attention I needed from her. Naran, a twenty-three-year-old Dukha who studied at the university in Ulan Bator, was very interested in learning English. So I proposed to her a language exchange deal, where I would teach her English for an hour every day and she would teach me Dukhan. My adopted mother also helped me a lot with language, as I asked her many things during the long nights spent by the fire. Naran also helped me write my research questions in Dukhan, which was a great idea because after a short time I could ask anything I wanted about my research questions and learned many words about the topic. Since there are not Dukhan language dictionaries, this was sometimes complicated, but we used the help of a Mongolian-English dictionary, from which I would show her a word in English, and she would translate it to Dukhan after understanding what I meant by looking at the Mongolian word. Naran also helped me transcribe the interviews. Thanks to my lessons with Naran, I improved my Dukhan a lot. Zaya, a young Mongolian woman who is married to one of the Dukha men and speaks fluent English, also helped me with my interviews when needed, including the informal interviews I made with her husband, a good hunter in their home.

24

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

My decision to concentrate on the Dukha language instead of Mongolian had both advantages and disadvantages in my fieldwork. First, I cannot deny that my learning their native language, a disappearing language that no one seems to want to learn anymore, helped create a great rapport with people. Everyone was very happy and proud that I could speak their language, and they were very content to translate for me. When some Mongolians came to the camp, they were shocked that a foreigner spoke the Dukha language instead of Mongolian. Talking in Dukhan was also extremely vital for my research topic because I could try to understand what certain words, like “domestication” or “sacred places,” meant for them and how language holds key knowledge about the traditional subsistence patterns. For example, the variety of words describing the reindeer or hunting techniques were so rich in Dukhan that I do not even know how we could talk about those concepts in Mongolian. Plus, as I mentioned above, the connection between Dukhan and my native language, Turkish, created an additional tie between us, and I could comprehend some words so much more easily, as it reminded me of words from Turkish. On the other hand, my Mongolian has always been weak, and I felt the need to understand more Mongolian, especially among young people. The young people almost always speak Mongolian among themselves, and although I could understand the simple daily words, most of the time I would stare around with blank eyes when they spoke Mongolian, until someone would translate it to Dukhan for me. Thus, focusing on Dukhan instead of Mongolian was a disadvantage in communicating with young people. Apart from these practical decisions on methodology, I also encountered some ethical dilemmas during my research about different topics. Although most anthropology associations and universities have published basic codes of ethics, which I did my best to abide, novel ethical issues arise in many situations. Making the right decision is not always straightforward. In any case, the position of the researcher in qualitative research always plays a direct and intimate role in data collection and analysis, as widely discussed in the field (Dwyer and Buckle 2009). For this reason, I should clearly state that everything in this book was written from my own perspective and does not claim to represent the whole of Dukhan society. I do not use the real names of my informants to respect their privacy in the book, meaning all the names used in the book are nicknames. NOTE 1. Negdel is a term for the agricultural cooperatives in Mongolia in which most nomadic people were connected after collectivization.

PA RT I

TAIGA EMBRACING ALL

iii

Figure 1.1. Autumn camp. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author.

CHAPTER 1

MAP OF MEMORIES IN A SPIRITED GEOGRAPHY

iii The word “taiga” was enough to create mystery for an outsider like me. Which language was it? What did it mean? And more importantly, where was it? To reach the taiga where the Dukha live, I knew that I would need to head north from the closest settlement, but it was hard to know where the taiga began or ended, since it has no clear borders. Most dictionaries describe “taiga” as forests of high northern latitudes, so I understood that the forests in the area were considered the taiga, but what about the high valleys throughout the region, and various other corners of the landscape? Were they also considered part of the taiga? Later on, as I lived inside it, I would learn that my confusion was related to the way I perceived “wild” areas, seeing geographical features as concrete, bordered places on the map. For outsiders, the taiga is considered a “wild and empty” place, full of the unknown and far away from human habitation—miles away from the nearest urban center. This is why the forests of the north are usually chosen for wildlife or survival programs on television channels. Endless forests, wild animals, deep rivers, extreme temperatures dropping to below forty degrees Celsius in winter, and the difficulty of finding food in the forest seem horrifying to most urban dwellers. This image is, of course, not unique to the taiga in which the Dukhas live. The regions in which hunter-gatherers or nomadic peoples reside are often considered empty and wild by outsiders. They are described ethnocentrically and in ignorance of the history of the place, disregarding the people who have been living there for centuries (Routsala 2005: 26). As Descola (2005) explains, the concept of wilderness implies an original and preserved naturalness that needs to be protected from human damage. This is why we have endless examples of incidents in which the opinions of people living in those remote areas

28

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

are hardly taken into consideration, while governments declare them national parks or begin huge development projects, thinking—ethnocentrically—that these areas are wild and empty. Although I was used to life in the outdoors, I admit that I also had similar views about the taiga at the beginning. The idea of getting lost in these forests was so scary that whenever I was given tasks such as collecting wood from the forest or bringing snow, I paid extra attention not to get lost, since orientation in these deep forests was hard for me. Naturally, the Dukha perceive their environment differently from this outsider image. To them, the outsider’s “wild geography” is “home.” They do not perceive their home as a wild or dangerous place. The concept of home as a “safe” haven, surrounded by walls, is so deeply ingrained in most nonindigenous people that broader concepts of home—as one might witness them among indigenous nomadic peoples—are difficult to fathom for them. After spending more time with the Dukha it seemed to me they had an imaginary map in their minds, a map that outsiders did not have access to. The word taiga was such a significant one, carrying so many meanings with it that, from the beginning of my stay, I would hear it come up in every single conversation. There were songs written for the beloved taiga. All the nighttime tales told in the silence of cold nights took place in the taiga. Elders who had settled in the village talked about it with a deep sense of longing. Young people who were curious about other opportunities in the city happily returned to reunite with their taiga. Middle-aged people who were still lucky enough to live in their taiga would make offerings to it every day. The taiga was clearly at the center of all discussions relating to life among the Dukhas. People never ceased to emphasize that their home “taiga” was perceptibly different from the rest of Mongolia, calling themselves “dwellers of the taiga,” and not of the steppes. It was very clear in all regards that “taiga” referred to much more than a mere geographical area. Its identity was comprised of many factors, each of which solicited a strong sense of belonging. The taiga was an area where Dukhas felt at home when they entered, a key part of their political identity and of who they felt themselves to be. In this chapter, I will try to explain why the taiga is so crucial for Dukha people with various examples and set the scene to show in coming parts of the book how this connection to landscape affects humananimal relations. After beginning to live with the Dukha in the taiga, I gradually realized that all the places that had seemed to me so untouched were in actuality closely entwined with the human world. What seemed to me to be vast empty areas were indeed full of memories for the Dukha people, so our perception of the taiga was completely different, and we literally saw different things when we looked around. The valleys or mountains around us were indeed all known geographical features with names. However, being unaware of this fact, it was always very hard to talk about certain places for me because I had no reference points about

MAP OF MEMORIES IN A SPIRITED GEOGRAPHY

29

places. Our conversations would usually go like this when I was trying to describe a place: “Do you remember the time that we went to look for dried wood in the forest behind the tent and you showed me tracks of a rabbit? Then you took me to a tree which was special.” “Ah, yes, ham dïtkïn neš [the shaman’s tree].” “Hakka [brother], I would like to go back to this place that we picked berries last year by the hill, where we also lost a reindeer and then found it. Do you remember?” “Yes, eeli oy [the spirited river].”

So when you knew the names, talking about the places that I needed long sentences to describe was actually that easy! When one of the young hunters realized this situation, he decided to help me draw a map of the area. It was at this point that I realized almost all the mountains, hills, peaks, lakes, rivers, streams, valleys, and taigas had their own names in the Dukha language. These places, which were closely related to the stories and past events from which they had derived their names, bringing along many stories and knowledge about the landscape, were all considered “empty” areas on official maps. Thus, learning place names from Dukhas slowly revealed to me some of the knowledge that was embedded in the landscape, and it was made clearer to me how people perceived their environment—far beyond the serene landscape I had first envisioned. Since place names are always associated with historical events or stories, it was oral narratives, hidden in place names, that had the power to establish strong bonds between people and the natural landscape (Bosso 1996: 40). Thus, the knowledge of place names increased my access to the map of memories in people’s minds. They also helped me become oriented, as they began to serve me as reference points. Place names among the Dukha usually have similar patterns; I will explain them with some examples of taiga names. Some place names simply describe the geographical characteristics of the area. An example would be Saylïg Dayga, which means “taiga that has a flowing river.” Other place names contain practical knowledge about the geography of an area, giving people an idea about what to expect in a place once they arrive there. Örtten gïrhï Taiga means “taiga with flat burning meadow.” People went there in summers, and the area was known for its summer wildfires. Qaqpa Dayga means “taiga with a trap.” This area was good for hunting small animals, and people would set many traps there. Some place names were related to past events, connecting people with narratives and experiences of their ancestors. For example, İrool Dayga means “man/son taiga.” According to legend, a woman who had desired a child for a long time had a son there. People who wanted a child still prayed in that taiga. Other place names had associations with the spirit world, describing the nature of that place. For example, Eeli Oy is a small river with a spirit. Similarly, Eerenli Dayga referred

30

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

to taigas in which an eeren was left behind by the ancestors a long time ago. An eeren is a piece of fabric that has been animated by the shaman and turned into a protector spirit. As is evident from the examples, the names of the encampments include both geographic and narrative knowledge about the landscape. This enables a young person hearing the name for the first time to know what to expect in a place or what the place means to people. It also enables access to the collective memory of the society. Naming of geographical locations is one of the most obvious ways to keep past narratives alive, endowing them with meaning and character. Such places are like the “mental encyclopaedias of its users” (Maffi 1999: 28). In addition to their communal significance, place names also held personal memories for each person living in that taiga. They could evoke entirely different worlds of meaning for different people. In an effort to better understand the kinds of associations place names brought into people’s minds, I began asking Dukhas about their favorite places in the taiga and why they liked them. My inquiries brought out so many detailed memories and stories attached to those places that, after a while, even the most ordinary geographical features came to life. The land had become to me like a precious book, holding vital knowledge about the people. As each individual had a different mental map in their mind, their surroundings became imbued with unique meanings. It was obvious that the same mountains or forests that to an outsider might have seemed wild constituted, for the Dukha observer, a completely different environment—a place filled with memories from every valley, hill, river, or forest in which they had spent their life. Some might have been born in one of those valleys; others had first fallen in love near a certain stream, or given birth in a certain valley. Yet others would have formed a new household for the first time in a particular taiga. The role of hunting trips and nomadic movements was evident in the formation of this sentimental relationship with the landscape. I remember how forty-two-year-old Chokhu, who was a very quiet person, got really emotional when he was talking about his favorite taiga, which he went to with his father and uncle when he was seventeen years old. They had stayed there for almost ten days. Chokhu hunted his first deer there, and the trip was one of the best memories he had of his father before he passed away a couple of years later. Batbayar, another young hunter, once told me how he learned about the ancestral lands: Galhakdıt Taiga is really far away, almost at the source of the Tengiz River, near the Russian border. We used to go there often when I was a child. My parents were alive at the time. I remember the first time I crossed the Russian border with my dad when we went hunting. I mean, it wasn’t really different and there were no official borders. We just walked in the valley, but I was excited to be in Tuva because of all the stories I had heard. I thought, we are in Toju, the land of our ancestors. This is why this taiga always reminds me of Toju and I like it very much.” (Field notes, 2015)

MAP OF MEMORIES IN A SPIRITED GEOGRAPHY

31

I listened to so many stories like this during the time I stayed in the taiga that the landscape almost came to serve as a visual research tool. I would simply point to a geographical feature on our trips through the taiga and hear a story or a memory about it. Moreover, the memories about the landscape were not all about people. There were also many narratives about occasions where someone had met a spirit, or where something significant had happened for a reindeer or a dog. I heard many stories from people explaining how they valued a certain area because their favorite dog was born there or they had an encounter with a wild animal or something significant happened to their herd. Many incidents involved other-than-human animals or spirits. Thus, the landscape incorporated more than the human world and memories relating to it. As a whole, the taiga ecosystem involved people, spirits, and nonhuman animals. In other words, the geography was “understood as events, rather than discrete geographic locations” (Aporta 2016: 69). Since Dukhas do not have written sources or history books to talk about their past, all their information is embedded in the landscape. Turning every corner in a valley, or climbing a small hill by a river, all these memories are refreshed again and again, and knowledge is re-remembered. After a while, on my third or fourth visit to the taiga, those mountains and rivers around us also started to have meanings for me. For instance, there was a mobile network on one of the hills near the autumn camp, and I used to go there once a week to call my family and let them know that I was fine. Besides, the hills were covered with berries so I also had a chance to enjoy this feast once a week with my adopted sister, who was joining me on these trips that connected me to loved ones at home. The road to the top had a very interesting soft ground structure that reminded me of a sponge (which also makes it difficult to walk there), so we called it the “forest of sponge.” When I returned to the same place two years later, that hill was no longer an ordinary wildness for me. It was the sponge hill that connected me with my family, a place that cheered our days with the fruits it offered and made us burst into laughter while my sister and I were running a contest to see who would collect more berries. This was when I understood that we have our childhood photos that connect us to the past, and the Dukha had their taiga, which served the same purpose, reminding them of their memories. This is why, when Dukhas look at the taiga, they do not simply see the land, but they see a combination of everything, ranging from precious moments spent there to spirited places.

SPIRITS ARE EVERYWHERE It was the first summer I went to the taiga. Surrounded by dense forests and high mountains, we set off to visit a family living far from the group. We had been riding our horses for almost six hours, and there were still no traces of humans.

32

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

Figure 1.2. The taiga is alive and full of spirits. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author.

Batbayar, one of the young hunters who was leading me to the family, was moving ahead of me, often turning around to check how I was doing. After a few hours of riding, we reached the top of a hill. I was constantly thinking about when we would arrive, but of course the question of “when” did not make much sense in the taiga so, feeling shy, I kept rather silent. When we reached the top, Batbayar jumped from his horse and took out his bag, saying that we would take a break there. I got off my horse, and while I rested my legs, Batbayar started to collect small pieces of wood nearby. We had just eaten, and since we were not going to take a long break there, I was wondering what he was going to do with the wood. When I asked if we would stay there for a long time, he replied, “I need to make tea.” I liked the idea of some hot tea because I was already tired, but I was still surprised that he wanted to make tea when we had just stopped for a lunch break an hour ago. When the water was boiled, Batbayar went to the edge of the hill with a cup in his hand. I still did not know what he was trying to do. I was so curious that I followed him. He stopped at the edge of the hill and began to sprinkle the tea with a wooden spoon he had removed from his saddlebag. After scattering tea in four directions, he smiled at me and said, “This is a spirited (eeli) place. It would be disrespectful without making an offering. I do this every time I pass here.” Even though at the time I did not know what a spirited place was exactly, I knew we were in a special area. As I will explain in detail in this section, for the Dukha, the geography is a living being full of spirits. Therefore, survival in these lands depends on one’s

MAP OF MEMORIES IN A SPIRITED GEOGRAPHY

33

sensitive relationships with the invisible entities in the geography, and anyone who does not know how to read the signs in their surroundings can easily get into trouble. Living in the taiga consequently requires more than survival skills; it calls for detailed knowledge about the nature of these spirits and how to interact with them. David G. Anderson (2000) explains this relationship using the concept of “sentient ecology,” in which hunters act and move in full expectation that animals and tundra will respond to their actions. The Dukha similarly attributes the power to react and interact to their surroundings. As there are many types of spirits that reside in the taiga, proper interaction requires knowledge of their specific character. From this perspective, all entities in nature have powers, being part of nature (Humphrey, Mongush, and Telengid 1993: 53). When people walk around in forests and valleys, or by lakes and rivers, they communicate with other beings all the time, or at least acknowledge their presence. In order to survive, people have to maintain good relations with these powers (lngold 2000: 66–67). The main universal spirit among Dukhas is called ˇJer eezi, which literally means “land or world owner,” being the supreme power and mediator between all living things. It is ˇJer eezi who protects the animals or people in the taiga and punishes them when they violate the proper rules of conduct among themselves. ˇJer eezi is considered the omniscient spirit controlling the land, but people believe that certain places have their own spirit owners, and one has to be careful in those places so as not to offend them. People have to interact with these “intentional non-human agents” in a friendly and submissive manner if they wish to avoid trouble (Pedersen 2009: 138). Described as “sacred places” by some researchers, these locations are usually “connected with what the western world classifies as ‘natural’ features of the ‘landscape,’ such as mountain peaks, springs, rivers, woods, and caves” (Carmichael, Hubert, and Reeves 1994: 1). The Dukha have different words to describe spirited places and their different characters, which actually took me a while to learn. Having heard the name of a place, people know what to expect in that place, and they are able to act accordingly. Some of those spirited places are described as “soft” ( ˇȷ ïmȷˇaq) or “hard” (qatï). Soft places can be visited, but they require special care. People have to make sure offerings are made to the spirits residing there. Hard places, on the other hand, cannot be visited, but people make offerings to them from far away. Different opinions exist as to why spirits in specific places have become malevolent. Some stories claim that those places had been polluted by people a long time ago, and thus the spirit of the place had become aggressive. Other stories claim that these places had always been like this because these were areas that needed protection. The character of a place could also be “tied to human interaction with the land and its spirits” (Kristensen 2004: 34). Areas where hard spirits lived could be normal places at ordinary times, but the spirits, when angered,

34

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

possessed the power to change the weather or intervene in other ways. For example, if the spirited place was a river, and somebody stepped into it, it might flood or quickly turn into a raging torrent. If the place was a mountain and someone attempted to climb it, the wind might pick up dramatically. One of the bestknown mountains in the region, Mount Arig, was famous among Dukhas for its malevolent spirit. A well-known story told of a team of researchers who had attempted to climb the mountain. Soon after setting out, a snowstorm swept across the mountain. The researchers were forced to return to camp, leaving one of their team members behind. The Russian researcher who was left behind did eventually make it back to the camp. On his return he was pale, looking visibly terrified, and despite his gallant effort in making it back to camp, he died soon after. Nobody had attempted to climb the mountain since. To my Dukha friends, this incident proved that anyone who tried to climb there would eventually come to suffer. Such stories were not just confined to the past. Many Dukhas have had similar experiences themselves. For example, there was a lake behind one of the Dukha encampments, and the spirits around that lake were known to be very angry. People always asked for permission from the spirits before they drank the water. It was considered extremely dangerous to waste water in such a place. People were to take only enough water to drink, but never to transport water away from its source. Ganbold, one of the elders, explained his own experience with a lake behind the summer camp that hosts a malevolent spirit: There is a lake behind that mountain and the spirits around that lake are known to be very angry. We always pray here before we drink the water and ask the spirit, “Can I drink some of your water or can I give water to my horse?” This is a very sacred place and we never consume water here. We only get enough to drink there, but never take water away from the lake. We also will not hunt around the lake. (Field notes, 2012)

According to Dukha tradition, there are also spirited places that are not open to hunting, as the animals living there were under the protection of ˇJer eezi. The consequences of hunting in a forbidden spirited place could be devastating, and many stories attested to hunters who had suffered miserably from breaking these taboos. A middle-aged Dukha hunter explained to me how he had suffered for many years after hunting an elk near a spirited river he had not known about: When I was young, I hunted an elk near this river. I didn’t know that it was a forbidden area. I went there with six reindeer and while I was coming back, carrying the meat, I lost five reindeer to wolves and came back with only one reindeer. My reindeer were dying without reason. After that for many, many years I saw this nightmare of the elk attacking me. Later, I went to that place

MAP OF MEMORIES IN A SPIRITED GEOGRAPHY

35

to ask for forgiveness. I am getting better only in the last few years and the nightmare is much more sporadic. I know where to hunt and what to hunt now. I learned my lesson. (Nemdali, field notes, 2015).

Other recollections of broken taboos in spirited places told of punishments, including the death of a hunter in the sacred place itself. Everybody seemed to agree that hunting in spirited places was akin to stealing from another person— an act that could have lasting consequences not only for the perpetrator, but also for generations to come. Soft spirited places had a calmer character, and people could visit them, making offerings and even benefitting from their healing power. One of these places in the taiga is famous not only among Dukhas but also among Mongolians. When I first arrived in the taiga in the summer of 2012, I met an old man who was traveling with his daughter to Arikšan, a spirited river that is famous for its ability to heal various diseases. Despite its remote location, many people visit Arikšan in summer. Another similar place with a soft character was ˇJošama Lake, where Dukhas sometimes camped in autumn. People spoke of a small island in this lake and said that, from time to time, a white horse would appear on it. Seeing this white horse brought good luck to the person, and it meant protection for them and their family. Another well-known soft-spirited place was ˇJaraš River, which was known to produce stones in different shapes. There were many stones in the shape of animals in the river, and keeping one of those stones could bring good luck to the person, or it could even protect them. Gerel, a young herder, told me how a stone from that river helped him: Once I found a stone that was shaped like a black bird. It was red when I first took it, but it turned grey and black in time. I feel like my life evolves just the same way this stone does so it became a part of me. I also couldn’t kill a black bird after that. I think that this animal protects me. I hang that stone on my ereen at home and then later it brings us good luck. I will leave it to my children. (Field notes, 2016)

Apart from soft and hard places that were tied to spirits in various ways, there also were places referred to as azalïg ˇȷer. This term in Tuvan translates as “evil place.” Such places were not necessarily tied to a specific landscape, but they had the capacity to change over time, which made them even more treacherous. An area usually became haunted because someone had passed away there and their soul had never left the place. Usually, they had died there as the result of neglecting proper spiritual conduct. As those areas were not stable, people needed to be able to recognize the signs of an azalïg place. Strange incidents could occur in those places. For example, someone might accidentally hurt himself or herself, or a dog might bark without reason. People also experienced unusual nightmares, or they could hear unusual sounds in such locations. Hard

36

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

places were easier to avoid because people learned about them from their elders, but azalïg places could be anywhere, and people understood where they were only after they had come to experience it.

PROTECTORS OF THE LAND: AVILAN AND BATÏQŠAN I kept hearing Batïqšan`s name from the first day I went into the taiga. On cold winter nights sitting by the fire, listening to the cracking of oak wood inside the tent, people would laugh while telling their stories about her, but after the conversation ended, there was always an awkward silence. This spirit, which manifested itself as a short woman, was one of the most important protectors of the taiga. Although all spirited places protect their area from humans and harmful activities, there are some legends among Dukhas that mention special spirits who reveal themselves to people as they become visible or tangible. Two of these famous spirits are Avilan and Batïqšan. These two spirits are of the forest and of the mountains, and they protect the animals that reside among them, primarily from hunters trying to kill in spirited sites. Batïqšan, who appears in the form of a short woman with long hair, was especially well known among Dukhas, and there were many stories about how she had revealed herself to people. According to the most famous legend about Batïqšan, a man had gone hunting when he came across a deer. He wounded the deer, but the deer did not die, and it kept running away towards Mount Arig. He followed the deer to the mountain to kill it, at which moment the weather suddenly turned. A big storm broke out, and it started to rain and snow. The man realized he had entered a spirited mountain place and, filled with fear, returned home. On his way back, he saw the deity with his own eyes. The spirit was a short woman with long hair, and she was holding half of a bowl in her hand. She was healing the deer that he had wounded, and it seemed to recover. Scared by the incident, the man ran away (Kücüküstel 2013: 98). In most of the accounts, Batïqšan is healing animals or protecting her mountain or a forested area from people, and even from domesticated reindeer. People have seen her chasing domestic reindeer from an area, or scaring a hunter who is about to kill on a spirited site. People have also seen her while sitting on a fallen tree in the forest, or while drinking water from a river. Elders told me she did not reveal herself to everybody, especially these days. In the stories, people were usually afraid when they saw her; however, meeting Batïqšan was also interpreted as a good omen. One woman, Enkhtuyaa, told me that many years ago, her father had seen Batïqšan while wandering around the taiga. He had seen a little child sitting on a tree, a child with long fuzzy hair. He rushed back to the camp to tell the people about it. The elderly people said that he had seen a land spirit, and that it would serve him well. When he decided to go back to

MAP OF MEMORIES IN A SPIRITED GEOGRAPHY

37

invite the spirit to the camp, so they could host her, she had already gone. People told him that this was a sign that he was lucky and would have a long life. There was yet another land spirit that appeared to people, if not as frequently as Batïqšan, called Avilan. Like Batïqšan, this spirit protected the environment, but according to legend, it had a dual form, resembling a half human and half animal. As the account claims, all people have a good and bad side, and if this spirit comes across a person, it will divide that person into two, taking the good side for itself. The footsteps of this spirit are human on one side and bear on the other, representing the duality of Avilan (Kücüküstel 2013: 99–100). Pedersen, who also discusses Avilan in his work on Dukhas, talks of other legends in which a hunter who killed a wild reindeer near Mount Arig annoys the mountain spirit. The hunter feels very scared but has to spend the night there since it is getting dark. The next day, when he wakes up, he sees several halfpeople climbing the mountain, and the dead reindeer he had killed the previous night getting up from where it had lain. The Avilan heals the animal, returning life to it (Pedersen 2009: 139). While most Dukhas were fearful of Avilan and Batïqšan, as they could be dangerous if one had broken a taboo, many also respected them. The core of this respect was related to their sense of justice, because people knew that these spirits were a threat only when people did something wrong. Their sometimes aggressive ways of guarding their territory was perceived as venerable, even necessary.

DAÏLGA: ANCESTRAL SITES One of the young hunters in the taiga started to have some health problems in the winter of 2015, and, despite seeing the doctor and doing all the recommendations, he did not completely recover. He was feeling dizzy, and when this lasted for a long time, his family started to think that there must be another reason for this problem, one that needed to be investigated in the spirit world. They went to the shaman for a ritual, and when the appropriate day for the ritual was decided, the whole camp gathered while the shaman was looking for the answers in the spirit world. It is the custom that other people who have their own questions also join in the ceremony because once the shaman sets out on the journey to the spirit world, he or she could look for solutions for others as well. The sound of the drum filled the tent, and indeed the camp, on that cold winter night until the early hours of the morning. The next day, I was wandering around the camp, curious to find out about the previous night, but the young hunter was not around. He disappeared from the camp for a few days and only in the coming days did I find out what happened. The shaman had told the young hunter that he had those health issues

38

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

Figure 1.3. People make offerings to ˇJer eezi every morning in all four directions. Mongolia, 2016. Photo by the author.

because he had not prayed for his daïlga, or ancestral site, for a long time, and he must make offerings to it now to be able to get well. After hearing this, the young hunter set out on a journey to his daïlga to make the offerings, apologizing to the ancestors for his neglect and asking for forgiveness. All Dukha families have ancestral sites called daïlga whose locations depend on their family lineage. These ancestral sites are usually places where a powerful shaman ancestor from that family is laid to rest using the sky burial. A specific tree, a mountain, or a valley could also be considered an ancestral site. The children of a family would mark their respect each year by making offerings in this place, and if this was not possible, they would make offerings in the direction of the daïlga. Just like spirited places with an owner, there are two types of daïlga among Dukhas: the soft kind and the hard. If one’s daïlga is hard, family members could not physically visit the ancestral place because the spirits would become upset if someone were to approach. In this case, people just made their offerings from far away, making an örgïl, a special veneration totem to show their respect and make offerings. Families who belonged to a soft daïlga could visit their site, pray next to it, tie khadag (a long and narrow piece of ceremonial scarf that comes in many colors and has a spiritual meaning, used to show respect), and make offerings.

MAP OF MEMORIES IN A SPIRITED GEOGRAPHY

39

The spirits in those places not only liked to be visited, they expected it. In addition to certain ancestral sites, most families among Dukhas also have a daïlga tree that belonged to their family lineage. Visiting a daïlga tree is necessary for the men, as they have to make offerings there regularly. The rituals of visiting a daïlga tree are similar to visiting any daïlga, and the best time to visit one’s sacred tree is in the autumn, within fifteen days of the new moon. Once the day of the journey is chosen, people go to the tree, approach it carefully, and follow the movements of the sun, moving clockwise. They make their offerings and offer their petitions. Most of the people I spoke to about it claimed that within eighteen or twenty-one days, they could tangibly feel a change in their lives. According to most elders, the changes that occurred under socialism had broken the links between families and their trees, causing adverse effects on those families who had experienced dislocation between them and their tree. Sickness among families, and especially in children, the elders claimed, had increased since this segregation. Many people attributed special value to their tree and thought that their tree affected their lives in many ways. They claimed that if they were not to visit their tree for a prolonged time, the consequences would become very obvious; things would start to go wrong. An old hunter told me that around ten years earlier, he had realized that his hunting success was directly related to his family tree, suggesting his neglect had been reflected in his lack of hunting success. While daïlga brought good luck to people when they visited them, they also had the potential to harm if they felt neglected for a long time. During my fieldwork, not all people could visit their daïlga, even if it was soft, as some of the sites were located on the other side of the border to Tuva. People tried to compensate for this in various ways, but it remained an issue of great importance to some elders. Gantulga, one of the elders in the east taiga told me how important this was to him: Daïlga is of great importance for the wellbeing of a family. Our ancestral spirits dwell there, and praying for them regularly is extremely important. For example, my daïlga is a large shaman tree in Tuva. We used to go there every year with my father and make our offerings. It was a four-day journey on reindeer, but every autumn it was a tradition for my family. After the border between Mongolia and Russia was closed and it became strictly controlled, we could no longer visit our tree. We try to pray from here but who knows what we are missing by not going there? Sometimes, when we have bad fortune, I can’t help but think it might be because of that. (Field notes, 2015)

As is apparent in the recounted incidents and what happened to the young hunter, the Dukha believe that daïlga sites have different spirits residing there and that they certainly expect to be respected and cared for.

40

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

RECIPROCIT Y WITH NATURE: LANDSCAPE AS AN OPEN CEMETERY Apart from the owner spirits and daïlga spirits that reside in the taiga, there is another important factor that makes every square of this geography sacred for the Dukhas: the entire taiga is an open cemetery for them. Dukhas traditionally practice sky burials, leaving their dead in the open, allowing animals to eat the corpse. Burying the dead was considered a taboo, and, when asked, most people would say that digging up the ground was a form of pollution. Some people explained this in terms of the pollution caused by the decaying body in the soil. While bones remained in the ground when buried, they disappeared in sky burials. One of the elders explained it like this: Long time ago we were the people who always migrated, people on the move. People do not want to bury the person because sometimes when you bury them, the soul leaves but the body stays so in a way it damages nature [ ˇȷ er, which literally means “the land”]. So as not to damage nature and not to disappoint it, we want everything to go back to nature. When you leave the body outside, nothing is left. Your soul leaves and everything else serves as meat for the animals. (Erhi, field notes, 2016)

Other people explained the tradition in terms of reciprocity with the animals. Since people eat animals when they are alive, animals should eat people when they are dead. Animals, especially birds such as eagles, ravens, and vultures, consumed the dead. It was important to people that the ritual was conducted appropriately, or else the soul of the person might not leave, in which case it could seek to disturb the living. Leaving the body outside is an important tradition among the Dukha, but nowadays people who die in the village are buried, and the rituals concerning the dead are a mixture of shamanism and Buddhism these days. If the person passed away in the taiga, people make a new separate tent called alaȷˇï to keep the dead inside until they find a suitable place to leave the body. The family does not take the dead body through the door of the tent, predicated on the thinking that its soul might come back. Instead they take it out from the right side of the door between the poles, in a way deceiving the dead about the place of the door. Then they call a lama from the city and wait to hear from him how to proceed. Meanwhile, people come for the funeral, and they bring some food with them, thinking that the family might need to feed people. The lama opens the fate of the person and tell the family what to do depending on that. The lama also prays for that person after the twentieth and forty-ninth day since the death. The dead body is wrapped in a white khadag, and the eyes also covered with a white fabric, and it is left waiting like this until the day of the sky burial. When the right place to leave the dead is found,

MAP OF MEMORIES IN A SPIRITED GEOGRAPHY

41

people prepare to take the body. This place is usually supposed to be faraway and beautiful. When people arrive at this place, they lay a green fabric on the ground and then put the body on it. They put tea under the head of the deceased, and, if the person is a smoker, they also leave some tobacco or a pipe with them. Other personal objects of the person are hung outside with them. If they have an eeren, a shamanic protector spirit, it also needs to be hung on a tree outside. People also tie strips of white khadag on the trees surrounding the area where they have left the body. The family of the deceased goes back to look for the body on the forty-ninth day, but people say when a dead body is left on the ground, it takes three days for it to disappear. Animals, especially carrion-eating birds, eat it. It is quite important that the ritual is done carefully, otherwise the soul of the person might not leave and may seek to disturb the living. The funeral rites are named ˇȷurttadïr, which means “to make someone settle or make someone have a homeland.” The ceremony transforms the geography into an open cemetery, or, as the name in Dukhan suggests, a locality in which the beloved ancestors “settle.” Thus, people wandering around this vast landscape know that it hosts the spirits of the deceased, and they make offerings when passing by places they know the deceased have been left. In considering all those factors, we can clearly say that Dukhas consider the taiga alive, and every corner of it is full of memories. People have always interacted with their environment and with the spirits residing in all corners of the land. I believe the idea that people are always being watched and interacting with their environment when they are in the taiga brings along a unique existential perception for Dukha and maybe for other animistic societies. As Descola (2005) describes it, this way of thinking humanizes other living beings because the soul they have allows them to communicate both among themselves and humans. I would like to explain this with a quote from John Berger’s famous book Ways of Seeing, interpreting his idea in a different way. Berger (1972: 9) writes, “Soon after we can see, we are also aware that we can be seen. The eye of the other combines with our own eye to make it fully credible that we are part of the visible world. . . . The reciprocal nature of vision is more fundamental than that of dialogue.” Berger is probably talking about other people when he writes “the eye of the other”; however, it supplies a perfect example for how the Dukha perceive the world, despite the fact that this “eye of the other” does not always mean other humans for them. I agree with Berger that the “eye of the other” is something that makes us feel visible and even alive, as our existence in a way is constantly acknowledged like this. But in Western societies, this “eye of the other” consists only of other people, which means that our interaction with nature misses this “other eye,” making us drawn to people instead of places in the environment. However, for a society like the Dukha, the environment consists of many “other eyes,” so people always feels validated and visible while walk-

42

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

ing in the taiga, as the mountains or rivers constantly interact with them or see them, the way they see mountains or rivers. This naturally turns the action of seeing into a reciprocal act and increases the attachment to the environment, turning it into an active, mutual process where the existence of beings is always validated by each other. The fact that one is always seen and is thus made visible by spirits of the taiga when wandering around leads them to not feel lonely in the taiga even when there are no other humans around them. Thus, the attachment to the landscape is very strong, and when a Dukha person leaves the taiga, he is really shaken from the roots because his visibility and existence is threatened as he sees himself become less visible in life. Having discussed the factors that connect Dukhas to their landscape, I would like to conclude this chapter by illuminating some of the ways in which this intimate relationship with the landscape is also closely related to the concept of domestication. Beyond doubt, the relationship between people and their domesticated reindeer is deeply affected by the relationship they have with the land, almost to the point of forming the backbone of domestication. Let me explain. Reindeer are the only domesticated species that can survive in the taiga, thanks to their ability to move in deep snow, survive in freezing temperatures, and forage for themselves (Vitebsky 2005: 20–23). Indeed, they are the only domesticated animal that is native to the taiga, and people are dependent on cooperation with the reindeer if they wish to maintain the taiga as their home. In other words, the fact that both reindeer and people perceive the taiga as a common home is what brings them together. When Dukhas say, “We cannot live without the reindeer,” they mean it literally. Life in the taiga requires reindeer, as it is impossible to migrate without them, meaning that the Dukha also cannot leave their reindeer if they wish to stay in their homeland. Of course, people can move to the village and herd other livestock, much like other Mongolian families do. But it is their deep connection to the taiga that, in turn, makes people dependent on their reindeer. Thus, I believe, it is this deep yet often-neglected connection that plays such a crucial role in the continuation of reindeer breeding. The fact that people need reindeer more than reindeer need people—providing that the people want to live in the taiga—changes the nature of relations between people and reindeer in how domestication is practiced. The reindeer hold a sentimental power over people in this relationship, as they maintain their status as natives of the taiga who help people stay in their beloved geography. In other words, the landscape is the core feature holding reindeer and people together, rather than common spheres of either tameness or wildness that might serve as a shared “home” for both parties. The commitment of Dukhas to their reindeer is fundamentally connected with their attachment to their landscape. This is why I suggest that, when evaluating the relationships between people and animals, landscape and vicinity are of great significance, offering another



M a p o f M e m o r i e s i n a S p i r i t e d G e o g r a p h y 43

dimension to anthropological debates on human-animal relations, apart from functional, economic, or social significance. I will discuss the details of reindeer herding and the dynamics of this relationship in the next chapter. Additionally, we can easily say that landscape and the spirits residing in it also play a crucial role in hunting rituals. It is the land spirits who decide to offer their animals to the people or not, and one’s success in hunting is directly related to their way of interacting with the landscape and, of course, with animals. This is why landscape again is an important consideration for a study of the way people interact with wild animals. NOTE A previous version of this chapter was published in Selcen Küçüküstel, “I Can’t Leave My Erens: Living in a Spirited Geography with Reindeer,” in Multispecies Households in the Saian Mountains: Ecology at the Russia-Mongolia Border, edited by A. Oehler and A. Varfolomeeva (London: Lexington Books, 2019).

PA RT I I

LIVING WITH REINDEER

iii

Figure 2.1. The reindeer have big furry antlers in summer. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author.

CHAPTER 2

BEYOND DOMESTICATION NURTURING CONTROL

iii It was the end of winter on a calm, sunny March afternoon in 2015. Snow was still on the ground, but it was not as cold, especially during the day when the sun was shining. It still dropped below zero at night, however, and would continue this way almost until June. We were sitting with my Dukha mother, Sarnai, just chatting about day-to-day things, laughing. I was washing the dishes while she was sewing her shoes. She is the sort of woman who never idles around; she always finds something to do. I had just come back from an afternoon walk in the camp. An afternoon walk in the taiga in winter means visiting people and reindeer, if they are back from grazing. Here in the taiga, the tents are always open for visitors; you just make a little noise, sometimes not even that, and enter the tent. After a short greeting, whichever family member it is at home will immediately serve you some hot tea, and then you hang around. You don’t really need to talk much; you can just sit down, drink your tea silently, and observe your surroundings. Everybody was at home when I went out for my daily walk, doing not much but still something. Winter is the calmest and, in a way, the easiest and freest time. Children were at school; families with younger children were in the village; even the reindeer, who had been far away in a valley on their own during winter, had come back just a few weeks before. Sarnai said, “Drink tea, drink tea,” as always. Just before I intend to get some tea, Munku, our neighbor’s daughter, shouted out, “The reindeer are coming, reindeer are coming!” This is what happened every day, around 6:00 pm in our camp. With this sound, the quiet, tranquil atmosphere of the camp suddenly changed, and everybody, no matter what they were doing, ran out with a bag of salt in their hand to catch their reindeer. All of a sudden the mood was elevated; people became excited and cheerful. Just like children breathing joy into a household,

48

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

reindeer breathed joy into the camp. The whole event made me feel much more alive and vivacious, watching people taking care of the reindeer one by one, giving them salt, trying to catch them. Some of the reindeer ran away, not tempted by the salt, which began a short marathon between the reindeer and the owners. Families helped each other in this chaos. Even the three-year-old daughter of Altansarnai gave salt to the reindeer to catch them. Tsolmon, the daughter of Sarnai, noticed my smile and told me, “Reindeer are such good animals, aren’t they?” The truth is, they really are. It was not long after staying in the taiga for me to realize that this excitement was contagious. I also started to wait in anticipation for their return in the evenings, as it did not make much sense to be here without them. That is why people doted on them and why they should: their existence in the taiga was totally dependent on the reindeer. Sarnai heard Tsolmon and me talking, and, interrupting my musing, said, “Well they are here with us all the time, they never leave us. Children go to the village for school, but the reindeer stay with us.” This part of the book intends to explain why the reindeer are irreplaceable both socially and functionally for the Dukha, and how those relations between two species are set in a way that both parties are enthusiastic to maintain this partnership, even making sacrifices from time to time. In short, I intend to tell the story of the Dukha and their beloved reindeer.

REINDEER AND HUMANS: A BRIEF HISTORY The reindeer, Rangifer tarandus, a cold-climate animal that lives only in the Northern Hemisphere in arctic and subarctic environments, has had different roles and interactions with people throughout history, sometimes as domesticated animals that live alongside people and sometimes as a wild animal to hunt. They have been a “source of food and raw materials for human populations from Palaeolithic to the present” (Helskog and Indrelid 2011: 1). The animals that are indigenous to northern Europe and Asia are called “reindeer,” while they are called “caribou” in North America (Paine 1988: 31). According to Vitebsky (2005: 17), “The reindeer has been giving life to humans for hundreds of thousands of years in the northern hemisphere.” In his article “Reindeer Economies,” Tim Ingold (1986: 5) mentions the history of relations between reindeer and people, saying, “The association between [humans] and reindeer dates back as far as the Middle Pleistocene, spanning some half a million years. Probably no single species has been of greater significance for the human habitation of Europe and Siberia, and thence of North America.” We know that human-reindeer association dates back to ancient times, but the origins of reindeer domestication, where and when it first started, is a mys-

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

49

tery that is yet unsolved. Many scholars think that the domestication of reindeer might have begun in the Sayan Mountains and spread from there. According to Vitebsky (2005), all evidence for the first domestication of reindeer shows up in the further south in the Sayan mountains that straddle the border of Siberia and Mongolia. This is based on the existence of ancient drawings of reindeer and men on rocks and cliffs. Some of these drawings show people riding reindeer and controlling a herd. Mirov (1945: 398-405) acknowledges that “all archaeological evidence of domestication of reindeer shows the upper Yenisei area,” and the South Siberian Turkic-speaking tribes seem to have the highest degree of domestication. Vainstein (1980: 131–132) also believes that all materials indicate that deer herding originated from the Sayans in ancient times, and “Sayan reindeer is the most domesticated breed.” This type of reindeer herding is referred to in the literature as the “Sayan type,” which includes pack carrying, riding with saddle and stirrups, and milking (Vainstein 1980: 130). One of the oldest pieces of archeological evidence found to date on the topic is the frozen horse wearing a reindeer mask. This was discovered in Pazyryk in the Altai Mountains and was dated to the fifth century BC. Rock pictures showing reindeer sledges in the upper Yenisei region and a wooden figure showing a reindeer in a harness in the Sayan mountains dating to the second century AD are also among the oldest examples, all indicating southern Siberia as the origin of domestication (Müller-Wille et al. 2006: 30). Communities in Southern Siberia, such as the Dukha, have mixed subsistence patterns combining traits of hunter-gatherers and pastoralists and are usually mentioned under the Sayan type (Donahoe 2012: 99–100). Thus, the relations between the Dukha and their reindeer is of great importance, situated in the mountains where the origin of domestication took place, although we are in no position to say whether they are the same as the original relations. In any case, it is known that the relations between humans and reindeer have a long history, dating back thousands of years, and the Dukha are one of the rare communities who still practice small-scale reindeer herding. However, the relationship between people and reindeer is not just limited to reindeer domestication. The wild reindeer is still hunted in some regions, while the same species are herded by pastoralists in other regions, or a combination of both are practiced (Paine 1988: 31). Thus, the relationship between humans and reindeer has existed in varied stances, always moving back and forth between these categories, although it is known that the first shift was from hunting wild reindeer to small scale “reindeer keeping” for transportation and milk, combined with hunting. It was only recently that the hunters with small packs switched to extensive reindeer pastoralism. Ingold (1980: 176) identified these two different classes of domestic reindeer herding, naming them “milch pastoralism” and “carnivorous pastoralism.” In the first one, reindeer are kept for their labor—for example, as harness animals—and for milk provision, while in carnivorous pastoralism they are kept as a source of meat. The milch pasto-

50

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

ralists also consume their reindeer in the end, but the animals are more valuable when alive (Ingold 1980: 176). According to Beach and Stammler (2006), while the domestic relations between humans and the reindeer—in other words, humans keeping small herds for transportation—dates back several thousand years, the arrival of large-scale reindeer pastoralism is pretty recent, not more than four or five hundred years. For example, the Sakha reindeer herders depended on hunting in the eighteenth century; in the next century, domesticated reindeer increased in number and became a food resource instead (Takakura 2012: 37). The Sami of Lapland also had small herds for transportation and as decoy animals until their herds increased and reindeer nomadism had spread, changing their social relations forever. (Müller-Wille et al. 2006: 33). Mazzullo (2010: 103) similarly writes that Sami subsistence was originally based on hunting, fishing, and gathering; it was only recently that herding became central to their livelihood. Krupnik (1993: 162) mentions that a similar situation existed for most reindeer herders in Siberia: By the time of Russian contact in the 1600s, a complex subsistence system dominated by hunting and fishing, and supplemented by small-scale reindeer breeding prevailed among most of the inhabitants of the Eurasian tundra. . . . At that time, domestic reindeer were used almost exclusively for transportation and the herds were kept very small. . . . Only in the 1700s did the domestic reindeer stock begin to grow.

He claims that Siberian reindeer herding is one of the clearest examples of the transition from hunting or foraging to livestock pastoralism, adding that this transition was radically influential in the economic and social development of Arctic people, which he calls a “reindeer revolution” (Krupnik 1993: 162–64). There are different theories as to why this shift from hunting to small-scale herding to extensive pastoralism occurred. Ingold (1986) thinks domesticated reindeer were kept as emergency food in case the hunt was unsuccessful, perhaps with the gradual disappearance of wild reindeer. As people spent more time herding and after increasing their original stock of domesticated reindeer, eventually the domesticated reindeer meat would replace the hunt. With this change, as the herds were valued as a consumer resource rather than as labor, the relations between humans and reindeer also changed. Mazzullo (2010) claims that with the involvement of states and political changes, the hunters wanted to rely on a more predictable income, and the decreasing numbers of wild reindeer pushed this change further. According to Krupnik (1993), the reasons for this shift could be both ecological and social. Russian expansion in the area might have helped the rise of reindeer pastoralism in Eurasia, together with the development of trade in Siberia and an increased demand for reindeer fur, but it is not possible to say that these were the only reasons. The fact that this transition

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

51

occurred in so many places at the same time forces us to look for general ecological trends that may be causal factors. In short, Krupnik thinks that environmental change and socioeconomic transformation were probably both influential. However, this shift obviously did not happen overnight; it probably took eighty to 150 years. Interpreting the views of different scholars, it seems logical, as Ullah (2005: 13) has suggested, that many types of preconditions and incentives in economics, ecology, social structure, and the psychology of people caused incipient pastoralists to make the shift to herding. Although the alterations mentioned above in different forms of keeping reindeer exist, it is not valid to see this shift as a progressive one-way process, since the shift can always be the other way around when necessary, and, as Ventsel (2006: 71) states, hunting and reindeer herding can continue back and forth as “alternative strategies.” According to Harris (1996), the rigid distinction between hunter-gatherers and agriculturalists are also questioned now, and researchers instead focus on ways people interact with their environment and animals. Transition from hunting to herding does not have to be fixed and irreversible. Regardless of how this shift happened, it is clear today that this shift from hunting to herding (thus domestication) has had many effects on the relationships between people and the reindeer and also among the people themselves.

CHANGING RELATIONS AND DOMESTICATION At this point, it would be pertinent to introduce the issue of domestication while evaluating human-animal relations in different subsistence patterns or different spheres, as it is the domestication of animals that has changed those relations. The separation between domestic and wild has been discussed widely in anthropology for a long time, still remaining a hot topic today. “Domestication” has been accepted as a “slippery and imprecise” concept by some scholars, like that of “culture,” since it is as complex and diverse as the concept of “wild” (Cassidy 2007: 3). While different views exist, most scholars acknowledge that domestication has both social and biological aspects. Earlier researchers viewed domestication as a one-way process where humans controlled animal populations and directed them as they desired. Clutton-Brock (1994: 26) defines a domesticated animal as “one that has been bred in captivity, for purposes of subsistence or profit, in a human community that maintains complete mastery over its breeding, organization of territory, and food supply.” She claims domestication changes humans’ perception of animals and asserts a “resemblance between the husbanding of livestock and the keeping of slaves” (Clutton-Brock 1994: 29-31). Böyönki (1989: 22) similarly writes about domestication as a one-way process, but adds that “the es-

52

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

sence of domestication is the capture and taming by [humans] of animals of a species with particular behavioural characteristics, their removal from their natural living area and breeding community, and their maintenance under controlled breeding conditions for mutual benefits.” Harris (1996: 454) also defines domestication as keeping a self-sufficient population of animals genetically isolated from their wild relatives, “with resulting behavioral, and usually also phonotypical changes in domestic stock.” This one-sided description of domestication is questioned nowadays; there is a contrary view that considers the animal to be an active agent in the process. Beach and Stammler (2006: 8) coined the concept of “symbiotic domestication,” essentially meaning reindeer domesticated human behavior as much as they were themselves domesticated. They claim that reciprocity is an important element of the relationship; reindeer actively seek human contact as a means of protection from predators, as a relief from insects in the summer, and as a source of artificial food when necessary (Beach and Stammler 2006: 8). Paine (1988) coined a similar term, “reciprocal learning,” basically claiming that both reindeer and humans learn each other’s needs. Stepanoff (2012) agrees that despite the relationship between humans and reindeer being not entirely equal, it is not without reciprocity, as the herders give enough autonomy to the animal in decision making, while they adapt their lives so as to consider the needs of the reindeer. He terms this system a “joint activity with shared intentionalities and goals” (Stepanoff 2012: 309). O’Connor (1997: 152) similarly accepts the animal’s involvement in the process of domestication, saying, “The process of domestication is unlikely to have been one-sided. People did not take sheep into domestication: rather people and sheep entered into a particular interaction by behavioral adaptation on the part of both species.” In “Working at Relationships: Another Look at Animal Domestication,” O’Connor discusses a range of relationship levels between humans and animals, from a degree that gives both species advantage (mutualistic), to others degrees in which one species has advantage while the other suffers from the relationship. Basically, he is arguing that different species in different settings have different levels of interaction that cannot all be categorized as domestication (O’Connor 1997: 154). In either case according to Ingold (1986), the relations between hunters and their prey are quite different from the relations between herders and their animals. The hunters always have to keep good relations with animals, as it is the will of the animal that determines if it gives itself to the hunter or not. The herders, on the other hand, have full control over their animals. Ingold (2006: 16) writes, “The relationship of pastoral care, quite unlike that of the hunter towards the animals, is founded not on a principle of trust but of domination.” Ullah (2005) agrees with Ingold that both groups believe that animals have power and self-determination in their actions. The difference is that “hunters

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

53

have a relation based on trust and autonomy with wild animals and they believe that if they obey this morality, the animals will offer themselves to the hunters.” However, pastoralists think that they should “overcome” the power of animals by “strength and possession” (Ullah 2005: 11). Although this idea of difference is widespread, some scholars disagree with the separation of hunters’ and herders’ relations with animals along such strict lines. Stammler (2010: 237) thinks that the relations between pastoralists and their animals contain characteristics that exceed domination and control, since both parties mutually affect the personalities and decisions of each other. Therefore, “reducing their relationships with animals to just control would be unfair to herders” (Stammler 2010: 217). Furthermore, the nature of relations is subject to change not only in line with categorizations of subsistence but also depending on the way they are practiced. While some forms of hunting can be quite predatory, ignoring the dignity of animals that are hunted (e.g., overhunting), some forms of pastoralism can also be quite respectful, maintaining relatively egalitarian relations between animals and humans.

REINDEER DOMESTICATION Although the behaviors that constitute the relationship between the domesticated animal and humans are deeply contested, there is one area of agreement: the exceptional situation of the reindeer, considering its relative independence, sharing the same form with their wild relatives. Even if the reindeer seek human contact, they can usually survive on their own within the same environment that hosts their wild relatives (Beach and Stammler 2006). Stepanoff (2012: 289) points out that “a particularity of reindeer husbandry is that reindeer are herded in regions where they can actually survive without the intervention of [humans].” If people do not look after the reindeer properly, they can become wild again, as “they are of the land and can return there at any time.” They are not completely dependent on the herders, and the herders are aware of this, so they respect the autonomy of the animal (Donahoe 2012: 111). The morphological and biological differences between the domesticated reindeer and wild reindeer are normally accepted as one of the necessities of domestication. However, according to Ingold (1974), the domesticated reindeer did not go through any morphological changes. This raises some doubts about the domestication of the reindeer, as some researchers think that, with domestication, there must be some biological change in the species, separating it from the wild species. Beach and Stammler (2006: 10) write, “Domestication must therefore not be confused with the condition of tameness. Domestication, here as a term reserved for this meta, genetically-encoded consequence of human-animal relation, is irreversible for any individual animal despite its spe-

54

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

cific state of behavior stretching along a broad continuum from great tameness to great ferality.” If this view is to be taken as true, then we may start doubting the domestication of reindeer since it has not gone through huge biological changes in all these years of human contact without being removed from its natural zone of distribution (Ingold 1986:5). Russell (2002: 293) similarly claims that the separation of species is necessary for biological change, saying that morphological change can occur only when domestic populations are isolated from wild ancestors. In this sense, the domestication of reindeer is “exceptional and [the term ‘domestication’] can be applied to it in a very limited way, only when the large commercial herds of the twentieth century were developed” (Vitebsky 2005: 25). This shows that reindeer are not domesticated animals from a biological and physiological point of view, and that no significant biological differences between the domesticated and the wild reindeer can be demonstrated. This leads to the term “semidomestication” when scholars discuss controlled reindeer. According to Istomin and Dwyer (2010: 622), semidomesticated reindeer can be understood in reference to animals whose behavior patterns are adapted to those of the herders’ actions in a given herding technology. According to Mysterud (2010), humans have only partial control over breeding, mortality, space use, and food supply of semidomestic animals, so they appear more similar to their wild counterparts. This is may be one of the unique qualities separating reindeer from other domesticated animals and attributes reindeer herding a special place in the study of pastoralism. Takakura argues that the wild populations of domestic livestock, such as horse and cattle, have disappeared, and other domestic animals evolve selectively from a generic pool of the domestic population. However, the genetic pools of both domestic and wild reindeer populations may still be crossed (Takakura 2010: 25). South America hosts one of the other exceptional stories of domestication, similar to that of the reindeer: the llama alpaca, the domestic form, and the vicuna, which is its wild counterpart that lives in the same habitat (Stammler and Takakura 2010: 5). According to Oehler (2020: 142), the yak of the Himalayas is similar. Considering what has been discussed, we reach a point where it can be accepted that domestication is still a contested area of human-animal relations. As Ingold (1986: 5) suggests, “The study of reindeer exploitation requires us to revise orthodox distinctions between the categories of ‘wild’ and ‘domesticated’ animals, and consequently to take an entirely new view of the nature and causes of animal domestication.” Thus, our own perceptions of what is wild and domestic are clearly affected by the limitations of our language. Asking the same questions to the last pastoralists or hunters on our planet attempts to understand their perceptions and their ways of conceptualizing these relationships. The Dukha of Southern Siberia hold a very significant place in this sense, since they are one of the very few societies who hunt as a livelihood while also

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

55

keeping a small herd of reindeer for transportation and milk. For a number of reasons to be discussed later in this section, hunting is losing its importance, while reindeer are becoming increasingly central to Dukha life. Thus, in a way, they may constitute a recent example of the transition from hunting to herding if hunting continues losing its significance in the society. This is not to say that their situation would be representative of all cases. Every case is, of course, unique and has its own peculiarities; however, given the data currently available to the researcher, to be given the opportunity to observe this transition from hunting to herding is an incredibly rare opportunity. That is why to understand the human-animal relations better and the consequences of subsistence shifts or the way people interact with animals in different spheres, it is crucial to witness the dynamics of changing relations among the Dukha and their animals now— also for future researchers. Apart from this shift, looking into the details of their mixed subsistence (herding and hunting) is also of great importance, since many scholars mentioned the differences in human-animal relations depending on the categorization of subsistence. However, very few touched upon the nature of relations between humans and reindeer in those societies that practice both. Thus, in this chapter, I hope to question the unique ways people and reindeer interact and how the balance of power is constantly changing between both parties.

WILDERNIZATION AS OPPOSED TO DOMESTICATION The reindeer is the animal of the mountain; that is why we always end up in difficult places while we follow them. —Bataar, 2016

We have been discussing the concept of domestication so far, but what does it mean for the indigenous herders? The concept of domestication, if it exists at all, and what it means for reindeer herders can obviously change depending on the society being investigated, obliging us to leave the scholarly labels aside at times and look at the issue from new perspectives. For this purpose, I would like to begin a quest in which we critically investigate indigenous terms, classificatory discourse, and the actual social practices related to keeping reindeer in contemporary Dukha society, incorporating their understanding of the term. The Dukha language holds different categories for the domesticated and the wild, but it would be preferable to explain these Dukha categories without directly translating them into a single English word. Rather, it is more helpful to try to understand the meaning of the Dukha descriptions—this way avoiding preset academic English such as “tame” or “domesticated,” which may have completely different meanings for the Dukha. To understand how Dukha language

56

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

makes distinctions among reindeer, we can begin with the most basic distinction: the separation between the reindeer they keep and the reindeer that live free in the wild, which they refer to with two completely different words. The Dukha call their own reindeer ivi, which is, according to linguist Tatarintsev (2000), related to the word yvyk, meaning “gazelle” or “roe.” In my opinion, the word ivi may be more related with the word iv, meaning home in many Turkic languages. On the other hand, the reindeer that live freely in the wild are called ˇȷerlik aŋ, which means “game that is of the land.” It is clear that the words that would normally be translated as “domesticated reindeer” or “wild reindeer” are indeed more related to the possession (property) of the animal; here the Dukha show connections of belonging to the land or home instead of describing its wildness or tameness. An ivi that runs away and stays far from human contact for a while becomes a ˇȷerlik aŋ, which shows the changeable character of these categories. On the other hand, a calf born from an ivi and a ˇȷerlik aŋ, an incident that would rarely happen, is still identified as ivi if born in a human camp, but always keeps an omaq character, which I will explain below. The Dukha use two categories of words to identify the different nature of their domesticated reindeer, depending on their submission to people. The word omaq means “restless, active, or stubborn,” and ˇȷaaš means “calm, slow, or soft tempered.” To understand this separation it is perhaps best to quote one of the Dukha directly. As Tuya explained, “The reindeer are omaq when they are calves. When they turn two years old, people pack and ride them. When they grow old to ride, they become ˇȷaaš.” She also added that the females are always a little omaq because people do not ride them. Instead, they milk them, which contributes to their calmness, but still they are more restless and stubborn compared to the male reindeer. As can be understood from this, the character of a reindeer and its degree of submission to humans are not stable its whole life. The younger reindeer are considered more active and restless. As they age and as they become trained to human contact, they become more placid. However, this conversion of character does not necessitate these boundaries being fixed, or this aging process producing hard and fast rules; there are outliers, as some reindeer have an omaq character all their lives, while others can be ˇȷaaš more generally. The more contact a reindeer has with humans, the more ˇȷaaš it gets, but only to the degree that its character at birth allows it to be, which is different from one reindeer to the other. Another word in Dukhan that is related with animals is teȷˇeer amïtan, which is used to describe an animal that needs to be fed. According to Sarnai, a middle-aged herder, teȷˇeer amïtan are animals that are fed by people and as a result cannot find their own food. As an example of this, she said that the dogs are teȷˇeer, as people feed them most of time, but reindeer are not teȷˇeer, because people only give salt to them but do not need to feed them. Most people said

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

57

that the Mongolian livestock are teȷˇeer as they may die due to the cold and so need to be fed through the winters, unlike reindeer. According to elders,1 what makes the distinction is rather an animal’s ability to feed itself independently if it has to. In this case, the reindeer is not dependent on people under any condition, while a dog cannot survive on its own without people, which makes it a teȷˇeer animal. To summarize these different categories of wording in the Dukha language concerning reindeer, we can deduce that different levels of manageability for the reindeer living alongside people is identified with the words omaq and ˇȷaaš, which are related to how easy it is to handle the animal. On the other hand, the words people use to describe “wild” reindeer, ˇȷerlik aŋ, have nothing to do with its tameness or wildness, but rather describe its affiliation with nature, as they literally mean “the game that belongs to the land.” Thus, the words “domesticated or wild” in English do not imply the same association in the Dukha language, and they do not even make sense. The way they refer to reindeer in the wild and their own reindeer is related to who nurtures the animals instead of being based on terms such as “tameness or wildness.” In this way, familiarity to the animal is more vital than its state of domestication. The Dukha words already discussed are generally part of their everyday vocabulary; however, I also attempted to understand how “domestication” is translated if it is translated at all. While trying to elicit what “domestication” means in their language when I first visited the Dukha, I came across interesting definitions, quite different from what “domestication” brings to our minds. I was sitting in one of the tents, trying to learn what they use for the word “domestication,” so I asked, “What did your ancestors do when they first got close to a reindeer? What do you call it in your language?” People said they use the word tudar to describe this first action, which means “to hold or catch.” They said they also use the word baglar, which means “to tie” (Kücüküstel 2013: 55). Both of these words are remarkably simple in form compared to the academic debate surrounding domestication. The most interesting point is how the word implies the origins of domestication in its ancient form, in which the first action was to literally grasp the reindeer and tie it with a piece of rope. The Dukha themselves have not added to the word any more meaning that may imply control or domination over the animal, nor have they included any meaning that brings to mind the home. Indeed when we think about it, the hardest action Dukha practice on reindeer is to catch and tie them, which limits their mobility, as the word baglar means in Dukhan. But the Dukha did not take the reindeer to their home, since the taiga as the home of both the reindeer and the Dukha is a shared space. Thus, I claim that the wild-domesticated dichotomy does not match the local understanding about reindeer. However, if we still insist on using these terms, looking from the perspective of mainstream society, I suggest that we could describe this relationship as the “wildernization” of people in-

58

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

stead of the “domestication” of animals, as people did not take the reindeer to their domus, but instead live in the same place as the reindeer do in the “wild.” Of course, the Dukha naturally do not describe their landscape as wild, since they live there, and it is their home. But again, looking from the mainstream perception, the Dukha are living in a geography that is alien to most others. In this geography, they have followed the reindeer, and, in their own words, “they became like the reindeer in time.” So at this point, we should rather completely avoid the words “domesticated” and “wild,” or, if we insist on using those words while defining the relation between humans and reindeer, I suggest we define it as “wildernization of people” as opposed to domestication of reindeer.

ˇJ ERLIK AŊ AS DISTANT RELATIVES In the winter camp, we were sitting in one of the cabins with Bataar, an old herder, and his family, with not very much to do. Erhi was cooking soup, while I was asking some questions of Bataar. The television was on, but we didn’t pay much attention to it until we saw some reindeer on the screen, and all of a sudden everyone in the cabin got very excited. It was BBC’s Human Planet, showing a family of Sami reindeer herders from Sweden. There were also some guests at Bataar’s home, and suddenly everyone gathered around the television. They sat down on the ground and began watching the television in complete silence. We were watching a scene in which people were trying to corral hundreds of reindeer into a large fenced area. The reindeer were riled and appeared out of control, so much that the herders were struggling to coerce the reindeer into the enclosure. While watching them, Bataar shouted out “Jˇerlik aŋ!” The reindeer indeed seemed pretty wild, but just to make sure, I asked Bataar to clarify if they were ivi, domesticated reindeer, or ˇȷerlik aŋ, wild reindeer. He answered back without hesitation, “It is ˇȷerlik aŋ—don’t you see it? They are so many. They would be much calmer if they were ivi, so obviously they don’t live with people.” It was apparent that the Sami people’s relationship with their reindeer was different from the relationship the Dukha have with their reindeer. As explained before, people use the word omaq for reindeer with less manageable characteristics, meaning some domesticated reindeer can be described as omaq, which implies they are hard to catch and herd. But it was interesting that Bataar chose the word ˇȷerlik aŋ for the reindeer of the Sami, which is normally used for reindeer that live in the wild. Bataar perceived them as ˇȷerlik aŋ because of the way they interacted with people and also how they lived farther from the human camp. The reindeer of the Sami were not perceived as ivi by Bataar. Despite the fact that their movements are controlled by the people, they do not really live with the people. The relationship is not perceived to be the same as that of the Dukha and the reindeer.

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

59

The wild reindeer in this region are not like the ones in the tundra; they do not migrate long distances and usually stay around the taiga, coming to low altitudes during winter and moving to the foothills in summer, just like people and their domesticated reindeer. This means that they are never far from each other. An old herder named Gantulga even told me once that, in times past, people would follow the movements of the wild reindeer to see where they were going. They would then take their own domesticated reindeer in the same direction, having decided that the wild reindeer would know the best pastures. However, with the introduction of the market economy, this has changed. People prefer to be closer to the village, and this prevents them from migrating with the wild reindeer. According to the Dukha, the physical appearance of wild reindeer is not very different from that of domesticated reindeer. The color of the fur is similar—mostly white or brown—and the antlers are just a little different. The difference in antlers is especially different in the wild females, which are longer and thinner; the wild bulls similarly have larger antlers as, unlike their domesticated relatives, they must fight for females. The fur that covers the antlers is a little thicker and longer than on ivi antlers, probably due to grazing well in the mountains. Wild reindeer usually keep within small groups of five or six. However, people say that getting close to them is extremely hard; they are liable to run as soon as they either hear humans or smell them. What is interesting is that people can no longer catch and tame a wild reindeer among the Dukha. How their ancestors did this is a mystery, but almost everyone agrees today that it is not possible to catch a reindeer. According to Vitebsky (2005: 25), this situation does not seem to be specific to the Dukha. However, the opposite situation can sometimes occur: the reindeer can run away and become wild. There is even a word for this in the Dukha language: anga hölȷˇüveer, which means “it turns to game.” Most people think if an ivi goes far away and comes across ˇȷerlik aŋ, it might just walk away with them. Bataar said that they have not really experienced anything like that for a long time, as people nowadays control the reindeer strictly, but he used to hear stories like this from his parents. These days, the ivi still come across ˇȷerlik aŋ in winter pasture since it is in a far valley, but they rarely run away with ˇȷerlik aŋ. However, the reason reindeer do not run away is that people do not let them go, not because they choose to stay. Understanding what the Dukha think about the relationship between ivi and ˇȷerlik aŋ is important to see how they perceive domestication. This is how Bataar described what happens when ivi meet their wild cousins: In the past, there were sometimes ivi going wild, but it doesn’t happen anymore because we don’t let them walk away. If we did, they would just go. People leave the cows in the morning, and the animals come back to their owner

60

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

in the evening. If we would leave the reindeer in the same way, they would just walk away and not come back. The ivi that walks away becomes a game animal and forgets about people in a year. He just lives with other ˇȷerlik aŋ. He would say, “Ahh, I came to visit my relatives, they cannot tie me anymore, this is really good” [he says this laughing]. If he comes across a human, he comes close but then would be scared and run away.

Bataar added that one time when hunting, they saw an ivi from Tuva that had run away and turned to game. It had a mark on it. He said their reindeer would also run away, but it takes a long time for an ivi to become ˇȷerlik aŋ again, and most of the time when a reindeer is missing, they find it in short time. These days, the Dukha leave their reindeer in far-away valleys in the winter for the animals to graze by themselves, and go back there to pick them up in the spring, as I will explain in detail in coming chapters. Some of my interviewees mentioned coming across wild reindeer when they went to collect the animals in the spring every year. They said that when they go to the area where they left the ivi, they sometimes see ˇȷerlik aŋ in the same area. A young hunter named Sodbileg explained, “When we go to the area, some reindeer immediately run away, while the others approach us. We understand that the ones that run away are ˇȷerlik aŋ. We can never catch them. But our reindeer know humans, and they do not run away from us.” Mating between ˇȷerlik aŋ and the ivi can also occur, but very rarely. There have been some cases where a female has gotten pregnant from a ˇȷerlik aŋ and when the calf was born it was clearly different than ivi in its character. It was very healthy and strong, but also wild and hard to catch. Thus, although not frequently, the gene flow between ivi and ˇȷerlik aŋ occurs, and the newborn has an omaq character. In summary, people acknowledge that ˇȷerlik aŋ and ivi are relatives, but the difference is that ˇȷerlik aŋ are regarded as animals that belong to the land, while ivi are familiar beings that live together with people. However, people acknowledge that their ivi may want to run away and belong to the land, as they understand that their reindeer have a longing to live with their distant relatives, the ˇȷerlik aŋ, freely. This means that people accept that the real wish of the ivi is to live on their own, and, because of this, they need to persuade the reindeer to stay with them, sometimes through kindness and sometimes through coercion, through a system I call “nurturing control.”

NURTURING CONTROL When I first visited the Dukha camp in the summer for research, I got the impression that the Dukha do not have to put much effort into maintaining the

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

61

Figure 2.2. Reindeer can sometimes be very tame and come to the tents to beg for salt. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author.

reindeer. The animals appeared to go grazing in the morning and come back by themselves later in the day. However, after returning to the field and looking again at the patterns of reindeer herding in more detail, I realized that this was far from the truth, and in reality there is a lot of control and attention required to keep the animal “tame” enough to stay with people. The relative independence of the reindeer initially gave me the impression that they were well domesticated and required little attention. I came to realize that this independence, which I initially mistook for tameness, is the very reason the Dukha have to invest so much energy into controlling the herd. As Dwyer and Istomin (2008: 531) write, herd control is an issue for all reindeer herding communities, since “reindeer have wild conspecifics and essentially behave as such, unlike cows, sheep, goats and other domesticated animals herded by other nomads in different regions.” The Dukha aim to attain a balance between controlling the reindeer and allowing them a certain degree of autonomy. This requires a constant negotiation, but forms the bedrock of the partnership between human and reindeer. The primary rule is that reindeer must be kept in the wild in order to remain tame. This means that the people follow the reindeer through their seasonal migrations. However, after living in this environment for many years together, the question of who is following the other becomes a slightly moot point. Once the basic

62

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

requirement of keeping the reindeer on their own land is met, which is relatively easy for the Dukha since the taiga has become their home too, other means of control are required to keep the reindeer and to avoid having them abandon the humans. Thus, controlling the reindeer is an inevitable requirement, and the control mechanisms have different aspects. The way Dukha control their reindeer differs from the possessive and oppressive control of large-scale breeders. The most obvious difference is that the Dukha do not maintain their reindeer in stables; additionally, there is no artificial feeding. The way the Dukha exercise control over the reindeer is protective and defensive as opposed to the more oppressive practices of large-scale breeders. To clarify what has been discussed, we can begin by examining the primary goals of the control the Dukha apply to their reindeer. These can be grouped into three categories: preventing the reindeer from running away, protecting them from predators, and training them to respond well to human contact so as to make them more manageable—in other words, to make them more ˇȷaaš. The issue of dissuading reindeer from walking away is one of the most discussed topics in the taiga. Throughout any conversation relating to reindeer, this is always central to the discussion. This problem of reindeer attempting to run away could be tolerated (since people are pretty good at finding them) if it did not expose the reindeer to wolf attack, which remains the biggest threat to the animal in the taiga. The wolf remains an ever-present threat, and the only viable defense against it is vigilance, ensuring your reindeer do not wander far from the camps unguarded. To maintain some control of reindeer, people use some basic measures: the use of salt for keeping the reindeer attached to home, an intensive way of herding based on constantly watching the animals and limiting their movements, and training the reindeer to make them ˇȷaaš. TAMENESS THROUGH SALT If we don’t have salt, the reindeer wouldn’t come, they would just walk away. They don’t let you catch them without salt. —Sarnai, 2016

Sarnai’s simple sentence is enough to understand the importance of salt for the Dukha and their relationship with reindeer. Rock salt is by far one of the most important elements in taming the reindeer; it is the ultimate tool in keeping them interested in people. One could even say that it is not the human but the salt that domesticated reindeer. Mammals’ desire for salt is well known. According to Dethier (1977), animals have complex physiological mechanisms for achieving salt and keeping it in their body. However, some areas are poor in sodium, and danger of suffering

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

63

a critical salt deficiency may periodically occur, especially on mountains and high plains. Animals that are likely to experience salt deficiency are herbivorous mammals (Dethier 1977: 744). The importance of the salt is even mentioned in some of the origin stories of domestication among the Dukha. When people first tried to approach the reindeer, it was the salt in the urine of people that attracted the reindeer. According to the story, there was a middle-aged woman who lived in the taiga, and she saw many wild reindeer around, sometimes very close to her. The woman thought it would be very useful if she could catch one of them, so she started to think about how she might do this. After a while, she learned to imitate their sound and get them to lick her urine so that the animals would come close to her. Eventually she managed to catch one, and people learned to catch reindeer from this woman, and, over time, they all had reindeer (Küçüküstel 2013: 31). Similarly today, when the reindeer return from the pastures in the evening, it is the existence of salt that enables people to catch them. On my first days in the taiga, as I tried to help my family catch the reindeer in the evenings, I found myself completely inept. A few days later, my adopted sister handed me a bag of salt as we left the tent. Suddenly it was like magic! The salt proved to be very successful; it was my own personal awakening to the importance of salt in herding. However, there are moments that even the magic of the salt bag does not work, as when people chase a reindeer that just keeps walking. I have witnessed many times how even an experienced herder like Sarnai could not catch a reindeer through an entire day and was eventually forced to give up. One evening, I saw one of our reindeer outside the tent; it was still free. I told Sarnai about it, thinking that maybe they had missed it, but she simply said, in a playful and ironic tone, “It doesn’t let me catch it. This one is pretty stubborn.” In this instance, being tied down was not the reindeer’s will, so it remained free. People also provide salt for the reindeer regularly. It is important that the reindeer get salt every day so that physiological addiction can continue, and the reindeer that are used to obtaining salt easily are motivated to return to the camp. During my time in the taiga, there was a large piece of salt lick provided by people in a bucket in front of the camp near our tent to encourage the reindeer to return, but the thinner salt people give by hand is preferred by the animals. The wild reindeer graze on salt marsh pastures, but the ivi cannot find this around the camps; they must rely on salt from people to satisfy their cravings. The addiction created through salt serves as a significant means of control over the animals, and most herders mention that, if not given salt for a long time, the reindeer would simply walk away. Today the Dukha buy salt from the village. They used to find natural sources in the past. The Dukha use another effective tool to keep the reindeer close: urine. It is still used as a method to draw the reindeer to human camps, and one can easily observe that in Dukha camps when going to the woods to urinate. I also had

64

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

my own interesting experiences the first time I saw a reindeer with big antlers running toward me in my most vulnerable state. If a reindeer catches you in the act, it will immediately run toward you so as not to miss the opportunity to lick fresh urine.

T YING THE REINDEER Limiting the movement of the reindeer through tying is an important tool to control the animal among the Dukha, and it has to start from an early age so that the animal gets used to being tied. The first days of a calf ’s life have to be dealt with carefully because these days will determine how much the animal will get used to humans. A calf ’s first experience in being tied can be quite distressing. It will struggle and fight. The rope is entirely unnatural for the animal, so it will inevitably trip, fall, or become tangled as it attempts to free itself. This will go on for as many hours as the calf can maintain it, or until it collapses, exhausted. One needs to tie calves before they are four days old; otherwise, they can hurt their necks trying to get out. Some people tie them even when they are two days old, and the latest time period to tie them is when they are seven days old. They need to be tied at the right time; otherwise, it will be an omaq reindeer. Men carve a sort of chin protector or holder out of wood for the calves, called mungïy; a face mask of ropes, called heerïq, ties the reindeer from their whole head, as they cannot be tied from the neck because they would harm themselves—even possibly, as mentioned, breaking their necks while adjusting to the system. Once the calf learns to be tied, it slowly gets used to the sounds and smells in the camp, and after a while it also learns to accept human contact. The process of training works very slowly; the calves that ran away from people start to come around by themselves; within a month, it is even possible to pet them. Watching this procedure reminds us that despite their independence, reindeer are restless animals forced into tameness and kept in relative captivity and control. In other words, the calf is forced into accepting human contact from the beginning. The utilization of tying a reindeer as a means of control continues even after the calves are fully grown. People may tie the reindeer at night or during the day out in the pasture in some seasons, and the main aim of tying the reindeer is for protecting them from the wolves and to restrain them from running away. However, the balance of tying is carefully arranged, as the animals need to be given enough freedom to maintain their natural life in the taiga but not so free that they run away and become ˇȷerlik aŋ. Tying in this sense seems like the harshest practice the Dukha apply to the reindeer, as the animals do not like to be restricted from feeding well and roaming freely. There are also other ways of dealing with this problem, apart from tying the reindeer to a tree or a log. Sometimes during times of wolf attack danger, the

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

65

reindeer are set free to walk around but people tie them in special ways to limit their movement. They tie the rope from the neck of the reindeer to its own leg. If it is tied to the front leg, it is called adakdaar; if it is tied to the hind leg, it is called dorsukdaar. They usually tie the females from the front leg so that the calves may nurse easily, and they tie the males from the hind leg. By doing this, they ensure that the animal cannot walk too far, and if they get lost, people can find them easily. This method of controlling the reindeer can make one question the romantic image of a complete partnership, as animals are clearly forced into something they are not willing partners in, and the Dukha also acknowledge this.

MILKING AND RIDING THE REINDEER Milking is a significant way to accustom reindeer to people, creating a special bond between the parties. When a female reindeer gives birth for the first time, she needs to be trained for milking, so people always milk her when the calf is nursing. This ensures that the mother does not run away. The first time a reindeer is to be milked, two people go together, and one of them holds the mother and the calf while the other is milking. This is a significant event, one to be celebrated with a ceremony: people burn juniper at home when an animal is milked

Figure 2.3. Women milk the reindeer every day in summer. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author.

66

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

for the first time, or when the first milk of the season is taken. Thus, milking a female is not only a good way to accustom it to human contact, but also a way to develop intimacy among women and reindeer. Similarly, riding a reindeer properly is an art, and it is very different from riding a horse. When the reindeer turns two years old, people begin training the male reindeer for riding. The process begins by packing the animal so that it gets used to carrying something on it. This slowly builds up to someone riding the animal for the first time. It is usually the young boys who are involved in this activity. They simply jump on the reindeer without a saddle and stay on as long as they can. Although I have been looking for concrete methods for this training, people kept telling me that there is no fixed method for the first ride except for riding the animal as often as you can. You simply mount the reindeer and ride. Of course there will be some falls involved in this process, but since the reindeer is calmer compared to the horse, it is not as dangerous. It throws you, and then you jump back again. When a reindeer is ridden or loaded for the first time, it turns around itself for a while until it gets used to the weight. I have seen stubborn animals that will turn around themselves for a long time until they have to give up; at this point, they just sit down. This process goes on for a while, and, in the end, the animal learns to capitulate. However, packing a reindeer or riding it requires intricate care, as, unlike horses, the reindeer is a fragile animal in terms of the weight it can carry. In the taiga, people use male reindeer for riding, as they can carry more weight, and use the females as packing animals. The maximum load suitable for a reindeer is eighty kilograms, so people need to be careful, as loading more than the maximum can cause serious injuries to the back of the reindeer. In Sayan reindeer riding, people use a long wooden stick while riding the animal. The role of the stick is significant for two reasons: first, it takes the overload from the animal, especially in steep or uneven terrain; second, it is used for balance. Since reindeer skin is loose, the saddle will not sit properly and is liable to move, requiring the rider to constantly watch their balance. The stick helps with this. When the saddle tilts over to one side, the rider needs to lean their body the opposite direction by using their feet in the stirrups. Thus, reindeer riding requires one to move their body together with the motion of the animal, always keeping their balance. Getting on the reindeer is also a challenge because of the instability of the saddle. People usually try to find a step when mounting the animal so as to avoid causing injury to the back of the reindeer. Riding a reindeer creates a special bond between people and the animals. While women often bond with the female reindeer during milking, men usually experience this bond while riding the male reindeer. Each reindeer has unique carrying skills, and the men are sometimes picky about their favorite reindeer to ride, especially as they spend such a long time riding together during hunting trips. Some reindeer are good for riding in the snow, while others have the endur-

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

67

ance for longer distances; some of them are fast, while others are slow; some are strong, and some are stubborn and may require frequent stops, while others are easygoing. Most people mention having favorite riding reindeer, but they cannot always ride the same reindeer because it can tire the animal out. The Dukha have a saying: “If you always ride your favorite animal, it gets old quickly.” Overall, riding the reindeer is a vital way of training the animal for human contact.

PROTECTION FROM WOLVES: ENEMIES OR MASTERS? The wolves are really smart animals; they know all of us very well. —Enkhtuya, 2016

It was freezing cold outside, and the temperature was well below thirty degrees Celsius. A loud noise woke me out of my already uncomfortable sleep. Trying to make sense of what happened, I sat up on the bench, still sleepy; I was worried about the cold waiting for me if I happened to get out of my sleeping bag. The dogs were barking, and that loud crack sounded through the air again. This time I understood what it was: the thud of a bullet leaving a rifle. Since no one from my household woke up, I tried to ease my heartbeat and fell asleep again. The next day, I learned that it was somebody firing a gun into the air after hearing a wolf howl. This scene had repeated itself many times in the taiga, and I learned that when those bullets at night were heard often, it usually meant that we needed to move the camp soon, since the wolves knew where we were. The struggle between herders and wolves is a phenomenon all over the world, including the Sayan, where the wolf is one of the only predators capable of attacking reindeer herds or horses. The Mongolian cattle breeders deal with the same problem, and according to Fijn (2011: 210), herders spend a lot of time and energy protecting their herds against wolf predation. The wolves are the biggest threat for the Dukha in the taiga, as wolf attacks happen frequently and are steadily increasing with climate change. This situation has naturally created an endless struggle between people and wolves. Struggling against this long-lasting conflict and trying to find ways to protect their reindeer from wolves is one of the greatest dilemmas of life in the taiga and the most important reason for the control applied to the reindeer. Despite the best efforts of people, wolf attacks still happen. The basic strategies to deal with this issue is by watching the reindeer as much as possible, changing the location of the camp when there are too many wolves around, and killing the wolves when necessary. Dogs can also help people deal with the wolves to a certain degree, not by fighting them but by barking and notifying people about their presence. Observing the reindeer’s behaviors—that is, when they look nervous or scared—can also give people clues about a nearby wolf.

68

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

Wolves create the biggest trouble in the spring, when they are back in the area after a long winter away. This is why it is very important to herd and take care of the animals well during this time of the year. When I was in the taiga in spring 2016, many families had lost reindeer to wolf attacks as a result of little mistakes, such as by neglecting to tie some of the reindeer in the pasture at noon. Elders claimed that they did not have as much trouble with the wolves in the past and that the wolves were afraid of people then, running away even when they saw human tracks; they did not need to be so attentive of the reindeer and practiced a looser herding in which they just set the reindeer free in the evening and got them the next day. When I asked about the reason this changed, older people said the fact that the Dukha do not migrate far away anymore plays a role. It is known that the wolves hang around near settlements or near Mongolian families that have livestock, so when the Dukha started to live closer to the village, the wolves got the chance to follow them. Some people also told me that the increase in the wolf population is also related to the fact that people were encouraged to kill the wolves during the years of socialism, but they do not kill them as often now. However, despite all the harm the wolves cause , the relationship between the people and the wolves is not entirely hostile; rather, it is something more like a love-hate relationship for the Dukha. As hated as the wolf is, it is an animal that lives with and around people, so there is a certain degree of familiarity with the wolves. Thus, in spite of this fear and hate, people respect the wolves, and they do not even call them by the word börü, which literally means “wolf,” but instead they address it as dag aȷˇasï, which means “father of the mountain.” They believe that pronouncing the word börü would call the animal. Oehler (2016: 192), who studied among the Soiots, says wolves are perceived as “uniquely intelligent beings in their own right,” and “at the heart of the human-wolf relations lays the skill to read in another’s performance their actual intentions.” Similarly, among the Dukha, the underlying cause of respect for the wolves is the belief in their intelligence. People know that they are always secretly watched by the wolves, waiting patiently for them to make a mistake and thus present them with an opportunity to attack the reindeer. On the other hand, this familiarity is not one-sided; people also in return know the wolves personally if they have been following them for a long time. They are in a way undomesticated, familiar nonhuman beings. One day, one of the elders told me how the wolves constantly watch them and know all the families one by one, including their habits: The wolves are really smart animals; they know all of us very well. They know who wakes up at what time, what time that particular person takes the reindeer out there for grazing, and what time he goes back to get them. He knows and follows what we are doing all the time and always looks for a weak moment to attack. They are really smart. (Narangerel, field notes, 2015).

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

69

This feeling of being pursued is ever present; people know that they should always be vigilant as an inattentive moment may result in the loss of one of their herd. Some people claim that if they herd their reindeer with enough skill and the wolves cannot find an opportunity to attack, then eventually the wolves may give up, choosing instead to visit the village where the Mongolian families live in search of an opportunity there, or they may simply go hunting. Thus, it is a game of obstinate determination in which both sides wait tenaciously to see which one will give up first. Wolves are the reason people migrate more often in the taiga, and many people say that they will be careful to hide their tracks while on the move; otherwise, wolves may come behind them and find the new camp. Because of this long-lasting conflict, I would expect people to hate the wolves, as they represent a threat to their livelihoods and their only means of survival in the taiga: the reindeer. However, when I talked to people, even in the aftermath of an attack on their reindeer, I found their reactions to be different than I expected. The reason for this contained reaction is related to the spirits and the worldview of the Dukha. According to most people, the wolves serve the spirits. The spirits tell them what to do and whose reindeer to attack, and they are just mediators who follow orders. In the winter of 2015, when I was in the field, two reindeer were attacked by the wolves. I heard most people saying that the spirits had taken what they wanted. They could have taken more, but still they took only two because it was meant to be this way. Since, both reindeer belonged to the same family, I was curious to know if the owners also took it with such humility. When I questioned them on how they felt, the owner of the reindeer, Turgen, said, “I guess I had an offering to give to the spirits. Maybe I was missing something so they took them” (field notes, 2015). For the most part, the reaction is disappointment, but this never boils over into anger directed toward the wolves, as they are simply serving the spirits. The person whose animals were attacked believed that they must have done something wrong and thus were being punished. The response Turgen gave when questioned further on the attack puts this relationship into a deeper perspective. He said, “I am not angry because the wolf takes what it is supposed to take; I believe it is taking what I owe him so I don’t get upset. In a way, I am doing my offering.” I asked, “Does it happen because you did something wrong?” He answered, “Perhaps I have taken more than I am supposed to and then it happens” (field notes, 2015). Turgen was a young herder, so I was really astonished that his response was so humble. Later, when I was interviewing other people, Nergüi, another young herder, said when a wolf attacks his reindeer, he instantly knows that he must have hunted an animal from an incorrect place “because the nature sends the wolves to take what people owes them.” (field notes, 2015)

70

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

This is one of the examples of how the Dukha perceive everything as connected and believe that every action they perform in the forest causes a reaction from the spirits, sometimes as a punishment and sometimes as a blessing. Thus, protection from the wolves cannot be obtained simply by taking precautions; it is related to the general morality of the herder, how much he respects the land and other nonhuman beings.

NURTURING CONTROL Considering all the factors and the efforts put into taming the reindeer, we could say that with every calf born, the taming process starts from the beginning, and this is why people may become boastful about “calm reindeer that let you catch them easily,” as it is something that is achieved and maintained through hard work rather than a natural trait. Dynamics of the relations between reindeer and people depend on the season and on specific situations. While sometimes a human may sacrifice for the sake of reindeer, other times it can be the opposite. However, looking into the nature of relations and the means of control, it becomes harder to view this relationship romantically as a completely egalitarian one; since it is not exempt from coercion. In the end, although both reindeer and people derive certain benefits and experience drawbacks from this relationship, the decision to live together is made by people, as reindeer could easily live in nature without people. This is why instead of describing it as a symbiotic domestication (Beach and Stammler 2006), which evokes a more egalitarian relationship, I suggest that the relations between people and reindeer involve a clear element of control as people, for their own benefit, force the reindeer into doing things they are not naturally willing to do (like having limitations on their mobility). However, I would assert that this is “nurturing control based on negotiated power” instead of “dominating control” on account of the specific power balances present in relationship. Let me explain. We can start the discussion with the question of whether or not people view themselves as the owners of the reindeer, as the concept of ownership and the meaning attributed to ownership can change depending on the society. The Dukha individually own reindeer and name them, and even refer to themselves as owners of the reindeer, eezi, when asked, although many people also say that the owner of the reindeer is actually Jˇer eezi (Land owner), not people. Different interviewees stated different positions on this, but the people who addressed themselves as owners made this description based on the fact that they take care of the reindeer. One of my interviewees said, “We are the owners of our reindeer because nature is taking care of the ˇȷerlik aŋ while we herd our reindeer” (Bataar, field notes, 2015).

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

71

I think it is clear that there is a property value attributed to reindeer, but the details of this possession are important, as “property is by no means a straightforward or singular concept” (Orton 2010). Orton (2010: 188–91) thinks that domestic animals can be considered “sentient property,” as they are involved in property relations between people as “objects,” but remain as “subjects whose social world overlaps with that of human.” I suggest that this ownership is similar to a parenting model: a protective way of owning the animal rather than a property relationship. People name their animals, recognize their individual characters, respect them, and know that their own existence in the taiga is closely linked with that of the reindeer. In this regard, can we say, for instance, that a mother “owns” her child? I believe the ethical foundations of this question can be widely debated, but, in the end, we know that most parents do not “own” their children in terms of property relations but take it for granted that they have certain rights over them and also feel responsible for them. Similarly, the reindeer are owned not because they are regarded as a commodity, but because the relationship between reindeer and people are similar to parental relations. When people know which reindeer are theirs, they feel a responsibility for them and take better care of them. By saying that, I do not mean that they do not take advantage of the benefits from the animals (just like parents do with their children), but only that it is not an outright property ownership but rather a social one based on trust, as Donahoe (2012: 106) states. Similarly, the decision-making process in this relationship is similar to a parenting model. It is true that people are the ones who are making decisions in this relationship. However, the fact that people hold the power to decide does not mean that they are in a superior position, as they do not always act in a way that is singularly beneficial to themselves; instead, they negotiate their power, as they simply follow the needs of their herd in certain seasons. Thus, although the right to decide is in the hands of the humans, the emotional power still resides with the reindeer. The Dukha are dependent on the reindeer, and this dependence breeds an emotional attachment to the reindeer. In other words, it is not the power but the authority that is possessed by people, while reindeer also have a negotiated power on people. When assessing those relations, apart from the functional and economic benefits, the emotional side of the relationship and also the type of control practiced should definitely be taken into consideration. In addition to that, other opinions in society indicate that reindeer are viewed as family members or as part of the household. In Dukha cosmology, when someone breaks a taboo—for instance, when a hunter kills a pregnant animal—it is not only the taboo-breaker who may be punished, but sometimes also a family member. This rule applies to many things—for instance, the illness of a child may be caused by the stinginess of her parents. This collective fate, which keeps everyone responsible for the welfare of others, also includes the

72

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

reindeer, as the reindeer can also suffer as a result of human bad deeds. There are many stories about how the herds of a family have been attacked by wolves because the family did something wrong, or how someone’s calf died because she had a big disagreement with someone in the camp, etc. In other words, the fate of the reindeer and the fate of the people are connected with strong ties, and I interpret this as proof that reindeer are considered an extension of family. On the other hand, one might ask how we can consider these relationships in kinship terms, as people kill and eat the reindeer when necessary, especially when the animal is ill or too old and about to die. I would claim that this view has more to do with our own socially constructed attitudes toward food and consumption, attitudes that are not necessarily applicable to the Dukha. Looking from a divergent window, I view this as no different from a matter of inheritance that exists in human communities. For instance, when someone loses their parents, despite being sad, they need to deal with the inheritance of the father or mother, as siblings must negotiate what they will take. Similarly, reindeer meat is a heritage for the Dukha from the reindeer, a precious legacy in this harsh geography. Slaughtering an old or ill animal is seen as a favor done to the animal; thus, when a beloved reindeer is about to die, although people feel sad, they enjoy its meat as a delicacy. It is important that one serves the other even when they are dead so that the cycle of life may continue. Wasting this meat, left by the reindeer as a gift to its family, would be considered disrespectful. However, research shows that subsistence slaughter is rather different from slaughtering animals for the market. According to Beach and Stammler (2006), how the meat of a slaughtered animal is used makes a big difference. For instance, small-scale herders who start to practice large-scale animal husbandry and selling their animals to the market lose the connection with the reindeer. This can be a real strain for some herders’ mental health and can cause problems such as alcohol abuse. Beach and Stammler (2006: 22) explain this difference: Subsistence slaughter, where every part of the reindeer participates in close personal and social utility, elicits no such trauma; yet to these herders the large-scale slaughter of reindeer for the market, for money rather than subsistence, and where the usage of the “product” is released to the uncertain morality of those beyond the partnership, is a betrayal of the relationship. If slaughtered in the domestic sphere for subsistence, the action and the animal stay in the universe of social relationships among people and between people and spirits. If sold to the market, they lose the links to this universe and get transformed to figures of slaughtering weight, veterinary characteristics and meat prices.

In other words, the consumption of the animal and the fact that even its meat is used does not mean that people view the animals merely as walking “meat.” On the contrary, its social significance increases, as an animal that

B EYO N D D O M E S T I C AT I O N

73

served people during its lifetime keeps contributing to the family as meat. But once life is over, and we all know that it will indeed be over for every living thing one day, why not continue to serve others? This is a reciprocal act for the Dukha because they practice sky burials, offering their own flesh to the animals. The cycle is completed this way and fairness is achieved. In short, the relations between people and the reindeer is not exempted from control but is “nurturing control” based on negotiated power that reminds us of the Dukha parental system. NOTE 1. When I use the word elder, I do not always refer to someone of old age. Just as Berkes (2008: 134) mentioned in his book Sacred Ecology, “elder” is a social position among the Dukha that represents wisdom. So sometimes younger or middle-aged people can also be considered elders.

Figure 3.1. A herder catching the reindeer to tie after they have come back from the pasture. Mongolia, 2013. Photo by the author.

CHAPTER 3

SEASONAL CYCLES AND MIGRATION IN THE TAIGA

iii Herding techniques for the reindeer change depending on the season, as it is the climate that controls everything in the taiga. Each season has its own characteristics as life in the taiga is totally dependent on these changes, creating the need to adapt different herding techniques in different seasons. However, when one talks about seasonal cycles in Dukha land, it is important to remember that we are talking about a landscape covered in snow for almost nine months of the year. It can start to snow as early as August, with the end of September or beginning of October already winter. In the depths of winter, it is very normal to have temperatures below twenty-five degrees (Celsius) during the day, and the temperatures drop to below forty at nights. Thus, the seasonal cycles involve a long winter and a brief period of respite with the other seasons. Although this weather might sound hard to tolerate for some, the Dukha actually do not really complain about it because they are the “reindeer-er” (iviȷˇi) people, and the animal they depend on likes cold weather and snow. When the temperature rises to ten degrees, the reindeer are already uncomfortable (Krupnik 1993: 167). Reindeer herding is different from other forms of animal husbandry in that aspect because there is no worry about frostbite, which can end in the loss of other kinds of herds. No matter how cold it is, the reindeer can survive easily. The question is, can people survive in that geography while following the reindeer? The life of the Dukha is a story based on the survival of reindeer and humans together in that harsh geography in which one of the parties sacrifices for the other from time to time until they can negotiate in common terms. How much herding is required for the reindeer depends on the season. Until April, when the snow starts to melt, it is easier to take care of the reindeer because the deep snow makes it hard for them to run away and also prevents wolves from reaching them. However, from April, when the snow begins to

76

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

melt, through to July, people must watch the reindeer carefully so that they do not run away or get attacked by wolves. The need to “herd” disappears again in July and August, when the temperatures rise and the mosquitoes come out. As my adopted mother says, “The flies herd the reindeer then,” which I will explain below. In September and October when the flies disappear, intensive herding becomes necessary again. This lasts until November, when reindeer can be more autonomous. In short, we can say that for about five to six months, in spring and autumn, herding activity takes place more actively, while in winter and summer, people have more time to rest. However, different activities in different seasons are not divided along strict seasonal lines based on set dates on the calendar. People naturally know when it is a good time to migrate or to castrate an animal. During my research, when I tended to think in certain patterns and ask herders “when exactly” for an activity, they would look puzzled and answer, “Whenever the time is appropriate.” Nomadic life always requires flexibility and adaptation. Unfortunately, the seasonal cycles described here are recently changing due to climate change, forcing people to find completely new ways of herding. This chapter will describe the main activities in different seasons related to reindeer herding, such as castration, the delivery of calves, and winter pasturing, and show both how intensive and how hands off reindeer herding can be.

SPRING Spring means new lives. —Ponsul, 2012

One can say that spring is the busiest, the most difficult, and in a way the most exciting season of all. It is the calving season for female reindeer, which means that there is a lot of work to help the female reindeer and ensure that their calves are delivered safely. However, this is the very reason why this season is loved so much, despite being tiring, as new members join the herd. This is also one of the two seasons, together with autumn, in which people change camps more often. Spring camps are considered temporary. The most important thing is to move from winter camp before the calves are born to ensure that they are born into a camp that has plenty of food nearby. This is especially important because if the calves are born in the winter camp, they will not be able to cross the rivers on the way to the spring camp, making migration much more difficult. When choosing the spring camp, the most important element is that there should be plenty of lichen around the camp, a delicacy for the reindeer. Since the lichen is usually in hilly places, this temporary spring camp may not be in the most

S E A S O NA L C YC L E S A N D M I G R AT I O N I N T H E TA I G A

77

convenient location for the people, but it is more important to keep the calves safe and comfortable rather than the humans. The mother will not be able to go grazing far away since she cannot leave her baby, so the camp should be set where the lichen is. This is why the spring camp is usually far from the river, in hilly terrain, surrounded by water holes from which people get the drinking water that they call “yellow water.” These are puddles inside the terrain where melted snow water has mixed with groundwater. People do not like this water, but they have to tolerate it for the sake of the reindeer. Spring is about the comfort of the reindeer more than human comfort, and it is the humans who make sacrifices in this season—leaving the comforts of their winter camps—and base all their decisions on the wellbeing of female reindeer and their calves. Soon after the calves are born and old enough to walk by themselves, about ten days postpartum, people migrate to another nearby spring camp where they are more comfortable. In this second spring camp, there are rivers nearby and the snow is already melted, so people are able to drink fresh water again after a long winter. This camp is supposed to be somewhere in plain steppe rather than woodland so that they can see a large area easily and control the calves. This is also practical to keep distance from the flies, which start to come out in June but usually remain close to the woodland. By being in an open field, people and reindeer avoid the mosquitoes. For the Dukha, the success of the herd in terms of size is mostly dependent on this season and is only possible with hard work and a little bit of luck. Near the end of April, the snow on the ground starts to melt and makes it easier for the reindeer to run away, since reindeer can cover distances faster when the snow is diminished. In the spring camp, this is a very common problem. Together with the increased mobility afforded by melting snow, the tendency of the female reindeer to seek an isolated place to give birth actually puts them at an increased risk of a wolf attack, which means that people need to be attentive of the reindeer during this period. Because of wolf threats, people feel the need to watch the herds more in spring, which brings with it a more controlled environment and herding system. Most people take the entire reindeer herd up the hill around 7:00 AM and wait there with the animals for a few hours while they are grazing. Then they tie the reindeer there and come back to the camp. After a few hours, they go back to the hill, set them free, and wait with the reindeer again for another few hours until they take the animals and come back to the camp around 6:00 PM. As tiring as it might be, this is a joyful season for the camp. The weather finally starts to get a little clearer and warmer after the long and freezing winter. The snow starts to melt, revealing charming greenery where for the past months it has been nothing but white. What’s more, once the reindeer calves are delivered, people are able to once again drink fresh milk and make cheese, a much-appreciated delicacy that has been absent from their diet for so long.

78

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

DELIVERY OF THE REINDEER CALVES The most important event in spring is clearly the birth of new calves. When spring arrives and vultures start to soar above, people understand that the delivery of the calves is soon. They say that vultures eat the placenta of the calves, and thus they know when the deliveries will start. This period is usually around the end of April or the beginning of May. Although there is no strict labor division among the sexes, it is usually the women who take care of the calves and pregnant mothers. Women help the mother during delivery if necessary, so most of my interviewees said that they would prefer to be around when the calf is coming, in case something goes wrong. The female reindeer usually gives some sort of sign when she is about to give birth. She sits down, reluctant to stand on her feet, and sometimes cries out as a result of the pain. When these signs occur, women tie the female reindeer. Then they keep checking the condition of the animal in order to be there for the delivery. During most of the births, there is no need to interfere, but problems can and do sometimes occur. Although not frequently, there are situations where the baby is maybe too big, and people need to pull the baby while the mother is pushing. Once the baby is delivered, people make sure that the mother cleans the baby and then allows it its first nursing. This is crucial because sometimes the mother does not accept the calf, especially the new mothers delivering for the

Figure 3.2. Women take care of the calves in spring. Mongolia, 2015. Photo by the author.

S E A S O NA L C YC L E S A N D M I G R AT I O N I N T H E TA I G A

79

first time. In this case, people are supposed to make the mother nurse it, and there are a few different ways. One of the solutions is pouring salt on the calf; the mother immediately starts to lick it. They also remove the liquid from the calf ’s nose so that it can breathe. Dropping the placenta after birth is also vital for the health of the mother. If the reindeer cannot drop the placenta in a couple of hours, which is the expected amount of time for a healthy delivery, then people boil börü otu, which means “wolf plant,” and give it to the mother. If the female still does not drop even after two or three days, the mother can get a high temperature, which brings the situation to a critical point that could result in the death of the reindeer. This is why börü otu is lifesaving here. It is a plant that is used both for people and reindeer when they get ill. People call it a wolf plant because they say the wolf always eats this plant—maybe to cure itself when sick. The mother is also not supposed to eat the placenta because it is believed that eating the placenta reduces the milk of the mother. People take it and hang it on a tree for the birds to eat so that the placenta is not wasted. This is another reason people want to be there during delivery—so they can follow what is happening with the placenta and intervene when necessary. This delivery period is very tiring for the women of the camp. One of my interviewees said four of her females all gave birth one after another, and in the end she was so tired that she got high blood pressure and had to lie down to take a rest for a while. Although it very rare, sometimes the mother can completely reject the baby, refusing to take it back. People say that they remember only one occasion when the mother rejected the baby. In this case, the family had to bottle feed the calf, so it was entering the tent all the time. This unexpected and rare situation created a special bond between the parties. A similar occasion may occur when the mother dies. The female reindeer whose calf dies is called haydoq, and the baby whose mother dies is called ösküs. If a baby becomes an ösküs, people give milk to it in a bottle or try to make another mother accept the baby. Similar cases might occur when a calf is too small and weak. When I was in the spring camp, one of the reindeer calves was born especially small and weak. It had difficulties nursing from the mother, and it remained small compared to the other calves. Oyunchimeg, the owner of the small calf, sometimes put her under other reindeer to suck milk along with the biological calf of the animal. The first-born calf of a household in spring is called baštanȷˇï, while the last born is called hinȷˇede. When baštanȷˇï of a family is born, people burn juniper and do not give away the milk to others. The first milk of the year is very important and highly appreciated. The Dukha do not milk the females for seven days after the birth to allow the calf exclusive access to suckle the mother. After one week, they milk the reindeer only once a day and gradually increase the amount of milking in a month. They also do not milk all the nipples at the beginning, but slowly increase the number toward summer. The milking continues through

80

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

autumn to November, decreasing slowly toward the end of the month and into winter. When the calves are born, things get even more complicated, and this becomes probably the busiest time of the year for people. The most consuming work during this time is tying the calves and mothers in turn so that they do not run away and get attacked by the wolves. The fırst days after the birth, both the mother and calf are left free because the mother is supposed to eat well to produce enough milk. Since the calf is still too small to walk long distances, they usually cannot get too far. It is important to tie the calf in the first week after it is born to get it used to human contact and as a first step of training. Otherwise it would always have an omaq character. After the first week, people start to tie the mother and the calf in turn, setting only one of them free at a time. This is a way to make sure that the mother or the calf that was set free returns back to the camp to find the other. This routine goes on all day. By the beginning of May, the camp is already full of calves. It is a beautiful place to be in the mornings, as you wake to find the rest of the camp already at work, and women with smiling faces holding the young calves before they are tied for a while. It is one of those rare moments of intimacy where you can see the formative interactions between humans and reindeer. This is the beginning of a relationship for the calf and the human, as the calf is becoming accustomed to people and the people are learning about this individual calf. However, even though people are happy to welcome the newborns and enlarge their herds, this heavy workload makes even the most hardworking herders fed up from time to time.

SUMMER In summer, we get to have a rest after spring. The flies help us herd the reindeer and we take a vacation. In the evenings they bring back the reindeer for us. —Sarnai

When the water in the spring camp begins to diminish and the snow melts, making it easier for wolves to prey on their herd, the decision to move is made. The migration routes between spring and summer camps are the hardest, due to the altitude people are aiming for. Summer camp is usually set between 2,000 and 2,800 meters in altitude and situated in a windy area to reduce the discomfort caused by mosquitoes. The encampment is almost two days away on horseback from the village, requiring passing through many valleys and mountains. The summer is a relatively smooth time after the busy pace of spring. At this time of the year, the calves are already bigger, and they can remain with their mothers on their own, so there is less work related to them. The temperatures climb to twenty or twenty-five degrees during the day, but it still drops to zero

S E A S O NA L C YC L E S A N D M I G R AT I O N I N T H E TA I G A

81

degrees at night. The summer camp is high on the mountainsides, in a valley hidden between the hills. After the dense wooded topography of the winter camp, the summer place is pretty barren and is situated farthest from the village. The reindeer do not like warm weather, so it is crucial that the camp is set as high as possible. These two months, July and August, are the only times that the weather is warm, so one can easily understand why people are so cheerful and relaxed. After a long winter and busy spring, people at last have a chance to rest and live without the constant pressure of the cold. It is also the time for children to come back from school, to once again enjoy the freedom of life in the taiga. They stay out, playing and screaming all day, and that makes the summer camp a little bit more special compared to the other camps. This is also the only time when all the families have a chance to camp together. Some families who have had to live in the village because their children must attend school live in the taiga only in summers. Old people who settled in the village because of health reasons visit the camp at this time of the year, which in a way becomes a time for families to gather. The scenery in the summer camp is beautiful; the reindeer are especially handsome as their antlers have grown large; and the people are especially happy, spending most of their time together, sitting outside their tents, chatting, laughing, and playing games. Although nice and cheerful for people, it is hard to say the reindeer enjoy this season as much as them, as they are not really fond of summer. According to Krupnik (1993), the reindeer is poorly adapted to high summer temperatures, and they lose their appetite on warm days. Moreover, the health of the herd is directly related to summer weather conditions, as it determines the disease losses. The hot summers, in which the temperatures may rise up to twenty-five degrees, considered very warm in this landscape, make the animals feel weak and exhausted (Krupnik 1993: 167). Because of this, people get nervous when the weather gets too hot, especially in recent years with the effects of climate change. One can easily observe that they do not load the reindeer or often ride them in summer, trying not to tire the animals that are already exhausted from the heat. The flies and mosquitoes that come out in this season are another factor that adds to the discomfort of the animals. Thus, summer is a period that reindeer have to sacrifice for people, as they could go further into the mountains if they were free. Elders say they used to go to further camps before, but now, because of tourists, they prefer camps that are closer to the village. Apart from taking care of the females and calves, the rest of the herd is relatively easy to control in this season. They release all the reindeer around 4:00 or 5:00 am, and tie them when they come back in the evening around 5:00 or 6:00 pm. The reason for the relatively easy control of the herds in summers is related to the fact that the reindeer mostly come back to the camp on their own because

82

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

they are disturbed by the mosquitoes. Since there are more flies in the wood and the reindeer graze there, they cannot stay there for a long time and come back by themselves in the evenings, when mosquito numbers increase, to the camp, which is in an open area in the valley. That is why they also prefer to graze in by rivers instead of woods. The flies start at the end of May and stay around until September. People sometimes make fires in the middle of the camp so that the mosquitoes are disturbed by the smoke and stay away. Thus, one can see all the reindeer that sit in the middle of the camp gathering by the fire. However, in cloudy, rainy weather, someone goes to the pastures to take them back because they graze all day. When it rains and the lichen is fresher, they do not come back to the camp on their own. The location of the summer camp, surrounded by hills, makes it easier to control the animals, as it is a difficult terrain for the reindeer to run away. However, the threat of wolves still continues in this season. This is why people tie the reindeer at night. This is also the period when people make cushions and mattresses from the reindeer hair that they collect. The hair of the reindeer begins to fall off in spring, and by July it completely falls away, leaving in its place the new fur, which is usually darker.

AUTUMN Autumn is my favorite season. We get to eat a lot of berries and nuts in autumn, that is why. —Narangerel

I asked many people among the Dukha about their favorite season, and the answer to that question for many people was autumn. Although it is the end of summer and a sign that a long winter is waiting ahead, most people cited the harvest of berries and nuts, as well as the beauty of the taiga, as the reason it is their favorite season. After a relatively easy-going summer, the flies disappear in fall and the hard work begins again as the herd demands a lot of attention. One of the reindeer’s favorite plants, which grows in the woods, begins to come out during this season. It is enough of a delicacy to tempt the reindeer away from the herd and keep them away all night. Except for the lichen, the only green plants left at this time of the year are in hilly slopes further up river. That is why autumn camps are usually set into a hillside: the back of the camp is against the forest, while the front is an open area, usually looking over the valley. One of the reasons for choosing a location with an open view is for the people to observe the reindeer easily, even with binoculars from time to time, so that they do not need to be with the animals all day long. People usually release the reindeer around 8:00 am, and someone brings them back around 5:00 or 6:00 pm. Sometimes people do not want to wait

S E A S O NA L C YC L E S A N D M I G R AT I O N I N T H E TA I G A

83

there all day long, and, just like in spring, they take the animals in the morning to the pasture and then tie them there out between noon and 3:00 pm. Then they go back to the pasture, release them in the afternoon from 3:00 to 7:00 pm and take them back to the camp. Since someone needs to be with the reindeer out in the pasture most of the time, some families prefer to divide the labor among themselves. It is possible to see three to four families, usually relatives, dividing the work, leaving two families in charge each day. But this depends on the family, and while some families like to divide their workload with others throughout the year, there are also families who always take care of their own reindeer. People milk the reindeer only once a day in this season so that the calf can suckle the mother and prepare for the winter. There are two important things that happen in this season: some males are castrated, and the mating season begins, which requires some control of breeding. BREEDING

The Dukha control breeding of their reindeer because their herds are very few in number, and since they can no longer catch wild reindeer to domesticate, the herd consists of the same animals and inbreeding is a serious problem. Reindeer start giving birth at two years old and continue until they are fourteen or fifteen years old. Breeding takes place at the end of September or beginning of October when the mating period arrives. Most families own a breeding reindeer, called ehter, that is not castrated. But those are few in number; most families usually keep only one ehter because they cannot ride those animals in mating season. Since families already have few reindeer, it is hard to afford not to ride more than one of them in autumn. That is why some families do not keep any ehters and instead ask another family to loan theirs. Having too many ehters in the camp also causes problems, as the bulls will fight each other for control of the herd and the right to mate. While breeding the animals, the most important rule is to keep track of which animal has mated with which in previous generations to avoid inbreeding. The same female reindeer can mate with the same bull every year, but it is very important that their calves do not mate with the father when they grow up. If they do, in Erhi’s words, “The calf will be small and bad.” For a while, I tried to understand how people keep track to avoid inbreeding. For some reason, I assumed that it would be hard to remember which animal mated with which after a while. But later on, after asking many people, I came to realize that this seems hard to me as a nonbreeder but for them, it is not a matter of discussion because the matter was as easy as this question: would you forget who your daughter is mating? No. Similarly, they do not mix it up. When I asked Erhi, one of the experienced herders, if she remembers her reindeer’s parents, she said she even remembers the grandparents and great grandparents of each reindeer,

84

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

along with their names. The female reindeer have a calf every year, and, if the calves seem healthy, people usually try to mate their females with the same bull to more easily keep track of the breeding. During mating time, people tie up the bulls and take the females that they choose to the bulls. They understand when the female is ready for mating because she starts making sounds, does not want to go grazing, and puts her tail up. Deciding which male animals to keep as ehter, or breeding animals, is an important task; they make sure that a big, strong male with big antlers is chosen. The character of the animal is also very significant; a well-behaved, calm male is preferred. Although it is very rare, people talk about cases in which a tame female reindeer mates with a wild reindeer. When this happened once five years prior, the baby born was also half wild, and people had serious difficulties holding it. It never became tame like the others and, in the end, ran away. CASTRATION

Castrating an animal is an important activity that should be done with great care, both physically and spiritually. The process “enables all male animals to be more easily handled” while providing other benefits to the owner, as the males grow fatter and bigger when castrated (Clutton-Brock 1994: 32). The Dukha castrate the male reindeer, called dongur, when they are two years old and around the month of September. When a family decides to castrate an animal, they try to choose a lucky day for it. For this purpose they use the Mongolian calendar, a small pocket-sized booklet, written by Buddhist monks based on astrological details. By consulting the calendar, people avoid doing important activities like castration on a “bad” day (Fijn 2011). On the chosen day, all suitable reindeer of that family are castrated, not just one of them. When they have chosen an appropriate date for it, they will ask people from other families to perform the castration. This person should have strong hands and also experience in the matter. There are a few people in the camp who are known to be good at it, like Otgonbayar and Chokhu. It is always the men who do the castration. Before the procedure begins, they tie white fabric down around the area, and during the procedure, someone from the family offers milk to the spirits and purifies the area by burning juniper. A white khadag is also tied to the neck of the reindeer. According to Bataar, who acts as the community vet, they do not take the testicles out during the procedure. Instead, they tie a string around the vas deferens to stop the blood from circulating to the testicles and, in time, usually between fifteen days to a month, the testicles fall off themselves. By doing it this way, the animal does not bleed extensively, which would put it at risk. However, if performed incorrectly, this operation may be life threatening for the animal, so it is vital that the person performing the castration is experienced. When the operation is completed, the

S E A S O NA L C YC L E S A N D M I G R AT I O N I N T H E TA I G A

85

family boils milk, sometimes making porridge from it, and they offer it to the person who performed the castration.

WINTER Winter is the only season that we get for ourselves. —Sarnai

By the end of October, when the snow falls start to get heavier, it is time to move to the winter camp, as it is a sign of a long and harsh winter approaching that will take many months. The winter camp is set inside the forest , surrounded by larch and cedar trees, deep in the taiga to protect the tents from winter’s hard freezing winds. This is the only stable camp the Dukha maintain these days, as they mostly go to the same spot every year. Two of the families have even built small wooden huts there. The reason for using the same camp is related to its good location and some other contemporary changes in life. People prefer this spot because it sits relatively close to the village and also because most of the families have more possessions these days and they leave their winter beddings and other objects they only need in winter at this spot, simply coming back there every year. However, when I visited the taiga in the winter of 2016, some families had moved to another spot, one hour by walking from the winter camp,

Figure 3.3. Winters last for many months in the taiga, and temperatures usually drop below forty degrees in the evenings. Mongolia, 2013. Photo by the author.

86

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

which meant that the families were separated into two main groups. The people who left cited a lack of firewood in the area as the reason for their decision, as staying in the same spot every winter puts too much pressure on the stocks of firewood, resulting from the number of trees that are felled. One elder person even criticized the families who built wooden cabins, saying, “There is a reason why we are nomadic in the taiga, to be free to move whenever we want. If you put up a cabin, you will eventually finish the wood around and then you have to carry the firewood from faraway” (Gantulga, field notes, 2016). If spring is the busiest time, we can say that winter is its exact opposite. In November, when there is already deep snow in the taiga, the Dukha take the reindeer away to a distant valley, only bringing them back again in March, so they are away for almost four months. The reason for the separation of humans and reindeer at this time is connected to how life for the Dukha is evolving. In past times, the people would have moved to a winter camp deep in the valley with the reindeer. Nowadays, maintaining close proximity to the village is very important. It is too cold in the old winter camps for most families, and people are also more dependent on the village for supplies. This is why they found a new solution, in which the reindeer are led to a faraway valley and people can stay closer to the village. They send the reindeer so they may graze well and move freely through the winter. The threat of wolf attacks in faraway valleys is also less likely due to the deep snow, which is insurmountable for the wolves most of the time. The valley is pretty far away from the winter camp, almost two days riding a reindeer. This contemporary winter herding technique does not mean that there is no work related to the reindeer in winter. Deciding how to choose the winter spot for the reindeer is a very important task. The most crucial factor in this choice is that the valley is surrounded by mountains so that the reindeer cannot wander off and disappear. Sometimes they make scarecrows at the entrance of the valley so that they may keep the reindeer in and the wolves out. They make these from wood and grass, and dress them in a del, a traditional Mongolian dress that people wear. Once in the valley, the reindeer do not need any further help from humans to survive. Choosing a time to send the reindeer to the valley is another decision to be made each year, depending on the snow level; it can be anytime between October and November. People keep only the riding males for hunting and transportation. When I first visited the taiga in the winter of 2013, people would just leave the reindeer in the faraway valley and check them only a few times all winter. Sometimes they would not even go all the way but only check for wolf tracks. If this threat was declared neutral, they would not need to go the whole way there. However, when I came back in the winter of 2015, after a few wolf attacks in the valley, families started to take turns to go there and stay with the reindeer for two weeks. They made a common tent for the family in charge to stay there,

S E A S O NA L C YC L E S A N D M I G R AT I O N I N T H E TA I G A

87

and that family looked after the reindeer alone for the determined time period. These things can change depending on the year and conditions, as there are no fixed rules in nature. However, the effects of climate change may also be a factor: most people mention how the level of snow is becoming less and less with each year that passes. The time chosen to bring the reindeer also fluctuates. In March 2015, they brought the reindeer back earlier because the snow had melted earlier than expected and the area became accessible for wolves. Eventually there were wolf attacks, and a decision was made to bring them back. Later, when I visited the winter camp in 2016, all of the men were away in the valley. For the first time, they were building a fence to keep the reindeer in and the wolves out. Again the changing levels of snow dictated this decision. It took the men a few weeks to build the fence, closing one part of the valley, while the other side was naturally defended by the mountain. The iron posts required for building the fence were extremely heavy and required reindeer to pull them to the location of the construction. Then they would take turns staying there again like the year before, each family staying for two weeks. Essentially, in the five years I visited the taiga, I witnessed a dramatic transition in the winter herding system. They moved from a free-range system in which the reindeer are left free, to a system of fenced and maintained reindeer that requires families to leave the shelter of the forest and watch over the herd. When I was back from the field and writing my notes in the winter of 2017, I learned on the phone from the families in the village that because of low snow levels, the wolves reached the valley easily that year, even before people could take any precautions, and fifty calves were attacked, which was a dramatic loss for the community. This rapid change in the weather and conditions makes me wonder how this change will progress in coming years. However, as I stated above, all these precautions are relatively new because in the past, people would simply stay with the reindeer all year round. With the new developments and school, people cannot stay in a faraway valley all year. Once the herd is taken far, people have the opportunity to rest in those months without the reindeer. They carve souvenirs, men go out hunting, and women take care of the sewing. Of course, the male reindeer that people keep to ride through the winter also require attention. Apart from that, winter is an active visiting time, as most of the reindeer being away makes it possible to leave the taiga. Family members move about very frequently in the winter, usually with people going to the village to visit relatives. The fact that the winter camp is accessible by car also helps with this mobility.

HERD SIZE AND CAPITAL VALUE Why do the Dukha want more reindeer if they do not have an economic benefit from it? According to Paine (1971:168), “Herd expansion is a basic pastoral

88

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

value,” even if other conditions, such as pasture, are not suitable. This is something I learned to be true among the Dukha as well, since all of their effort goes toward having a bigger herd and thus a greater sense of security. I will address this using some calculations to illustrate the point. In spring 2015, most people in the east taiga had, on average, fifteen reindeer. This, in terms of reindeer herding, is a relatively small number. People in the west taiga have more reindeer, around thirty to fifty for an average family. When I asked people what was the ideal number of reindeer to own, they usually considered this to be around thirty-five, divided into twenty females and fifteen riding males. This would produce an ample amount of milk, as well as the capacity to transport. When we were calculating those numbers with Batbayar, we ended up deciding that the minimum number of reindeer a family needs is eight: two reindeer for the couple to ride, three reindeer to pack, and three females to milk and breed. And a baseline of eight really is the minimum, as three is barely enough to pack for a small family. The number of reindeer that most families in the east taiga have (between ten to fifteen), then, are really hardly enough, placing them on the margins of survival. With only one wolf attack, a family can lose three reindeer, and this fundamentally changes dynamics of the herd. This is why people are understandably very sensitive about their reindeer and the calves. The balance between male and female reindeer is important for the herders, although it is out of their control. Females are preferred for milk and for their potential to enlarge the herd. On the other hand, it is only male reindeer that people can ride on and pack, so they are absolutely essential for the community. Although the herd size is integral for the survival of the families, when I was going around all of the tents to ask people about their herd size, I came to realize that most of them did not know how many reindeer they have by rote. They usually need to count one by one to be able to provide a number. They all know the individual animals and their names, but the total number is not recallable. A family knows if they have enough reindeer or not anyway, without the need to calculate the animals. However, I had a feeling that mentioning the number of animals they possessed also made people nervous, maybe thinking that it would attract envy or bad energy. People do not sell or buy reindeer, so the only way to enlarge one’s herd is by looking after your animals well, breeding, and maybe inheriting animals if your parents pass away. When a couple gets married, their parents and sometimes sisters or brothers give some of their reindeer to them. However, there are no strict rules about which side of the family should give how many reindeer. People kept saying they give depending on how many reindeer they have. For instance, if they had four or five reindeer, they would give only one reindeer. If they have fifteen reindeer, they would give away around five of them. Without the help of family members, newly married couples would find it impossible to start their

S E A S O NA L C YC L E S A N D M I G R AT I O N I N T H E TA I G A

89

own herd. However, people almost always migrate together with their close kin, so they usually share the male reindeer to pack. Similarly, if a family does not have enough female reindeer and thus milk, the other families, especially close relatives, would give them some milk. Having discussed in detail Dukha herding techniques and how much effort is spent maintaining the reindeer, attention may turn to the question of outcomes. What do the Dukha gain from this relationship? What is the capital value of the animal? Robert Paine (1971: 158), in his article about the capital value of animals for hunters and herders, describes capital as “a resource in respect of which one controls its reproductive value.” Other scholars have invented measurements for analyzing the efficiency of pastoral people. This measurement of efficiency in animal husbandry involves a series of analyses, converting plant energy to animal energy to calculate the efficiency of different pastoralist groups (Beach and Stammler 2006: 17). In a way, these measurements calculate whether the energy spent for the labor is worth the outcome, evaluating pastoralism like a business plan. It is vital that minimum human and animal power is used for the best outcome so that the system is efficient. If we made such a measurement for the Dukha and their reindeer, the result would be completely inefficient as there are no earnings from the reindeer, since they do not use it as a meat source or sell reindeer meat in the market. Then the question remains: why do they spend so much time and effort to keep the reindeer? Reindeer are used for transportation of people and goods and also for milking; occasionally in a period of extreme austerity they may be used for meat. For the Dukha, the reindeer hold a much greater significance than capital value. The reindeer are an identity keeper and a means of holding spiritual ties with the landscape.

MIGRATION IN THE TAIGA We used to migrate faraway in the past, to the remote mountains and rivers in the taiga. Now there is school, tourism, and the supplies of food we need. We cannot travel that far anymore. —Erhi, 2015

June 2015. Somebody shouted at me loudly and roused me from my daydreaming in the forest. We had been many hours on the reindeer, and my legs were aching, but my mind was at ease, probably one of the most peaceful states I have ever had. Sarnai, my Dukha mother, was riding in front of me at a steady pace, looking around in curiosity as if she were there for the first time in her life. She was holding a stick in one hand while controlling the reindeer with the other, which made her look like a warrior. Indeed, that image really fit her because she

90

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

Figure 3.4. Migration from spring to summer camp. Mongolia, 2015. Photo by the author.

was known to be the toughest woman in the taiga; it was perfectly in accordance with her strong personality. The forest was in complete silence; we could hear only the whistling sounds of the leaves and the occasional sharp crow of a raven. It felt like the forest was sleeping and Batïqšan, the forest spirit, was hiding somewhere watching us. It was one of those amazing moments that I felt the true atmosphere of the taiga—how far away we were from everything and how untouched those forests were. The nearest settlement was two days on a horse, but, in a strange kind of way, I knew that we were at home here and those empty forests had welcomed many others like us. After moving across the forest, bathed in green for a long time, we came to the edge of the greenery, and, ahead of us, there was an immense frozen river. Sarnai got off her reindeer and dug her stick into the ice, making sure it was solid enough to carry us. Then she pulled the animal to the edge of the path where she had found a tree trunk to use as a step to mount it so as not to hurt its back. She looked back at us and shouted out “ȷˇörü!” (go), and we all moved on. Our reindeer followed each other and crossed the river without any problem. We didn’t need to do much to direct the reindeer because the animals have a tendency to follow each other. Tongu, my adopted elder sister, was riding behind me. The pack reindeer were tied to hers, while Sarnai also had some other reindeer tied to hers. We were moving the luggage to the summer camp before taking the rest

S E A S O NA L C YC L E S A N D M I G R AT I O N I N T H E TA I G A

91

of the family and reindeer the next day. The summer camp is the farthest away compared to the other ones. We were supposed to pass by many valleys, hills, and two mountains to reach our destination. Soon after climbing a low hill, the terrain was again under snow, though a loose watery snow. We continued on open ground for a while, as the forest was left behind us. The higher we climbed, the change in the climate and terrain was more evident. From time to time, Sarnai would shout out “huuu huuu” to keep the reindeer moving, and check behind to see if we were okay. When the steep climb was over, she signaled to us to get off the reindeer, as she had done, and we then walked down on foot holding the rope of the reindeer. This is something they did pretty often so as not to hurt the animals with the extra weight while descending. The reindeer were out of breath but recovered soon after. These are the moments one can understand how strong these animals are, perfect for the terrain and much tougher than horses. Their hooves are wide and solid, like snowshoes, as this helps them walk on the snow. They have endurance that will carry them huge distances and for long hours. They are also much calmer than a horse, which can be beneficial in these environmental extremes. I do not remember how many valleys we passed, or how many hills we climbed, but we were high up; usually the altitude was accompanied by breathtaking views of the mountains across the valley. When we were about to climb the last steep mountain pass, we heard some voices echoing from the distance. There were some other people around. Soon enough we could hear the “vuu vuuu, huuuu huuuu” sounds clearer and understood that it was another migrating family with their reindeer. They must have moved the luggage the day before and were taking everything else now, including the herd. The setting of the scene was beautiful. There were so many reindeer freely running, and the young girls at the front and back of the herd particularly stuck in my memory. They were constantly tossing their sticks in the air, shouting to control the herd, and they looked happy. I rode faster to catch up with them, and we rode together for a while. Since this was the spring to summer migration, the reindeer calves were still too young to walk fast. They tied the younger calves to their mothers so that they did not fall behind. Stronger calves were free, walking on their own. One calf tied to her mother kept falling and dragging on the ground behind her mother. Altansarnai, the young woman at the back of the herd, kept interfering, trying to slow down the mother, but it did not work. In the end, she had to get off her reindeer and take the calf upon herself, to carry it on her lap on the reindeer for a while. Otherwise, there was a possibility that the calf would not have made it to the camp. We passed the herd later on, moving on faster than them as we did not have a herd to control with us. We made our last descent from the mountain, alongside the water. My feet were all wet, but I knew that we were close to the

92

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

camp, and the other families who went before us were waiting there with hot tea and a warm stove. We could just enter any household we wanted and knew that we would be offered tea and bread immediately. This is how it works in the taiga. A little later, we saw the white tents from the top and were down in the valley in less than twenty minutes. The journey was incredibly impressive, but I was relieved to have finally arrived at the camp. Sarnai and Tunga would make the same journey two more times in the coming days, going back and returning with the herd. It was a really tough journey, and I felt sorry for them having to do it all over again. I told Sarnai this, and she said with astonishment, “Tough journey? This is half of the distance compared to our old migration paths.” This is how she was, a lady who worked constantly, unable to sit down and take a rest. I entered a tent nearby to ask for tea, and when I went out to call her, she was already out on the hill, chopping trees for the tent.

THE NEEDS OF THE HERD OR HERDER? Migration in the forest is one of the most important elements of life in the taiga. Why do pastoralists migrate with the animals, and what is the aim of this movement? The most basic theory is that nomadic people change places to find new pastures and water for the herd. Although this is certainly one of the main reasons, recent studies reveal that there are many other factors triggering the movement and affecting the decisions of nomadic people. Biological factors like the changing seasons or the life cycle of flies affect the decision as much as nonbiological reasons such as economic instability or social relations (Dwyer and Istomin 2008). Even in areas where pasture is abundant, people may start migrating for other causes, such as escaping military forces or for ritual reasons (Salzman 2004: 5). Pastoralists are usually classified according to their mode of mobility, which consists of two main forms: nomadic pastoralism and transhumance (O’Neil 2011; Blench 2001). According to Dong (2016: 7), the term “nomadic pastoralism” is used for mobility that is highly irregular, while transhumant pastoralism is used for mobility that takes place between relatively fixed locations. The Dukha, living in tents that are portable, practice nomadic pastoralism, as they do not have fixed camps all year round. However, in recent years, some people have made a fixed winter camp where there are two wooden huts, while the rest of the families still stay in tents and continue the movements to different camps through the different seasons. Migration has two main practical aims in terms of subsistence for the Dukha: one is to follow the reindeer and take them where there is good pasture

S E A S O NA L C YC L E S A N D M I G R AT I O N I N T H E TA I G A

93

available, and the second is to be closer to the hunting animals. In both cases, the needs of the animals change depending on the season, and migration patterns vary related to those changes. In terms of herd management, the main factors that the herd needs are good pasture, water, favorable temperatures, and protection from the wolves, which people take into consideration when choosing a camp. However, there are many other reasons affecting this decision apart from the biological factors related to animals. The Dukha migrate between four and six times per year through the different seasons. According to the elders, they used to migrate more often, up to ten times a year, but the emergent dependency on the village and the low number of packing reindeer eventually led them to migrate less often. They are very well acquainted with the vast geography of the taiga—they know every corner—so their choice of campsites is predetermined. These camps have already been settled and thus are known to be suitable. Each one offers different natural amenities to suit the needs of the specific season. Practically, this means that the Dukha elders, if asked about a summer camp, will immediately be able to name several sites; they will also know what the conditions of pasture, water, and wind are at each site. Thus, when it is time to migrate, the question is which campsite they will choose. This extensive ecological knowledge about the landscape makes it relatively easier to foresee the ecological conditions of an area and whether it may be suitable for the reindeer that year. It is also important to pay attention to the camps that have been visited in past years to avoid overgrazing and overusing the supplies in the area, such as wood. Eventually, everyone knows that the further a camp is, the better it is for pasture and for temperature, as reindeer prefer colder climates. However, the needs of the herd are not the only criteria taken into consideration when choosing a place, and increasingly the decisions today are made taking the herder’s own needs into consideration as well. Thus, we can proceed to the question of what people want. What are the basic needs of people today when choosing a campsite? Although there are many factors to take into consideration, one of the most important is the proximity of the camp to the village. Due to the strong ties with the settlement, people in general do not want to be too far from the village. Most herders have family there now, and even without this they are dependent on the village for essential supplies. Today the Dukha are not completely self-sufficient; people buy some products, like flour, sugar, and meat, from time to time as hunting is forbidden, and the government pays them a stipend to buy meat from the village instead. Apart from the supplies, as I stated earlier, all Dukha children go to school, which means that most families have to move to the village and return to the taiga only in summers, or the children stay in the village but they visit the taiga often, which makes a close camping ground more practical. There

94

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

are also many other reasons that connect people to the village, such as access to healthcare or other economic activities. This makes it harder to set camps in faraway valleys now, as the access to the settlement is needed on a very regular basis. In addition to the strong link with the village, relatively small herd sizes and the acquisition of heavier goods also make it much harder to move away from the village. The Dukha have fewer riding reindeer compared to the old days. This limits the amount that can be packed in one migration. The response has been to make two trips, but this in turn limits the distances they can feasibly move. Modern life has brought more personal belongings that must be moved to each site. Items such as solar panels, extra bedding, or televisions are new to the Dukha migration. In addition to all those factors, today, especially in the summers, the other major factor in choosing a campsite is tourism. The tourism industry has been an important source of income for the Dukha in recent years, and this is why they do not want to migrate very far away in summers, so as not to discourage tourists from visiting the camp. These very human motivations serve as a challenge to the romanticized vision of the Dukha simply following the herd, as their own needs are a large part of the migratory decisions. However, if it is the people who make decisions on where to move, it is the reindeer who decide when. People read nature and especially the behaviors of the reindeer as a natural calendar. The reindeer start to liven up when it is time to move. At this stage, they become too hard to control, signaling to the people that it is time to migrate. The weather conditions are very important at this point; the level of snow and the temperatures all contribute to the timing. Reading the reindeer and nature is not a simple task, so usually the elders with the most experience are the ones who are able to decide when to migrate. Climate change has affected these decisions in the taiga, and this is usually most evident in the timing of migration events, with winters ending more quickly. However, when the reindeer need to move on, they will usually begin to walk themselves, so just a good observation of the reindeer is sometimes enough to decide. On the other hand, unexpected situations like a wolf attack can affect decisions, and people might want to migrate sooner or somewhere else. Thus, the role of the wolves is also crucial to making this decision. The balance of the decisions and which party’s needs are given priority also changes depending on the season, sometimes favoring one and sometimes the other in a different season, as I have written in the previous chapters. There are then the natural factors affecting reindeer herding, as well as the increasing economic incentives through tourism. There is, however, a final political factor to consider. New official rules and political changes have been forced on the Dukha by authorities, and these also make a big impact on the decisions of migration. The first restriction on the migration patterns of the Dukha was imposed with the closure of the border between Mongolia and Rus-

S E A S O NA L C YC L E S A N D M I G R AT I O N I N T H E TA I G A

95

sia. As the hunters and reindeer herders of the taiga, the Dukha used to migrate freely geographically between what was declared as two countries in the 1940s. This closed their access to ancient herding lands as well as campsite options. The second biggest restriction on the Dukha has been the strict hunting ban introduced to the area in 2011. This has completely closed off some of their campsites. This is in conjunction with the banning of movement in the border regions, which effectively has closed off a large swathe of options for migration. The bureaucratic reach of these new regulations also necessitate that they use their radiophones to report to government officials on movements every time they migrate, which will be discussed in the coming part of the book. Apart from ecological factors and the animals’ needs, migration is of great importance for the Dukha society, as it serves as a means of keeping their autonomy, as I will explain below.

DECIDING TO MOVE We were in the winter camp in mid-April 2015, and people had already started to talk about migrating to the spring camp. Day by day, the snow was melting, and the female reindeer were pregnant, edging toward the point of delivery in

Figure 3.5. During long migrations, people sometimes get off the reindeer and let the animals rest and graze for a while. Mongolia, 2015. Photo by the author.

96

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

the coming days. From the moment I had arrived in the taiga, I had been asking people when they would migrate to the spring camp for some reason. I guess my obsession with timing was related to the need for planning in advance and feeling safe. However, this feeling was not reciprocated by the Dukha. No matter how many times I asked, no one would even make a guess; people simply said they did not know. The fact that one of the elderly couples in the camp had already migrated a few days after I arrived, at the end of March, confused me even more because I just could not understand why they would leave when everybody else was still in the winter camp. They said they wanted to go to the foot of a mountain not so far from the winter camp because there was a lot of fresh pasture for the reindeer, and since they would be alone there, they would have more grazing land available for their own reindeer. A few days later, two other families also migrated, leaving the rest of the people in the winter camp. After a few days, when the sun had grown stronger and the snow had increased its pace of melting, my impatience was at boiling point. I wanted to know: when are we going to migrate? And where? The fact that snow had almost disappeared from the ground and some families had already left the camp did not help to get an answer to my question, so my curiosity was really biting. The reply was still the same whomever I would ask: “I don’t know. All families know themselves. When is your family migrating?” This situation carried on for a number of days. We were all in a state of limbo, and no one had a clear answer. Each family would know themselves when the time was right to move. However, after a while, it turned out that I was not the only curious one, my adopted Dukha mother would ask me if I had heard when other families planned on migrating. That state went on for a while. Eventually, somebody made the move and began the migration; they knew it only the day before, and sometimes people decide in the morning of the actual move. And once someone takes the initiative for the big move, the other families follow suit, packing their belongings and setting out on the migration. It was pretty common to hear families asking when we would migrate, and then when I asked back, they would say, “Whenever other families move, we move.” To this day, I am still unclear as to what the exact reasoning is, or what factors provoke the move; it appears as though it is an extremely indirect communal decision. The decision is made informally during the social gatherings, especially when visiting the older Dukha. People ask each other about the migrations, and the answers are always vague, as if the decisions to migrate will be made individually, and that they may go wherever they feel they want to that year. However, they all know that almost all of those participating in the conversations will end up in the same campsites. They talk about the best options and which area of the taiga is good for that particular period, but with no official declaration of a decision. Bataar, a respected elder in the camp once told me, “I will migrate

S E A S O NA L C YC L E S A N D M I G R AT I O N I N T H E TA I G A

97

tomorrow and tell other people, but I don’t know what they will do. It is their own decision” (field notes, 2015). In conjunction with the well-discussed physical factors determining migration—the weather, or the reindeer themselves—there are other spiritual conditions to be met for each family, such as avoiding unlucky days to migrate. Basically, this means that some Dukha families have unlucky days on which they will not attempt to migrate. It depends on the family, for it can be inherited from their ancestors or because of another incident that the shaman told them about. More importantly, the decision to migrate is a way for people to maintain their autonomy, so it cannot be imposed by someone else. In other words, apart from the ecological and practical aspects, one of the most significant functions of migration is that it serves people as a way of keeping their freedom and autonomy. Although people mostly migrate to the same camps, this is not a strict rule, as in the example of the few families who migrated earlier to a different pasture for a period of time before returning back to the next camp in which all the other families had gathered together. This is one of the reasons the Dukha see no reason to accept the obligation to inform the authorities of their movements. It is their most essential means of expressing their own independence and autonomy. Woodburn (1982: 435) mentions this role of mobility in solving problems and giving people a certain degree of autonomy, as “individuals are not bound to fixed areas, to fixed assets and to fixed resources.” As Lee (2005) similarly states in his work, people in band societies simply move away when they feel pressured and use mobility as a way of solving conflicts. I have also witnessed that happening a few times during my fieldwork. Once a family decides to move to the next camp, the process usually starts with the men going to the new location—first to take the luggage and prepare the wooden poles of the tent before returning for the rest of the family and reindeer. As I stated earlier, they usually cannot move all at once these days because of the low number of packing reindeer. Before the migration, the packing of the reindeer must be carried out with great care. The reindeer are very strong and hardy animals, but there are ways to pack the animals to avoid problems on the road. The reindeer’s skin is soft, unlike the back of the horse. They have special packing saddles, but the saddle is not stable on the reindeer; it moves together with the animal. That is why packing both sides of the saddle equally strikes a balance necessary for the belongings not to fall down. Once on the road, walking on the snow, passing from muddy ground, descending mountains, passing rivers, and climbing hills, the journey will be bumpy and hard, so packing the reindeer carefully is of great importance. The risk of losing or damaging property or even harming the reindeer is too serious to take. The Dukha normally only pack the male reindeer that are older than three years old. The females are

98

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

packed with light luggage only, but in the spring migration even if that is not possible, as the animals are pregnant. During the migration, although the herders lead the way, most reindeer remember the route anyway and follow their own instincts. According to the Dukha, the reindeer definitely know the routes, and they have a great sense of orientation in the landscape. This is evident not only during migration but also in incidents in which a reindeer may become separated or lost; more often they remember a previous camp. As I mentioned earlier, some pregnant reindeer return to the camp in which they gave birth the previous year to deliver there again. Similarly, when a reindeer walks away and becomes lost, it can sometimes go back to an old camp. Once the herder is on the trail, the reindeer remember the route with some small guidance, and the pace of the journey is usually controlled by the reindeer themselves. When people arrive at the new camp, first they try to find a good location to set the tent. A good place for the tent is a place where the ground is not inclined, if not flat, and close enough to the rivers to get water easily. It should be in an elevated position that is good for observing the reindeer, and close to the pasture. Extended families usually set their tents close to each other, as they regularly help each other with the reindeer and other things. Research shows that closer kin among the Dukha live in closer proximity, and they have an average distance between closest neighbors of seventy meters, and fifty-one for primary linkages (O’Brien and Surovell 2017). The campsite might look relatively small to a temporary visitor, with tents close to each other; however, once you start to live there, you understand that little distances between the tents can feel like a lot when you have to make those visits frequently during the day. This is why people set their tents close to the families they will visit often. Once the exact location of the tent is chosen, if there are not any wooden poles from previous years to make the basis of the tent, men go into the forest with axes and chop down some of the small cedar trees, while the women clear the ground that will form the floor of the tent. People have little beds made of wood in winter camp since it is too cold to sleep on the ground. They place duvets on the beds and use them as a place to sit, eat, and sleep. In summer and fall camps, most people usually sit and sleep on the floor on a simple mattress they lay on the ground, or have only one bench to sit on during the day. When the poles of the tent are ready, they take three of them and tie their tips together with a rope to make the foundation of the circle. After raising those tied sticks, they bring the rest of them and insert them between those fixed sticks to form a full circle, which usually consists of twelve to fifteen poles. Spiritual factors also affect the choosing of a camping ground and/or the way a tent is set. In the past, when somebody passed away in a camping place, people would leave the wooden structure of the tent there with its door facing

S E A S O NA L C YC L E S A N D M I G R AT I O N I N T H E TA I G A

99

down as a sign to show people that someone passed away in that spot. People avoid those places where someone passed away as a camping location because it always carries the energy of the deceased. Similarly, places that are known to possess an angry spirit or sacred places where an old shaman lies are never chosen as camping grounds. Overall, migration in the taiga is an important and delicate process that constitutes a significant part in the lives of people and needs to be handled with care.

Figure 4.1. Children start riding and playing with reindeer from an early age. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author.

CHAPTER 4

THE REINDEER AS AN INTIMATE PARTNER

iii Reindeer are like our children. Indeed, they are even closer than the children. In winter children leave the taiga to go to school, but the reindeer stay here with us all year. —Sarnai, 2013

When new members joined our household in the spring of 2015 after all the female reindeer gave birth, what to name the calves was a hot topic among us for a long time. Although people usually wait for some time to name the reindeer, everyone was making their suggestions, and our tent was filled with laughter for a while, all of us suggesting funny names or making fun of the names the others came up with. It was clear to me then that the reindeer were certainly not just functional partners in the taiga that people take advantage of. It was much more than that. The social significance of the animals for pastoralists is widely discussed among scholars. Since pastoralists interact with their domestic animals on a daily basis and they live in isolated environments with their animals far from other people, the social significance of animals increases. According to Stammler and Takakura (2010), the economic value of the animal is less stable than its social value, as the market conditions may change, but the intimate relationship between people and animals remains. The intimate relationships between reindeer and people are indeed tied with stronger aspects, such as sharing a common landscape, a common struggle to survive in this landscape, and a historical bond in the form of ancestral inheritance. In this chapter, I am going to mention some of those factors or practices that turn reindeer into social beings who are considered part of the household rather than commodities.

102

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

NAMING ANIMALS All reindeer in Dukha society have names, and this is one way to observe the intimate relationship between people and the animals, as proof of personal identification and attributing personhood to the animals. According to DeMello (2012), naming an animal incorporates that creature into our social world, as we use that name in a way that allows for interaction and emotional attachment. Among the Dukha, reindeer are not considered pets, but they are also not random members of the herd viewed as “objects.” All of them are recognized by their owners and treated separately, like the children of a household. The practice of naming the herd animals is seen among the Mongolian herders, as well as other herders around the world. Natasha Fijn (2011: 102) thinks that when people give a name to a specific animal based on unique characteristics of that animal, they are likely to treat it with more respect and “recognize it as an individual.” Once an animal is accepted as an individual, “then that individual is no longer just one of a mass, or just a member of a herd” (Fijn 2011: 102). Since the Dukha have fewer animals and do not slaughter them unless there is an urgent need to do so, they spend more years with the individual animals they have named. A reindeer can live up to eighteen years, and it is very often the case that a child might have grown up alongside a particular reindeer. This connection strengthens the ties and turns the animal into a family member whose character is known and whose parents and grandparents are still remembered and respected. Today, families in the east taiga have around ten to twenty reindeer, but even in the west taiga, where families have approximately forty reindeer, they still name the animals one by one—so having more reindeer does not completely change the form of the relationship between people and the animals. During my fieldwork when I went to visit a family in the west taiga, and while we were sitting by the stove, I asked the woman in the tent if all their reindeer had names. Instead of struggling to explain inside, she took me by my arm and brought me outside. She pointed at the reindeer and told me one by one what the name of that animal was and why they named it this way. For example, one reindeer was called Uluug bud (Big leg) because one of her legs was bigger than the other leg. Another was named Benerin (Lip with mole) because she had a big black mole just above her lip. She showed me two reindeer sitting next to each other and explained that they were sisters, so one was called Little Yellow while the other one was Elder Yellow. Another reindeer was called Üš garak (Three eyes) because he had a spot between his eyes that looked like the third eye. There were also names such as Yaŋgıs meisli mïndï (One-antlered female), Ulug meisli ˇȷ arï (Big-antlered castrated male) or simply Gök guutay (Blue reindeer). When a calf is born, people usually wait for a while to give a name to the animal so that they get to know it and can choose a name depending on the ap-

T H E R E I N D E E R A S A N I N T I M AT E PA RT N E R

103

pearance or character of the animal. They also want to make sure that the animal will survive. Elders state that naming children was done in a similar way in the past, but nowadays young parents prefer to name their children right after the birth. Animals younger than one or two years old might not have names, since it is too early to understand the characteristics of that animal. Sometimes if the mother or another family member of the reindeer was a beloved animal, it can be named after it, like the daughter of Sarï mïndï (Yellow girl). Occasionally the animals can also be named after an incident. For example, once Erhi told me a story of how her daughter Tuya received a toy dog as a gift and Erhi hung it on the neck of a reindeer. This reindeer was called Moynuajïlï mïndï after that, which literally means “a female reindeer with a work on her neck.” This reindeer ended up being one of their favorites and passed away recently. Thus, the names not only identify the personal characteristics or appearance of the animal but also carry traces of memories, shared moments, or kinship.

CHARACTER OF THE REINDEER Do animals really have different unique characters among themselves? Anyone who has lived in close proximity with an animal knows the answer to that question very well. Clutton- Brock (1994), who works with animals, says characteristic qualifications of individual animals have usually been ignored even though it is widely accepted that individual members of human society are variable in intelligence, powers of leadership, levels of energy, and so on. However, now ethnologists have started to recognize the “personalities” of the individual animals, at least for advanced vertebrates (Clutton-Brock 1994: 33). Thus, just like among people, there are many different characteristics among animals, including reindeer. When I was in the field and asked people whether or not the reindeer have individual characters, there were two main characteristics people identified (of which one is obviously more appreciated more than other): people would simply say that some of the reindeer are stubborn while others are calm. As one of the elders, Narangerel, described it, “Of course, the reindeer have characters of their own. Some of them are stubborn, they don’t let you ride it, pack it, milk it, or tie it. However, most of them are pretty good and calm. They become bad tempered only when they are in pain or sick.” These two main characteristics seemed to be the easy ones to describe, and when I asked about more characteristic features of reindeer, people were usually not able to explain them in more detail, nor were they willing to. However, the first full day I spent out in the pasture with the reindeer, I understood how clearly they each had different characteristics, but I also realized how hard it is to express in words. I think this is why participant observation is definitely one

104

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

of the strongest methods of social anthropology, allowing one to see and feel so many aspects that people do not or are not able to tell when asked. On this first day spent out in the pastures with Sarnai and the herd, we left the camp early in the morning. The reindeer were mostly calm as they were grazing. Occasionally, Sarnai would ride out in one direction so as to collect the reindeer that had begun to walk away. She also sometimes called on me to help herd them back into a group. A couple hours after we arrived at the grazing field, Sarnai said she needed to go back to the tent and would come back soon, and left me alone with the reindeer. Although I have no problems about being out in the field with the reindeer on my own, bearing the responsibility of the herd was stressful. Being the inattentive, dreamy person I am, the possibility of a wolf attack or one of the reindeer running away was worrying, which resulted in my paying great attention to my surroundings, resulting in another positive effect. By the end of this single day of herding, after so much attention, I was able to recognize individual reindeer that previously had seemed part of a homogenous group to me. Furthermore, I was able to recognize the characteristics of specific reindeer, especially the ones with a tendency to stray from the group. For example, there was a relatively young reindeer, around one year old, and whenever I went close to her she would nudge me with her antlers. At first I took her behavior as aggression, but later I realized that she was even coming to me without any reason and repeating the same gesture, which I soon interpreted as a playful act. We quickly built up a rapport, as she would from time to time keep moving closely past me, and I reciprocated this. It demonstrated how close contact like this can allow relationships to develop, and how, when cemented in these relationships, it is very easy to remember individual animals. There was another mïndï (female reindeer older than three years) who appeared awkward and shy around me. When I would pass by the animal, she would back away or look askance at me. I asked Sarnai about her when she was back and found out it was blind in one of its eyes, making her a little introverted. There was a male reindeer that was easily recognizable to me on account of his aggressive, almost threatening, manner. The calves are very easily personified; they are like human children in their mannerisms. On the way back to camp, the calves are the ones who will idle behind and have to run to catch up. They can appear very cheeky—for example, when they tried to sneak away from the group if left unattended, as they are curious. There was one instance on the return to camp from the pastures that a particular reindeer was idling at the back of the group. It seemed obvious that she was reluctant to return to the camp. I noticed that she pretended to graze and walk slowly toward us when I was looking at her, but the moment I looked away she would start to walk backward. This game went on for a while, and when I told this to Sarnai, she said, laughing, “Ah, yes, she is so cunning like this all the time. She pretends to be slowly walking with the herd but her real aim is to trick us and leave.” After this

T H E R E I N D E E R A S A N I N T I M AT E PA RT N E R

105

day, I not only learned about reindeer characters, but could also easily distinguish individual animals in our herd. The idea of humans projecting onto the reindeer personality, intelligence, or so much autonomy that it intends to deceive people might sound “unrealistic” or “symbolic” to some, but animal studies recently showed how animals can “fool” people on purpose. Bekoff (2002), an ethnologist, gives examples from the field, including how wolves store food when others are not looking and how chimpanzees ignore food and make researchers think that they are dumb, but then immediately take the food when other group members are not around. Thus, he concludes, “It is too simplistic and anthropocentrically arrogant to assume that animals other than humans do not control their behavior according to who is watching” (Bekoff 2002: 56). In addition to noticing distinct characteristics of all the reindeer, I found out that the Dukha language holds valuable knowledge about the characters of the reindeer, and the most common personality traits of the reindeer are defined through language, saving people from the trouble of describing the case in detail. For example, yorgančï ivi refers to a reindeer that walks in front of the herd and has tendency to run away, while buluŋšï ivi is a reindeer that walks and grazes at the back, far from the herd. Gesket ivi is a reindeer that likes to wander around, and ˇȷaaš doktoon ottar ivi is a reindeer that grazes well and slowly. Ögsek ivi is a reindeer that knows its home well and comes quickly when people give salt. Sarnai said there are more yorgančï ivi among the female reindeer compared to the males, so they tend to walk away more often. Also, from time to time, geskek reindeer might run away together, and people need to look for them for a few days. When two reindeer walk away together, they are encouraged by each other. This situation is called sïstanšïr, and it is harder to find them in that case. As I briefly mentioned at the beginning, reindeer with calm characters are usually favored, but when I asked people about their favorite reindeer, or if they have any favorites, they were very reluctant to name one and kept saying very politically that they liked all the reindeer equally, which is strikingly similar to a parent’s answer to the question of whether they have a favorite child. Only when I insisted on an answer would someone laughingly name one of his or her animals.

MY THS ABOUT REINDEER It was a bright sunny day. Children were chasing each other in joy, and I was sitting on the grassy ground with uncle Oruz, one of the elders who was currently residing in the village but had come to visit the taiga. We were talking about the reindeer and the times he used to go hunting all the time, when he asked all of a sudden, “Do you know how our ancestors met the reindeer in old times?”

106

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

Figure 4.2. Children grow up listening to stories about the reindeer from an early age. Mongolia, 2013. Photo by the author.

The truth is that I didn’t know, and I had not thought about asking anyone. He started to tell the story without waiting for my answer anyway. There was a man who lived with his wife and son in olden times. They sometimes had difficulties finding food and spent some days hungry. One day, the man climbed a high mountain and prayed to ˇJer eezi for help. The next day, a male reindeer with one antler on just one side appeared in the taiga. The man happily took the reindeer home. At least he could go hunting by riding it. He climbed the mountain again on a different day to pray. A few days later, a female reindeer with one antler appeared and the man took her home too. The next year, they had a baby, and many reindeers were born in time. The family could drink their milk and go around the taiga easily now by riding them. That is how the reindeer became the animal of that nation (Dukhas). Since then, the people call these animals “the owners of the taiga.” (Field notes, 2012)

After he finished his story, he added with a big smile, “Do you understand now why the reindeer is so important to us?” This was the first myth I heard about how the Dukha met the reindeer for the first time, and then I started asking others if they knew any other stories. What myths mean for a society and whether or note they are considered real incidents is an old discussion among scholars. Malinowski (1954) suggests that

T H E R E I N D E E R A S A N I N T I M AT E PA RT N E R

107

myths in primitive societies are not just stories but a reality lived, a reality that people believe to have happened in primeval times and that still continues to influence the world. According to Campbell and Moyers (2011), one of the sociological functions of the myths is to support and validate a certain social order. They also have a pedagogical function, explaining to people how to live and how to behave by connecting them with people in the past. Even if people do not believe those myths to be literally true, they certainly serve as a guide that shows them what is good and bad or right and wrong and how to behave under certain situations. The Dukha origin stories that tell how the people and reindeer first met have been passed down from one generation to the next for many years. I believe these stories have a crucial role in understanding the bond between people and reindeer and serve as a set of guiding principles to their relationship today. There are a few different myths about the origin of the reindeer among the Dukha, which I believe to be very valuable in understanding how the relations between man and reindeer were first constructed. Although not commonly told today, it is still possible to hear different versions of those stories from the elders, all of which “establish domestication as an arrangement of mutual benefit to both sides and even as a social contract between reindeer and humans” (Vitebsky 2005: 27). There are two other important stories I have recorded during my fieldwork, and to get a complete story of the relationship between the reindeer and the Dukha, it would be pertinent to recall these stories, although there are different versions. Ganbold, a sixty-one-year-old herder, told me one of the stories: There was an old woman living near a river in olden times. She used to live with her son. They knew that there were beautiful, green, hilly places on the other side of the river, but they could not cross the river, as they had no way to cross. One day, the old woman started to pray that they would find a way to cross the river. Both the woman and her son prayed for three days during midnight. At the end of the third day, two reindeer appeared, and they rode them across the river. They lived much better afterwards because the other part of the river was more beautiful and abundant in food.” (Field notes, 2012)

Another myth I recorded has similar patterns to the previous ones: In ancient times, there was a poor family with three sons. The father of the family was a shaman, and one of the sons used to practice khömeej, throat singing, very well. However, the family had difficulties finding food. One day, that boy who sings well went to a spirited mountain called May where three rivers meet. He sang there for three days and nights. The spirit owner of the world, Jˇer eezi, heard him and came over to see who is that boy that sings so well. He appeared in the form of a bird and asked, “What are you looking for?” The boy replied back, “I want to have reindeer.” Three days later Jˇer eezi came back and

108

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

asked the boy again what they need. When the boy again asked for reindeer, finally ˇJer eezi gave them the reindeer and the family ended up having reindeer and lived happily in the taiga. (Purve, field notes, 2015)

In all stories, the key message and the purpose are the same: the people are in a difficult situation, they pray to the land spirits, and the reindeer are sent to help them. People are grateful because their prayers are answered when the reindeer appear. So the reindeer are helping people, but it happens with the help of land spirits who send the reindeer to the Dukha. These stories form a very important bond between people and reindeer, and I believe they also set the moral boundaries for this relationship. People should be grateful for the reindeer. This gratefulness still exists today in the daily life of Dukha, as they know that surviving in the taiga is possible only if the reindeer and people cooperate. However, the role of land spirits is also undeniable, and thus, naturally, people are grateful mostly to the land spirits, who have sent the reindeer. There is a special way to show this gratitude to the reindeer—choosing a sacred ïdïq ivi—that I will explain below.

THE SACRED REINDEER Once we went to the shaman after having serious problems, and the shaman told us that my husband’s grandfather had an ïdïq ivi, but one generation missed it. That is why we were in trouble; our spirit was angry and wanted us to have a sacred reindeer. —Altansarnai, 2016

April 2015. One spring day in the taiga, I was woken by the familiar sounds of morning; however, there was an unusual feeling in the tent. My adopted mother looked at me and said, “Today is a good day, I will bless the ïdïq ivi [sacred reindeer].” Having just woken out of my sleep, it took me a few minutes to understand what she meant, that she was talking about the ritual of updating the sacred reindeer’s collar. I tumbled out of my sleeping bag, rushing to gather myself and excited to be witnessing a ceremony I had often heard about but never had had a chance to see. Sarnai said it was the first day of the new moon that day and that she changed the collars, which are considered an eeren (shamanistic totem, protector spirit), every season—spring, summer, and autumn—on a new moon. When I looked around the tent, I realized that tea was already prepared and there were three pieces of eerens called ivi mončar (neck tie) in front of the corners where all eerens are kept, prepared the night before. She said they were actually the eerens she inherited from her parents, and every year she fixes them by adding new fabric but always makes sure that the old one is kept. I remembered that she had been sewing something all day the day before. She

T H E R E I N D E E R A S A N I N T I M AT E PA RT N E R

109

had cleared and purified them with juniper leaves (which are used in the area in general in ceremonies) and had left them in front of the spirit bag for the night so that they were blessed. Soon after, she started the ceremony by pouring three cups of tea, and incensed the eerens again with juniper. She took out a red powder (ocher) and told her daughter Tsolmon to bring the sacred reindeer home one by one. Sarnai rubbed the ocher on almost all parts of the reindeer, drawing circles around the eyes, legs, and back of each animal. Then she incensed the eerens again and tied them around the head of the reindeer, also blessing the reindeer with juniper. Next her daughter took the reindeer and circled it around the tent, then poured milk on it from head and to tail. They did this three times, and then had the reindeer bend its head at the door of the tent, facing the interior tent three times, and let it go. Since they have three sacred reindeer, they did the same ritual for all of them. At the end of the ritual, we saw reindeer dung at the front door. Sarnai asked me if I saw which animal it belonged to and then collected the dung and put it in front of the spirit bag inside the tent where the eerens are kept. Then they put three cups of milk tea in front of the spirit bag as well and said that they would drink those the next day, with only the family members allowed to drink it. The Dukha, like other herders in Mongolia, have a tradition of assigning holiness or sacredness to an animal to protect the herd or sometimes to protect a member of the family, if one keeps having problems. Natasha Fijn (2011: 231) describes in detail how the Mongolian herders invite over a Buddhist lama to choose a seter (“sacred cow” in Mongolian); the herder directly talks to the cow, assuring it that the family will not kill it and asking it to be the protector of the family. The Dukha similarly choose a ïdïq ivi (sacred reindeer) with the help of the shaman. Once chosen, proper rules of conduct are applied every year to take care of the sacred reindeer, and people do not ride or pack this animal. If it is a female, its milk is treated with greater care, making sure that only the family members consume it. If it is a male reindeer, people do not ride it. This reindeer enjoys its privileges. Among the Dukha, most people have a sacred reindeer to protect the family or herd or a specific person, depending on the situation. It is usually the shaman who assigns a sacred reindeer to a person if they have a problem and the situation requires it. But apart from that, people generally believe that having a sacred reindeer is always good for the wellbeing of the herd. Gerel, a young herder, once told me how they got into trouble because they did not have a sacred reindeer: When you feel that something is wrong, bad things only happen to you but not to others—for example, your reindeer can die unexpectedly and it is happening in a short time span—then it means that you should go to a shaman

110

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

and ask what is wrong in your herd. Me and my husband, we had a lot of female reindeer, but they disappeared one by one in a short period, mostly eaten by the wolves, and strangely it always happened only to our reindeer, so we took it as a sign and went to the shaman. He said that we need a blue-collared sacred reindeer to protect our herd. We did exactly what he told us to do, and since then our reindeer had no trouble. (Field notes, 2015)

There are mainly three kinds of sacred reindeer among the Dukha: some are for protecting the herd, some to protect the family or household, and some are to protect a certain person. Most sacred reindeer protect the herd, but sometimes when somebody is ill for a long time, the shaman can recommend having a sacred reindeer for that person. A shaman may even suggest having a personal sacred reindeer for a hunter whose luck is not good. Sacred reindeer can be distinguished from other animals using a special collar on their necks, which are usually blue but can occasionally be a different color. This collar, which is made of woven cotton cloth, also serves as an eeren, as the shaman performs a shamanic ritual to turn that piece of cotton fabric into an eeren (Küçüküstel 2013). The shaman tells the family which color to use for the eeren of the sacred reindeer, and people need to change it on certain days with an accompanying ceremony. Some people have to use dark colors, while others have to use colorful fabric or just white. The way to change the collar and how to do it also varies, sometimes depending on how the family has been doing it for generations. One of my interviewees told me that they have to make their eeren only from dark colors—even the thread they make the collar with should be dark—and it is updated only at night when the stars come out, and they must use only black tea without milk for offerings. There are also families who are supposed to use only white fabric and do the ceremony early in the morning when the sun is coming out. Other rules concerning the use of sacred reindeer may also vary. Some may carry only white stuff, milk, and spirit bags, while others are not allowed to carry anything. The sacred reindeer are usually not ridden, but sometimes if a reindeer is made sacred to protect a person, then only that person can ride it. Shamans pack their drums and costumes on a holy reindeer while migrating, and some families can put out the spirit bag only on the holy reindeer. The rules applied to the sacred reindeer are whatever the shaman told the family, so not everyone has the same rules. One of the herders explained: I had sacred reindeer all my life, as I have been keeping them for my mother. For our family, we tie the collar made of colorful fabric on the head of the reindeer, instead of the neck like many people. We use five colors; blue, green, yellow, white, and grey. We also use ocher for it. I keep the collar on the reindeer from the beginning of the new moon for fifteen days going on, and then keep it in my spirit bag in the tent. (Batzorig, field notes, 2015)

T H E R E I N D E E R A S A N I N T I M AT E PA RT N E R

111

When the sacred reindeer dies, the family replaces it with another reindeer, which is supposed to be the same color as the deceased reindeer. There are different rituals to transfer the spiritual power of the sacred reindeer to the new one. One person told me that you can take the saliva of the deceased and put it into the mouth of the new reindeer so that the soul of the old sacred reindeer will go inside of it. I believe sacred reindeer hold a special place in understanding the relationship between people and reindeer, as they provide the necessary balance of power between the parties. By symbolically choosing “one” animal among the herd and treating it with special care, exempting this reindeer from the hardship of everyday life, people show great respect to the animal, which is hard to practice on the whole herd. Besides, the role of the sacred reindeer as the protector of the family or herd is also very significant. By attributing this power and will to the reindeer to protect the family, people place the reindeer in a respected position and depend on the help of the animal, just as the myths imply. People protect the reindeer from hazards, and in return the sacred reindeer protect them. Thus, the power to protect is not given solely to humans but is instead shared between the reindeer and people. In this regard, I feel the need to challenge an opinion of Tim Ingold (1994) about pastoralists. He claims that when it comes to relations between humans and animals, it is the herders who makes all of the decisions and controls every aspect of their animals, “acting as protector, guardian and executioner. So animals are cared for, but they are not themselves empowered to care” (Ingold 1994:16). As is seen with the practice of sacred reindeer, even if it is limited, this power is also given to the animals, and people need the help of the sacred reindeer as autonomous beings with power to protect. Besides, this idea of reindeer helping people is also seen in the myths of the Dukha as I have explained above, so with those stories and symbols like the sacred reindeer, the role of protection is reversed.

Figure 5.1. A Dukha woman with her grandchild while milking the reindeer. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author.

CHAPTER 5

OUR PARENTS KNOW EVERY THING BETTER

iii There is a question I am often asked at public speeches and university conferences when I am talking about the Dukha: do young people in the community want to maintain this lifestyle? Although I will try to answer this multidimensional question in this chapter, I would like to start by asking the same question to you, reader, as I do at those conferences. Do you want to maintain the same lifestyle as your parents or grandparents? The answer to this question for Dukha youngsters is not very different from the possible answers you may be thinking: in some ways, yes; in some other ways, no. The Dukha maintain a nomadic life, but they are not uninformed about the outside world or completely isolated in any way. Today, all Dukha children go to school in the villages; young people watch television series and use smart phones; and old people are slowly getting used to the comforts of a sedentary life, especially when they move into the villages. As in many parts of the world, people practice their old ways of life while adapting to new ways. They are going through a transition period, at the end of which they will decide which traditions are worth keeping while adopting new ones. Although the knowledge of elders is very precious in learning about their culture, it is the young who will designate the destiny of Dukha society. This is why, in this chapter, I will examine how young people view their lifestyle and, based on my observations, what keeps them in the taiga. I will also examine the changes that have occurred in recent years using the stories of some of the Dukha elders.

OUR PARENTS KNOW EVERY THING BETTER The young people in the taiga, like in other parts of the world, have different interests than their parents and are not always as enthusiastic about keeping all

114

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

traditions alive. Sometimes smartphones and Korean television prove too much of a temptation for the younger Dukha, and these take priority over the reindeer. However, most of them do not give up their life in the taiga, and there are many factors that contribute to young people’s decisions to stay in the taiga or leave it, which I will elaborate in more detail. One day I went to visit Bataar and his family, an old couple who had taught me a lot, only to learn that they had gone to the village to sort out work related to the new wooden house they wanted to build there. I ended up sitting and chatting with Tuya, their twenty-three-year-old daughter, who had gone to university in Ulan Bator. Tuya had studied to be a vet, came back to the taiga after graduating from school, and had been living with her parents since then. As I was talking with Tuya, just five minutes after my arrival she stood up in a rush, suddenly remembering the warm water she was heating on the stove in order to prepare the bread. Continuing her chores, she told me to make myself at home. She was smiling and complaining at the same time, saying, “My parents are gone for a week, and I have to do all the work alone now. It is so difficult without them.” Sympathizing with what she said and thinking about how easy life is when your parents are around, when they are doing most of the work and spoiling you, I offered to help her. She was willing to receive some help, and at the end of the day, I decided to stay for the next couple of days together with Tuya, as she was nervous about sleeping in the tent without her parents. Her cousin was also staying with her at night, so I joined the two of them for a few days. When it comes to work relating to the reindeer and life in the taiga in general, the difference between the elders and the young is very obvious. Young people, especially single ones who do not yet have the responsibility of a household, help their parents all the time, but they hesitate to take full responsibility for their duties. They are used to being told what to do, and their parents guide them through every detail of a task. When their parents are not there, this can sometimes induce a panic. I believe school is one of the main causes of this gap in their knowledge, as they spend many years in the village and are unable to learn all of the skills needed to survive in the taiga. Being aware of this deficiency, while making up for their lack of knowledge, they also make fun of the situation. I sympathize how they feel from experiences with my own family and understand that it is not only lack of knowledge but also low motivation and laziness compared to the elders that contribute to this stereotype. For instance, I observed many times how the older people would immediately leave the tent when needed to take the reindeer out to the pasture, while it may take minutes of discussion for the young sisters to decide who should go first. While staying with Gerel and Batbayar, a young married couple, I observed the dynamics between them and their younger cousin who was visiting from the village. They would take turns bringing the reindeer to pasture, but in the afternoon this would be the subject of joking between the three of them.

O U R PA R E N T S K N OW EV E RY T H I N G B ET T E R

115

They would goad each other, each in hope of convincing another of being the best at taking the reindeer to pasture, and therefore the one who should go and do it. They might promise to prepare tea or food for the one who volunteered to go as an extra incentive. On those days that her parents were away, I experienced similar things with Tuya. Most of the humor was self-deprecating, claiming how miserable we all were without parents around. For example, Tuya said she would go and milk the reindeer but came back a few seconds later to take a scarf to cover her hair, and she added in a hurry, “My mum reminds me to put a scarf on my hair while milking the reindeer every time, but I always forget. She says we should do it as a sign of respect for the reindeer because we tie them and they give us their milk so we should respect them. But I always forget.” Similarly, there are many taboos young people have difficulties practicing. The next day, Tuya was again laughing while telling me the story of how she forgot her phone another day when she took the reindeer to the pasture. Normally she was supposed to keep them grazing for two hours, but because she uses her phone as a watch, she could not keep track of the time. She ended up misjudging the time she spent out on the pasture and brought the animals back to camp after an hour, instead of two hours. We asked (and joked with) her cousin whether that was an excuse to come back. She also found it hard to keep track of the time when tying the reindeer mothers and their calves in turn. Spring is one of the hardest seasons in that sense, first tying the mother reindeer for two hours while leaving the calf free, and then doing the opposite, and keeping the same routine, rotating every two hours throughout the day. The first day we were alone in the tent, she was in a panic, unable to remember when she had tied them. She said in dismay, “My mother would not be mistaken but I cannot remember well on my own. The elders know everything very well.” It was obvious how she found it hard to work alone and how she was uninterested in it because there were so many other things she preferred to do instead. Older people always mention how they had no phones or other means of entertainment so herding the reindeer was a pleasure for them. However, this cycle of learning, where the younger generation takes advantage of new technology and becomes more conformist, is inevitable—even the elders today complain about how their own parents did things better and knew so much more than them. Today, almost everyone in the taiga uses a watch while herding the reindeer so as to accurately follow the schedule. They also visit their relatives in the village from time to time and become well acquainted with the luxuries of sedentary life. This is why most people are getting houses built in the village with the stipend they receive from the government, thinking about settling in the future when they get old. After these few days spent with Tuya, her parents came back to the taiga, and she was very relieved. When Tuya told her mother of the mishaps she had

116

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

experienced looking after the herd in their absence, her mother laughed and made fun of both of us, saying, “You know that in the end you have to learn all these things because we won’t be here for long.” Tuya and I both looked at each other. Although it was sad even to think of it, we both knew she was right.

IF THERE ARE REINDEER , THERE WILL BE PEOPLE What will happen to the Dukha and their reindeer in the near future? This is a question that occurs to me often when I am staying in the taiga. Will the young continue their traditional life in the forest, migrating with their reindeer and hunting all year round? Or will they be the last generation who keeps these traditions, their children instead choosing a sedentary life? Naturally, there is no one simple answer to this question. On my regular trips around the taiga in winter 2013 with Sarnai and her grandchild Nomkun, who at the time was four years old, I found myself questioning this a lot. I had been taking photos and recording stories about Nomkun for a few years, and she was always a subject of my curiosity. I always wondered if I would be able to show those pictures to her in the future, remembering old times and how her grandmother lived, times that would maybe only have survived in our memories by then. I could not avoid hoping for the preservation of this culture,

Figure 5.2. A Dukha man taking children from the taiga to the nearest settlement where they can take a car to go to school. Mongolia, 2015. Photo by the author.

O U R PA R E N T S K N OW EV E RY T H I N G B ET T E R

117

despite knowing deep down that the transition to a settled life was inevitable. Of course, none of us can make exact predictions about the future of a society, and it is up to the young people, and to a certain degree up to the authorities, to decide the future of the Dukha. However, when I was in the field, I came to realize that I was not the only one thinking about this, and I was curious to find out how people felt about this issue. From time to time when I would ask people what they thought about it, our conversations usually lapsed into an awkward silence. We all knew that Dukha elders moved to the village when they started to have health problems, and also the young couples, when their children started going to school. Despite this reality, whenever we talked about the future of reindeer herding or life in the taiga in general, I never heard anyone speaking about it negatively. They usually just said, “There will be a way.” Once I asked an elder about what she thinks will happen in the future and she said, The old people will look after the children in the village then, and the young will stay in the taiga. If there are reindeer, there will be people. For sure, we will not leave our reindeer on their own. Somebody will be there; we will find a way. Otherwise all the reindeer will walk away and become game (aŋ bolgaš ˇȷ örüveer). If they don’t see people, they will just walk away. (Purve, field notes, 2015)

As evident in this example, most people I talked to wanted to continue their lifestyle even though they were not gaining many economic benefits from it, considering all the effort they put in. However, along with other problems, the biggest obstacle to this way of life is that children must go to school. This issue is complicated because families want their children to attend school and have a better life. However, it seems almost impossible to keep their old way of life when children go to school, and I think this is one of the main reasons for this transition and confusion. How will they live in the taiga if their children go to school in the village? And if we go one more step into the question, what will the children do after they finish school? There are no easy answers to these questions. The solutions are still being worked through by the Dukha society. It is a process, and they are learning and adapting as they go. “Going to school” means integrating into a Mongolian lifestyle, spending years learning things that are not applicable in the taiga. Naturally, the result would be that the next generation does not live in the taiga, as I guess there is no point in studying for many years if they simply return to the taiga and herd reindeer afterwards. Staying in the forest with their families would be much more beneficial for learning the skills one needs to live in the taiga, as school creates a big gap in the transmission of traditional knowledge. However, people are usually very confused about what they want. When you ask families, everyone will remark on how

118

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

important it is that their children attend school. But in the same sentence, if you ask them if they would like their children to stay in the taiga and continue this life style, they would unhesitatingly say yes. So the answers to these questions are confusing. What about the young? What do they want? At this point, what young people want is also not an easy question to answer. Although change is inevitable and most of them want to try new things, they also enjoy their life, and, after trying life away from the taiga for a while, most of them will return. To illustrate the choices made by younger Dukha, I will provide a few examples from my four years of observation in the field. When I first visited the Dukha in 2012, there were eight girls from the community attending university. The stories of those girls follow a similar pattern. Their parents send them to school with great financial difficulties. They save everything they earn from tourism for this purpose, but the addition of financial stress makes living in the taiga much harder for the parents. The Mongolian government used to pay the school tuition fees for the Dukha, but there are many additional costs, such as accommodation, food, and even travel to and from the capital. They have no stable income, so this represents a vast sum of money for the Dukha and usually results in serious financial difficulties. Of course, it is not only the families who experience these difficulties; the young who move away for school are to survive on a very small budget. But more importantly, I believe the cultural shock these young people encounter in the city is harder than the economic challenge. When I returned to Ulan Bator after spending months in the taiga, I gained an appreciation for how this shock must feel to the Dukha who are moving there for the first time. Life in the taiga is more easygoing compared to life in the city. There are social pressures that the Dukha become exposed to—fashions, particular social mannerisms, how you talk. Money as a commodity that is virtually worthless in the taiga seems to be central to life in the city. In the taiga, you cook in the tent, hunt when necessary, collect plants if they are available, and eat at each other’s homes whenever you visit other families. However, once you set foot in the capital, the city life starts. People are dressed fashionably; they have expensive accessories. There are cafes where one coffee costs as much as twenty-five kilograms of flour in the village. Thus, coming from the family atmosphere of the taiga to the city, it is hard to avoid feeling marginalized. On top of that, the Dukha must deal with prejudices from the majority Mongolian population, as they are known in the city as “wild” (zerleg) people. On one occasion, I told a Mongolian that I was living with the Dukha, and she asked me if I was not scared to live with them. When I looked at her puzzled, she explained, “You know they are wild people. I heard that some of them in the past even had antlers.” Thus, it is not hard to imagine how a young Dukha girl going to the city for the first time in her life would feel marginalized. Being on her own, away from

O U R PA R E N T S K N OW EV E RY T H I N G B ET T E R

119

her family, trying to live on an extremely low budget and thus not being able to experience any comforts of the city, and possibly feeling ashamed to say that she is a Dukha—all of this would be overwhelming. It is not surprising that most of those young girls who were going to university in Ulan Bator dropped out of school to return to the taiga, or even that the few who managed to graduate still returned to the taiga. After all, instead of struggling to survive in the city, it was much easier and more comfortable to be in the taiga with their families and friends. The family I stayed with had two daughters, and they ended up in similar situations—one dropped out of school because of financial problems, and the other girl came back because of health reasons. She kept fainting at school, and people started to suspect that it might be because she could not take the stress of being away. In the end, when I asked those girls who returned to the taiga if they missed Ulan Bator or school, they all stated how happy they were to be back with their families and in their beloved taiga. On the other hand, the comforts of “modern” life are very attractive, especially in the village, and it is a temptation for most. Eventually, the comforts of a house or of having a store around the corner or having a television are luxuries that everyone enjoys, at least for a while. I can empathize with this sentiment as on those rare occasions I did spend in the village, the easy availability of the comforts of urban life became very apparent. However, the Dukha, from the young to the old, mostly prefer life in the taiga to that of the village. They usually get bored quickly and complain about how much they miss the taiga when they go away to visit their relatives. The emotional bond people have with the landscape is still very deep. However, as I mentioned in the introduction, life in the taiga is difficult not only because of the harsh conditions, but recently has been made intentionally harder by the new government regulations and restrictions. Specifically, the government regulation on hunting and the restriction of movement has forced the Dukha to live closer to the village by curbing how they used to live in the taiga. Thus, the decision to maintain a lifestyle closer to the village is somewhat out of their hands now even if they want to remain far afield. Nevertheless, I feel that the existence of the reindeer will remain a strong element in the Dukha’s attachment to the taiga. This is compounded by their system of inheritance of reindeer. The Dukha have inherited their domesticated reindeer from their ancestors, as they cannot catch and domesticate wild reindeer anymore. If they happened to lose their domesticated reindeer somehow, they would not be able to replace them, since they cannot neither domesticate reindeer, nor buy them commercially. This creates a special bond between the reindeer and the people, but goes further to compound the link between reindeer and the continuation of their culture. One of my interviewees, Dampt, expressed it clearly: “We look after the children of our grandparents’ reindeer, so they are our inheritance. We cannot continue this heritage without the reindeer.

120

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

I don’t know if our children will maintain this lifestyle; it is their choice. But if they asked us, I would suggest they do. It is good to be a reindeer-er.”

LI FE OF AN OLD HERDER In May 2015, Munku told me about her life, transcribed and translated here: I was born in the west taiga about fifty-eight years ago. My mother gave birth to me in our alaȷˇï (tent) in the taiga, and I grew up there. I have three sisters, one elder, two younger, and a younger brother. I did not go to school until I was eight years old, and even then I hardly went to the town at all. I could only speak the Dukha language and learned Mongolian later on when I started school. At the time, even the children were able to do many things related to herding. We started looking after the reindeer from an early age, and we did all the housework. I remember I could chop wood, make a fire, and wash the dishes from about five or six years old. We did not buy any clothes but we sewed everything by hand. We were also making boots from reindeer skin. Now the young can buy things, but we made everything on our own. Even the fabric of our tent was made out of animal skins. A young girl of ten years old could sew del1 on her own by hand. We also hardly ever had to buy any food. We would prepare our firewood and go out picking pine nuts and berries. We even went fishing using only our hands. Because I was afraid of catching the fish, Erhi’s sister would get angry at me as I scared the fish away. She was very good at it [laughing]. We could collect many fish there, maybe up to ten, and then we would divide it among the people who joined. There were many fish at that time; we would even dry some of them. There were also many kids, so we used to play together all the time. We made a ball from the furs and plants, and we ran after it all day long. We also made toy horses out of wood and pretended to ride them. But our favorite time was in spring when the berries came out. We spent hours collecting them. When it comes to reindeer, we just grew together with them. When we were around five years old, we could start following the reindeer, but together with older people of course. We sometimes went to the village to get some supplies, but we would go on reindeer. We never tied our reindeer from their legs like they do now. Because we had more reindeer, we usually tied two of them together instead. That is how we herded them. We set them free, and then someone went after the reindeer on another reindeer to collect them. At that time, we almost had no problems with the wolves. It was maybe two incidents in a year, and most of the time the reindeer were free. They would stay out in the wild on their own all night, and then someone would bring them home in the morning. Now we have more predators and the reindeer do not stay still; it is more difficult now. At that time the reindeer knew where home

O U R PA R E N T S K N OW EV E RY T H I N G B ET T E R

was very well, and they would sometimes even come back on their own. Now if you do not collect them, they will just keep walking. I don’t know why they have changed. Of course, having more reindeer increased the work. We had almost around eighty reindeer per family. When it was calving time, we had about fifty calves and tying them all one by one was a lot of work, but we were quick. We had so many calves that we would need one reindeer just to pack the mungïy [wooden chin protector made to tie the calves] when moving. We didn’t sell them at that time as well, but we could sometimes slaughter a reindeer when we needed. Now they are too few to slaughter. I would never kill one of my reindeer. We also had abundant cheese because the milk was plentiful. We would boil a pan of milk three times a day in summer. We sometimes had an extra tepee just to hang the cheese we made. But during the socialist time, we had to give away some of the cheese to the government. We packed a reindeer full with cheese to take to the town. I remember late spring was a busy time, but we still enjoyed it. We would wake up so early to tie the calves that the moon would still be out. As young girls, we had to wake each other up, saying, if you don’t wake up, an old man will crawl to your bed [laughing]. Going to the pasture with the reindeer was fun. We were young and never wanted to stay at home. We were with the reindeer all day long. Because we always camped far away, the food was very good for the reindeer so they did not need to walk away. There were also not many predators to worry us. When a reindeer was missing, we got on our reindeer and looked for it, even if it was night. There is a place called Black Lake, and I remember once when we were camping there, we lost a reindeer and had to pass a mountain to look for it. We found it at the end. Even when two hundred reindeer are out grazing, just by looking at them, we would know if any of them are missing or not. Going twice around the herd, we would count by eyes and immediately understand if any of them were missing. Taking care of reindeer was so much fun for us at the time. We had nothing else to do. We would have competitions among us, and the one who was the fastest to collect the herd would win. I always took my younger brother and sisters with me when I went herding. I never heard them complaining or finding excuses not to come. Indeed, they were fighting with each other to go again. Now I have to beg young people for them to go out in the pasture [laughing]. I guess they are raised like this. I went to school and indeed to the village for the first time when I was eight years old. I still remember that day because I was shocked to see a settlement. I saw a car for the first time in my life and a wooden hut. All I saw before was tents and the forest. The school and the village were very difficult to get used to. I have an older sister who came to the village with me, and we stayed together. We had a house called “the Dukha house” at that time. Most school children stayed there, and we did our own work. I had missed my mother so much. We were just looking forward to going back to the taiga. We even tried to escape from time to time. When my younger sister and brother also came to the village for school, my older sister left, and I had to look after them as well.

121

122

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

Life away from the taiga was very hard, and being an ethnic Tuvan was also hard among the Mongolians. We all had to learn Mongolian in the school, and thus we were often cast out. Other children were always making fun of us. After eight years in the village, I went back to the taiga when I was sixteen years old. From then on, I have always been a reindeer herder and have never really seen any other places. I just went to Murun many years ago, but I don’t even remember it. In 1985, they said that all the Dukha will come together and live in the same place, so we came to Tsagaannuur from Ulan Ul. It took us six, seven nights to arrive with the reindeer. However, adapting here has not been hard for us, since we were wandering in the taiga all the time anyway. Some people started to live in the village and worked in the fish factory or some other kind of work, but I was always in the taiga. Everyone decided on their own what profession they wanted to do, and I chose to be an iviȷˇi [reindeer-er]. When both my parents died one after the other, I started to live alone with my niece, who I later adopted. The way we herded the reindeer had not changed much since then, because even then we did not eat our reindeer unless we needed to. We received some money from the government, from the negdel,2 and thus bought our basic supplies. Of course, we had to give back milk, cheese, and skin, but we still had some left for us. For example, if we had ten kilograms of milk, we would give half of it to the negdel. Same thing for cheese, but we would receive extra money for what we gave. We had our own fixed salaries and what we got for milk and cheese. So we didn’t have money-related problems. I mean the money was not much, but things were also cheap. We always had clothes and a lot of leather we used to make shoes or cover the tent. But we also made the tents much smaller than today. We received the money depending on the number of reindeer we had, so not everyone got the same amount. The negdel people counted our reindeer two times a year, in December and May, and if there were any missing reindeer in that count, the herder had to pay for it. We didn’t need to pay when a reindeer died because of disease. But in that case, we would need to call a state vet and get a paper from him, proving that the animal died because of disease. In this way, we didn’t need to pay for the dead animal. But if the animal died in a wolf attack, then we would have to pay for it. Losing a reindeer to a wolf means you are not a good herder and you didn’t take care of your reindeer well enough. Of course, we had our own ways to cope with these situations. For example, the state vet was one of us, and he would sometimes give us a fake paper even if the reindeer died in an attack. Most of us kept some reindeer in the mountains, secret from the state, for emergencies. We would drink their milk and even slaughter them to eat if necessary. They were our own reindeer. We were usually separated; all families were not always together. If we had many reindeer, then we would camp separately. When we needed, we found each other from the traces or looked at the smoke of the tents with our binoculars. We knew more or less where people camped anyway. They were really good times. My favorite taigas were ˇJošama and Semis Höl taigas. There were

O U R PA R E N T S K N OW EV E RY T H I N G B ET T E R

123

many trees in that area and a huge lake. We went there fishing and had such a great time. In the evenings, we used to make shoes and ropes from skin. The elders sometimes told us stories. In good weather, we also played games, I mean the adults. For example, there is a game called tarbagan bol that my parents used to play. One person becomes tarbagan and the other is the wolf, trying to catch the tarbagan. I remember watching it and having so much fun as children. When it became cold, we played finger games. However, it was also more difficult at those times. For instance, we had no stove. We just made an open fire in the middle of the tent and everything smelled of smoke. We also didn’t make any bedding and just slept on the floor. When socialism finished in 1993, the first few years were really hard. We had no money at all so we couldn’t buy flour. Men used to collect elk antlers and with that we could buy a little flour. Luckily, we had plenty of game meat. But everything else was scarce and the conditions difficult. In the beginning of the 2000s when tourists started to visit us, then we could sell them things and things became easier. We can earn enough to buy our supplies now and we have everything we need. Now people don’t want to migrate far away because of tourists and school, but we can at least provide what we want. NOTES 1. Traditional Mongolian or Central Asian clothing worn by both men and women, usually made from cotton, silk, or wool. İt covers the whole body to the knees or ankles and is very practical to use in the countryside. 2. Negdel is a term for the agricultural cooperatives in Mongolia, which most nomadic people were connected with after collectivization.

PA RT I I I

HUNTING AMONG SPIRITS

iii

Figure 6.1. Men go on long trips in the taiga on reindeer. Mongolia, 2016. Photo by the author.

CHAPTER 6

RESPECTING THE HUNT

iii On a bright winter day in the taiga, the sun was heating us, but the cold wind blowing every so often was still reminding us that we were in the middle of winter and there were many more cold days waiting a head. Bata was riding his reindeer ahead of me, and I was following him on his daily hunting trip, anxious I would do something wrong and scare the animals. He was stopping very often and quietly looking around with binoculars to see where the animals might be. It had already been almost three hours since we left, and all I could see around was a vast, empty whiteness. It felt like we were the only living beings in this entire terrain, as I could hear only my own heartbeat from time to time but nothing else. After riding along a river for some time, we crossed the frozen river and rode toward the hill, where he silently looked back and signaled that I should get off my reindeer (which took me a while, while he had already done it in a second). We were holding the reindeer from the ropes tied to their necks, and we both lay down. Bata was looking around very carefully with his binoculars and also sometimes giving them to me to look. We laid there for a while, and all of a sudden he saw some animals grazing far away. He showed them to me with the binoculars and told me to wait there, then jumped on his reindeer and rode away. After waiting at that spot for a while nervously (and extremely cold), I heard a gunshot nearby and stood up to look if I could see anything. I saw Bata on the same side of the river on his reindeer far away, riding openly, and understood that the gunshot was indeed successful. I also jumped on my reindeer and rode toward him. When I arrived, he was standing near the animal that lay on the snow. When he saw me, he went back to his reindeer to get his knife and returned to the animal. He leaned down and took the front paws of the animal, kissed them, and touched them to his forehead, murmuring something. This was the same move I saw many times in the taiga when people received a gift. They kiss the gift and touch it to their forehead. He looked calm and at ease. It was time to go back to the camp.

128

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

HUNTING AS A GIFT The relationship between the hunter and the prey in subsistence hunting has been a matter of debate in different terms within anthropological theory. Looking at the action itself, which involves killing one of the parties, the process could be interpreted as purely violent, and one might wonder what other kind of relationship could be expected from a hunt. However, ethnographies from different parts of the world show us that the hunter-prey relationship is more complex than first assumed, and there is indeed a social relation between them. Hunting, as a literal act of killing an animal for its flesh, is not perceived as a violent process among most hunter-gatherer societies. To the contrary, a successful hunt is regarded as a proof of friendly relations between the hunter and the animal that has “willingly allowed itself to be taken,” and is generally perceived as nonviolent (Ingold 2000: 12). This is why the relationships between hunters and wild animals can be very intimate, “including spiritual ties” (Stammler 2010: 217), and special rules of conduct are crucial for success in hunting as “the hunter hopes that by being good to animals, they in turn will be good to him” (Ingold 1994: 15). One of the first theoretical debates on hunting is based on reciprocity between hunter and prey, focusing on how a relationship of exchange may eventually benefit both parties (Laugrand and Oosten 2015: 5). According to this theory, the relationship between the hunter and the prey is not merely predatory but is instead based on trust and “symbiotic reciprocity.” For Beach and Stammler (2006: 21), in “predatory hunting” the only agency the animal has is to get away. However, in “symbiotic hunting,” which most subsistence hunters practice, “the animals, through their masters, have great agency in deciding who is worthy of the gift of the catch” (Beach and Stammler 2006: 21). The hunter needs to make offerings to nature and conduct themselves respectfully toward the animals, and in return they will receive the body of those animals as a gift from the spirits. According to Ingold (2000), this idea that animals are received by humans as a gift is widely reported among northern hunting peoples. The people who give gifts to the animal world or to nature in the form of tobacco or food will receive animals to hunt in return (Tanner 1979:105). In other words, hunting is perceived as “a long-term relationship of reciprocal exchange between animals and humans who hunt them” (Nadasdy 2007: 25). Occasionally though, this relationship may become strained, as the interests of the hunters and the animal hunted are not always the same. According to Nadasdy, the reciprocal relations between the hunter and the prey does not mean ignoring the obvious physical violence that is sometimes required in hunting. However, there is no incompatibility between this and the exchange theory, as in exchange theory among people, sharing is not always voluntary. Demand sharing is a good example of this, as people are sometimes forced to share among

RESPECTING THE HUNT

129

themselves in hunter-gatherer societies, and there are contradictions between “reciprocity” and “domination” (Nadasdy 2007: 28). Similarly, sometimes hunters may try to deceive or persuade the animal to surrender themselves. In either case, the concept of game as a “gift” is widely cited in literature, as many believe that if the animals are treated well and with respect, they will voluntarily offer themselves to the hunter (Kulemzin 1984; Laugrand and Oosten 2015; Nadasdy 2007; Ingold 2000 and 1994; Willerslev 2004; Hamayon 2012; Hill 2011). This can be illustrated using a few examples from other hunters in Asia or North America. For instance, in the past the Auni of Japan thought that prey only gives itself to worthy hunters (Praet 2015: 348). The Inuit believe that the animals are aware of the transgressions of human beings and will refuse to give themselves to the hunter if not treated well (Laugrand and Oosten 2015: 9). This willingness to be killed from the animals’ point of view brings along with it the idea of “rebirth.” People play an active role in the rebirth of nature by releasing the souls of the animals through killing. Animals whose carcasses and bones are treated with respect will be reborn again, so the hunters handle the bones of the animals with great care ( Jordan 2003: 102–32). The life cycle is closely associated with this respect and rebirth, which places hunting beyond death, as it is “conceived as a rite of regeneration” (Ingold 2000: 67). In Kamchatka, hunters believe that the animals will return back to them if “a cycle of life, death and departure” has been completed, so they perform rituals to help the animal in their journey after death (Plattet 2011: 100). This idea of a hunted animal coming back to life does not just ensure hunting ethics are maintained, but also makes the act of hunting morally easier for the hunters. It works by negotiating the confusing dichotomy between joy and sorrow, as a successful hunt is not perceived as the destruction of life but instead as the continuity of life (comments to John Knight in Anderson 2012: 345–46). According to some scholars, the souls of animals are released and refreshed through rebirth when the hunters consume them (Broz and Willerslev 2012: 78). However, the idea of the animals giving themselves to the hunter is questioned by some academics. In this view, scholars indicate that it is not the animals that give themselves to the hunter, but it is the animal spirit that makes the offering. Knight (2012) critiques the idea of sharing in his seminal article “The Anonymity of the Hunt: A Critique of Hunting as Sharing,” in which he claims that there is no direct relationship between the hunted animal and the hunter. According to Knight (2012: 338), most hunters believe in a spirit figure who controls the animals, and the success in hunting is dependent on the relationship between the human and the spirit, meaning the human has no direct relationship to the animal. There are indeed many ethnographies indicating the role of master spirits in hunting and how the control of the animals depends on those spirits (Artem 1996; Tein 1994; Martin 1978; Brightman 1993;

130

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

Descola 1994). For example, the Telengits of Russia believe the masters of places watch human acts and they affect the success or failure of the hunter (Broz and Willerslev 2012: 82). Likewise, in the Canadian Arctic, Sedna, the mistress of sea mammals, is responsible for any hunting success. When the hunters have violated proper rules of conduct, she will keep the animals from them (Laugrand and Oosten 2008). For the Udeges in Siberia, successes in hunting and fishing were considered gifts given by the spirits who control the quantity and quality of the game that may reveal themselves to the hunters (Sasaki 2011: 265). In short, the role of the spirit as provider of animals to the hunter repeats itself many times in hunting societies. However, the distinction between the spirit masters and animals themselves making the offering is not always so clear-cut, and there are variations that blend the autonomy of the animal and the spirit. Scholars who disagree with the voluntary exchange thesis sometimes argue that seduction is the driving force of this dynamic. Willerslev (2004: 646) argues that the animals do not always allow themselves to be killed; rather, they are seduced by the hunter, meaning hunters should try to appear sexually attractive to their prey, as an animal that is confronted with this is more likely to willingly hand itself to the hunter. Similarly, Hamayon argues (2012) for a matrimonial framework surrounding the hunt and asserts that the relationship between the hunter and the prey are like that of husband and wife, where the hunter should take game as a husband takes a wife. The hunter’s “lust” for the animal and the animal’s love for the hunter is necessary for the hunt (Hamayon 2012: 106). In either scenario described, either the animal giving itself to the hunter or the spirit making the decision for the animal, it is proper behavior on the behalf of the hunter that determines how the exchange may work.

PERSONHOOD IN HUNTING Within anthropology, there is an ongoing dispute on the issue of “personhood” for nonhuman animals, and this is also discussed in hunting theories. While the notion of personhood might be attributed only to humans in Western thought, most hunter-gatherer societies do not maintain such rigid borders. Hallowell (1960: 21) was one of the first scholars to engage this issue, discussing this category of being as not limited just to humans; he noted that other societies view animals as “other-non-human” persons. For instance, in Ojibwa society, animals are treated as subjects who can make decisions regarding how they interact with humans; thus, people address some of those animals with terms of kinship like “grandfather” or “brother” (Hill 2011; Hallowell 1958). This notion of personhood has also been explored under the topic of “animism,” first cited by Tylor (1913) in his famous work Primitive Culture, as the practice of ascribing souls to nonhuman entities. In animistic thought, inani-

RESPECTING THE HUNT

131

mate objects are considered to have a spirit, as it is “a worldview that finds that humans, animals, plants, and inanimate objects all may be endowed with spirit” (DeMello 2012: 34). However, it does not mean that all objects are given the same status in those societies. According to Bird-David (2006: 43), “Not all animals are other-than-human persons; they, like humans, must display the capacity to ‘be with others, share a place with them, and responsibly engage with them.’” The degree of personhood attributed to different objects may change depending on the society, but in any case, scholars today point out that in some societies personhood is defined more inclusively, embracing animals and other beings that are considered inanimate in the West (Russell 2010: 16). People in those societies perceive animals as having agency and culture—the ability to speak and influence others. Ingold (2000: 51) took the discussion a step further, claiming, “For northern hunters, animals are not like persons, they are persons.” Since it is pretty common for hunter-gatherers to consider animals as “other-than-human persons,” the next question that comes to mind is about the boundaries of being a human or animal. It is known that the human-animal divide does not exist so strongly in all societies, especially among hunter-gatherers (Russell 2010: 16). There are many cultures that believe that people can transform into animals or animals can transform into humans. Viewing this divide as a “liminal and at times fluid and permeable boundary is a defining feature of many hunting societies” (Mullin 1999: 215). Especially in hunting cultures, animals and humans exist side by side, and they can often “transform themselves into each other” (DeMello 2012: 67). This idea of transformation to other species has been observed in many societies, and Viveiros de Castro (1998: 471) also cited it in his work on perspectivism, explaining how characteristics of each individual species can change as if they are a “removable clothing.” Willerslev (2004: 629) also touched on the subject of metamorphosis and mimesis in his work among the Yukaghirs of Siberia, who believe humans and animals can “move in and out of different species’ perspectives by taking on alien kinds of bodies.” The hunter who wants to take the perspective of the animal can change their body, which Willerslev (2004) calls “mimetic practice.” This gives them a double perspective where they can understand the animal’s perspective while still remaining a hunter. However, this is a dangerous task because the hunter risks remaining in that state, never being able to return to their human form. When hunters lose their perspective, they undergo metamorphosis. Real success in hunting is to imitate the animals while keeping one’s human qualities (Willerslev 2004: 630–35). McNiven (2010: 218) also reveals in his study that humans and animals cognitively, somatically and spiritually overlap to the point that the human-animal divide is seen as fluid, permeable and mutually intelligible. . . . In extreme cases and contexts, the human-animal divide is transgressed completely as humans transform into animals and animals trans-

132

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

form into humans. . . . The process of hunting illustrates well how people can manipulate the ontological proximity of humans and prey.

As is clear in the examples above, the line between being a human or animal is blurry, and although transforming into each other is sometimes desired, hunters should be careful not to become completely absorbed in their new identity of the nonhuman animal, as it might be hard to transform back to their real identity. This is why identity and self are social constructs and should continuously be created through social action. As Hill (2011: 408) says, “Humanness, like bearness, must be performed, constantly reasserted, lest the boundaries between types of persons become blurry and permeable.” Examining all the concepts we have discussed above, it is explicitly clear that the relationship between the hunter and prey is not a simple moment of encounter intended for killing. The hunter is entering a different sphere. There are so many aspects of the hunt that require elaborate behaviors and conduct from the perspective of the hunter. Besides, the complex balance between the hunter, the animal, and the spirits are constantly negotiated through rituals and/or one’s everyday behaviors. Hunting, just like marriage, kinship, or friendship, is a social phenomenon that has complicated patterns and necessitates a detailed examination.

RESPECTING THE HUNT AND TRUSTING SPIRITS Looking through different ethnographies, it is widely observed among hunters that the ritual aspects of killing are extremely significant for the continuation of the cycle of life, as we have discussed above. Almost all subsistence hunters attribute personhood to the animals, and there is a social relationship between the hunter and the prey. This is why some of the most puzzling questions are how these communities are able to kill animals if they see them as intelligent and almost human-like beings, and whether they feel any remorse during or after the hunt. Although scholars mention the reciprocal side of hunting, we cannot deny that it is still a journey into the world of the unknown, where life and death are constantly negotiated. The hunter, as much as he respects the animal, wants to end its life, as “the death of the game animals . . . is a way of life” for the hunter (Woodburn 1982: 187). This naturally creates a “considerable ambiguity in the relationship between hunter and prey” (D’Anglure 1994: 176). Although it is hard to give an exact answer to these questions, as hunters from time to may suffer from negative feelings of guilt, the Dukha find some ways to cope with this dilemma. The hunter should find a solution to the confusion inside him by keeping himself at a certain emotional distance from the animal while empathizing enough to maintain the respect required for hunting.

RESPECTING THE HUNT

133

As Morris (2000: 39) says, treating animals completely as if they were human would make hunting very difficult, but the opposite does not mean that the hunter would treat the prey as merely food. So finding the balance between these two feelings is a challenge every hunter deals with in different ways. However, the worldview of a society can also help hunters handle this moral conflict, and the only way to reduce those feelings would be to respect the prey while hunting. This is why there are many Dukha taboos and rules of conduct to follow before, during, and after the hunt. The main aim for all those rituals is to show respect to the animal hunted, which in a way eases the painful ethical dilemma of killing another living being and also ensures the wellbeing of the society. As I have discussed in the introduction of this chapter, some societies deal with this moral dilemma with the notion of animals offering themselves to the hunter if they are treated well (Willerslev 2004; Hamayon 2012; Hill 2011). The belief in an animal reborn is also another way of dealing with the “death,” as the animals hunted are believed to come back to life again if the hunters handle the hunt with respect ( Jordan 2003; Plattet 2011). For the Dukha, one of the general practices in hunting that may help to soothe this tension is the belief in master spirits and their power of control. While out there in the taiga, both the Dukha and animals know that there is a power providing justice for all, and the killing of animals is perceived as a gift from the spirits, given to them for their appropriate conduct. It can be discussed whether the belief of game meat as a gift from the spirits mean that the spirits send the animals to people or maybe persuade the animals to offer themselves to the hunter, but in either case it is the spirit land masters who are in charge of this exchange. These masters watch people at all times and judge their actions, ensuring the wellbeing of both the animals hunted and the humans who may be rewarded with an animal. This is why instead of trying to control and dominate the prey using predatory violence, the hunter should simply show respect to it and surrender to the land spirits by forming appropriate social relations with the prey. Of course, to be able to surrender and let go, one should have unquestionable trust in the spirits and just follow the moral codes of respect, rather than trying to be in charge of the hunt. Hunters are only in control of their own behavior. Thus, instead of worrying about the success of the hunt, the hunters should worry about their own conduct. In this regard, respect and trust in spirits is the key to a successful hunt and “lies at the center of the struggle to exist as a hunting culture” (Pelly 2001: 27). If the hunt fails, the hunters may go hungry for a while, but they all know that eventually there will be something offered. Ingold discusses this trust in nature, claiming that hunter-gatherers do not think much about the future or the possibility of starvation. Of course, trust involves taking a risk, and the chance of starvation does exist, but they assume that nature will eventually provide, and so

134

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

they have confidence (Ingold 2000: 14). However, if they break certain taboos and interact with the animals or masters in the wrong manner for the sake of success in hunting, the consequences can be much more serious than starvation, causing the hunters and even the community to suffer for many years.

BILATERAL GIFT GIVING One of the key factors in this idea that reduces the feelings of guilt in hunting is the idea of spirits serving as rulers who can provide justice for all (both people and animals)—that is, the bilateral nature of gift giving. As I stated above, Knight (2012) argues in his article that there is no direct personal relationship with the animal that is hunted since the spirits own the animals and share some of “their herd” with the human (Knight 2012: 338–39). However, the Dukha perceive these relationships much differently despite believing that it is the animal masters who offer the animal to the hunter. Contrary to what Knight suggests, the animals are not regarded as the property of the spirits that have come to be shared with the hunter, as animals also receive humans as gifts through sky burials. In the cosmology of the Dukha hunters, both animals and people are “children” of spirits; animals are not in an inferior position in the eyes of the spirits. The spirits give animals to the hunter if they behave with respect, but this gift is not specific to humans. I think we can explain this situation better with the idea of perspectivism (Viveiros de Castro 1998), adapting it to the theory of gift giving. According to Viveiros de Castro, the way humans, animals, or spirits see themselves changes depending on whose perspective we take. Animals see themselves as humans see themselves. While humans see animals as animals, similarly animals or spirits (predators) may see humans (prey) as animals. In other words, they all have houses, villages, and culture, just like humans. But from their perspective, they see humans as spirits or animals (predators or prey), as what they see depends on the body they have, and they “see themselves as persons” (Viveiros de Castro 1998: 470–71). The belief in the different perspectives of other beings exists in the mythologies of other societies too. For instance, according to the Canadian Inuit, the sizes of the species are different: humans, dwarfs, and giants. While a whale would be perceived as a giant and a fox as a dwarf for the Inuit, a whale would see an Inuit as a dwarf. All species see themselves as the standard norm and think of the others as giants or dwarves depending on their size. It means that all animals look at the world from their own perspective (D’Anglure 1994: 171). Looking into gift giving from this perspective, I claim that when people leave their dead outside as sky burials, from the animals’ perspective, they see this as a gift to themselves. In other words, there is no reason not to believe that

RESPECTING THE HUNT

135

humans are given as gifts to animals by spirits the same way animals are given to humans. Let me explain. This is related with the general worldview of the Dukha and their perception about death. Since illness or misfortune are regarded as punishment by the spirits among the Dukha, the death of a person usually shows that the person who died indeed broke a taboo and misbehaved. Similarly, Hamayon (1990) claims that death of humans is interpreted “as an ultimate retribution for his prolonged consumption of animal flesh” (Hamayon 1990: 365–72). Especially in the case of hunters, when someone gets ill or suffers for any unknown reason, the first thing hunters question is their behaviors in past hunting trips, as the health of someone is related to their “ongoing or life-history of engagements with animals” because improper treatment of animals can cause damage or illness to themselves ( Jordan 2003: 105). Looking from the perspective of animals, the same may also be true for them, as we do not know why the individual animal hunted was given to the hunter as a gift from the spirits. For instance, there are some accounts among the Dukha about animals or reindeer that are punished by spirits for being at a hard-spirited place. Thus, when we look into hunting from this perspective, maybe the spirits were punishing the animal in retribution for a bad deed the animal did, just as they may punish people. This bilateral side of gift giving or taking is another factor contributing to the universal justice among people and animals. Based on this worldview, the morality of killing becomes much easier for the Dukha, even if they attribute so much personhood to the animal. If it is the spirits who are dealing with the death of an animal or a person, it is morally easier for both to overcome death, as this is how the system works for all living beings. The recycling of human and animal bodies is a reality and does not require any further justification so long as it is a system that serves both sides equally. This is why once the animal is hunted, as it is the land spirits who give the animal to the hunter, the hunter “should accept it proudly, instead of feeling sorry for them.” (Nadasdy 2007: 28). They know that one day similarly the spirits will also give them to the animals. When interviewing the Dukha hunters, I asked if they ever experienced feelings of remorse or especially of guilt, and by and large they would say those feelings only ever come if they violate any rules or make any mistakes that might offend Jˇer eezi. In this sense, many hunters express that shooting a pregnant animal is the worst act they could do in hunting, and this is why people are especially careful while hunting in the spring. Thus, most of the regret is related to violating a taboo instead of hunting in general, since gift giving is perceived as a bilateral act in hunting. This is why it is vitally important to maintain proper rules of conduct while hunting, which brings together many rubrics and taboos concerning the hunt. Hunters constantly try to watch their behaviors by following detailed rules that

136

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

require a lifelong learning process to mediate between the domain of the living and the dead. For this purpose, I will look into the three main steps of hunting, each of which has proper codes of behavior: preparing, hunting, and sharing (Hamayon 2012: 101). How do hunters show respect to the animal they kill? How do they get ready for the hunt? What is the proper way of killing an animal? What is the proper way of dealing with the animal carcass? In short, what does the Dukha hunter do before going hunting, during the hunt, and after it?

PREPARING FOR THE HUNT Preparing for the hunt is an important ritual that needs to be completed with elaborate care for many hunting societies, including the Dukha. According to some scholars, hunters make a lot of effort to get rid of their human qualities in order to hide their humanness from the prey (Kwon 1998: 117). They may similarly try to seduce their prey by getting dressed nicely and getting rid of their smell, as this attraction is vital for their success in hunting (Willerslev 2004: 644). For the Dukha hunters, purification is one of the most important steps of preparation for the hunt. However, this purification is beyond the attempt to hide their human qualities from the animals. On the contrary, instead of hiding his identity, the real aim of the hunter is to get rid of his artificial qualities or things that affect his vitality, and to just purely be himself. The hunter, who will go into another sphere where he will meet his prey, must be as humble as possible in order to enter the domain where death and life are negotiated. Thus, as a sign of respect to his prey, the hunter needs to become completely pure before he faces his prey and, by doing so, reveals himself to the animal with his real identity. This is why the main aim of the hunter is to start a process of purification—a purge of other energies and an abandonment of all material possessions. To put it another way, it is not his human side he needs to get rid of, as the hunter does not try to deceive his prey. The extra items, artificial constructs, and comfort items that belong in the home are what the hunter seeks to leave behind. This ensures that hunter and prey are in the same position when they meet and face each other’s real identity. Hunting is a domain of clarity and explicitness. Hunting for the Dukha is a process of confrontation as opposed to a performance of deception. Only then can the hunter and the animal face each other and appraise each other, which is required for this system of hunting. As one of the hunters said, “The animal understands the hunter, his intentions and his respect. You cannot deceive an animal” (Gombo, field notes, 2016). So the idea behind hunting is explicitness, not deception. There is only one way of deception among the Dukha hunting techniques, which is a very rare one and which only certain people, usually the shaman, can perform, which I will explain in coming parts.

RESPECTING THE HUNT

137

To be able to purify himself, the hunter burns juniper leaves and cleans himself with the smoke. Once this is done, the next important step concerns preparing the things he will take with him, including his bag. The objects a hunter takes along are extremely important, and the most basic rule concerning them is that he does not take any objects that belong to other people because they might carry their potency and affect the hunter’s luck. Someone else’s object can become hoorsık (ghosted) on another person. A young hunter named Batbayar once told me how someone else’s object brought him bad luck: Last spring I had this mp3 player in my pocket that belonged to my sister, but I didn’t know I had it. Every time I saw an animal I missed it and couldn’t find out why that was happening. Then I looked at my clothing and saw this mp3 player. Only then I said “ohh this is hoorsık,” that is bringing me bad luck. These things that have touched many people’s hands, they bring you misfortune. Things that don’t belong to you or are passed on to you from many people can become hoorsık. (Field notes, 2013)

Apart from the objects taken, wearing somebody’s clothing while out hunting can also bring the hunter bad luck or block his own luck. This is why, when people go on a hunting trip, they have to be very careful about what they take with them, since even the things in their saddle can affect the hunter’s success. This is why packing the bag for hunting is one of the most crucial steps of preparing for a hunt, and, most of the time, the wife of the hunter helps him with that. Yul, an elder hunter, told me this story about carrying other people’s items while hunting: What you have with you is very important and it can affect your luck in hunting. For me personally, a knife that I got from a friend ten days before I went hunting brought me bad luck once. This knife was passed on and was touched by many people. And also the peak of the knife was very sharp which can also block your luck in a hunt. Especially when passed down from someone. That is why for generations, the wife always prepares the hunter’s bag, because the hunter trusts his wife and his wife always prepares the right things for him. Before the gun reaches the shoulders of the hunter, the wife gets it out, lights up a juniper and puts it around the gun so that it is purified. If there are many days without shooting an animal, you know in your mind that maybe there is something wrong with what you are carrying. (Field notes, 2016)

As it is clear from the stories of people, it is vital that the hunter is completely free from anything that carries other people’s energy. Apart from this, carrying precious or expensive items also brings bad luck to the hunter, as he should be as simple and as humble as possible. This is why the hunters usually carry the same things that they have taken in previous hunts. Elders always say that the right way to go hunting is only with bread and your clothes on, taking as little as possible without too many extra items. One specific item that is

138

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

known to be bad to take with you while going hunting is a mirror, as it reflects the animals back. Once the hunter purifies himself and prepares his bag, he needs to make offerings to the spirits, since the Dukha believe that it is the land spirits who offer animals to them. The hunter should wake up early in the morning, make some tea, and then offer it to the fire, the eerens at home, and then outside to nature— to Jˇer eezi. It is very significant that while praying to nature, he asks for an easy hunt and some offerings, saying, “Please offer food in my journey.” Although almost everyone has eeren in their home or their parents’ home to pray to, some families have a special eeren that was made only for hunting luck, which I will explain in detail later. In this case, it is important that the hunter prays to this eeren even if it is not in his home, and offers some tobacco or tea to it. Another thing that is profoundly vital before hunting is to banish violence in hunting by avoiding certain acts. This attitude of hunters trying to ban anything that reminds them of the act of killing is widely seen among hunters (Kwon 1998; Willerslev 2004; Hamayon 2010). Preparation for the hunt does not just include activities to attract luck but it also aims to avoid bad luck. One of the first rules concerning this is related to the “linguistic restrictions”: never saying out loud words that remind them of killing or violence (Hamayon 2010: 102). While planning a hunting trip, a Dukha hunter can never say, “I am going hunting.” This is frowned on for two reasons: first, because when someone says that, it is perceived as if the hunter is certain that he will kill, and this is considered too arrogant, which may result in the land spirits holding the animals back. That is why people say, “I am going to look for prey” or “I am going to look at places,” always leaving a door open that he might or might not find an animal. Second, it is also considered not so good to openly say that the aim of the hunter is to kill the animals. This is why people pretend to go for a walk, and, before leaving the tent or even entering the tent after hunting, a hunter takes his gun off his shoulder and holds it in his hand. Wearing the gun reveals the intentions of the hunter, which implies the action of hunting. Hunters never use the word “kill,” as it would be considered rude to the animal or master spirits. Since the Dukha believe that animals can hear them, they also use different words for some specific animals, such as the bear. So instead of using the word irey, which means “bear,” they use the word khairkhan as a way of showing respect. The idea that animals can hear them and get offended is valid for all stages of the hunt, not just the preparation. Even after the hunt is completed successfully, the hunters talk about stories of how they missed a shot or other things that went wrong, but the act of killing is not mentioned. Death is banished from social life in general, and, “within the encampment, hunting is thus a narrative act” (Kwon 1998: 118). In short, hunters make both spiritual and physical preparations before the hunt to ensure success.

RESPECTING THE HUNT

139

DURING THE HUNT Once the hunter finishes all his preparations and purifies himself, he is ready to go on his trip. From then on, the success of the hunt depends on his ability to read the signs he will encounter around him and make the right decisions. Some of those decisions and acts are related to hunting techniques, while others are connected to dealing with invisible forces that need to be observed. The hunter who has properly prepared for the hunt is now responsible for making the right decisions while hunting; these decisions will determine his success. I would like to discuss here the basic rules of conduct that are considered respectful among the Dukha. There are many rules about how to hunt animals properly to show them respect, and people learn those moral codes from an early age from their parents or elders. Although the rules can be complicated in some ways, every hunter knows the basic principles of respectful hunting. These principles are related to what you hunt, how you hunt it, how much you hunt, where you hunt, and how you deal with it afterward. If a hunter respects the protocol of all those steps carefully, he ensures success in his hunt. The first rule concerning what you hunt is about which animals the hunter is supposed to, or more importantly is not supposed to, kill. Basically, the animals that cannot be hunted in any given condition are pregnant animals in spring, young animals in general, and some spirited animals that are recognized from their unique appearance. If there is a group of animals, a male would be chosen over the female since the female’s survival is important for the continuation of the species, but it is not a strict rule unless the female animal is pregnant. The given action or location of the animal is also significant, as a hunter can never shoot animals that are drinking water or sleeping. This is considered a horrible mistake, and there are many stories related to this taboo. In them, the hunter suffers from that mistake for many years of bad luck. A hunter must therefore be a good observer. To shoot an animal randomly, without first noticing whether it is a spirited animal, a pregnant animal, or otherwise, is to bring misfortune on your family that can last for many generations, as previously discussed. Observation and careful consideration, then, are key to hunting. Once the animal has been spotted and it has been decided that it is okay to kill it, then the decision must be made as to how to kill it. The first and most basic law of killing the animal is that it should be treated with respect. This means ensuring the animal has not been offended by your actions, as the dignity of the animal is as important as the dignity of the hunter. One of the simplest rules here is to ensure the animal has a quick death. That means aiming at places like the shoulders or heart. Even if it would kill the animal immediately, people are never allowed to shoot at the head of the animal because it is where the soul of the animal resides. Shooting at the head of the animal is considered a very disrespectful way of killing.

140

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

The next rule to consider is how much a hunter is supposed to kill. This basically means a hunter should not kill any more than he needs. Wasting any part of the animal, let alone killing an animal that is surplus to the requirement, is considered extremely wasteful and a big taboo. There is a debate within scholarship on hunting theory as to whether hunter-gatherers are natural conservationists or serial killers (Beach and Stammler 2006; Ingold 2000). Although most hunters around the world usually have some sort of taboo concerning the hunting limit, there are also cases where hunters are known to overhunt (Berkes 2008). According to Broz and Willerslev (2012: 79), the reason hunters sometimes overhunt is because they feel like they need to take whatever is shared with them, although they always feel tense in this situation, never certain about the intention of the animal masters. However, there are also many other hunting societies in which the number of animals allowed to be hunted is strictly limited, and every hunter can shoot only a certain amount on a single hunting trip or even within his or her lifetime (Broz and Willerslev 2012: 83). According to Hamayon (2012), hunters usually restrain themselves from hunting too many animals, as they believe that they will eventually be punished for overhunting, so they pretend not to see the animals even if more game comes to them. Traditionally for the Dukha, the rules regarding the number of animals you can shoot are strict, and these come under two main principles. First, if you encounter a number of animals at once you may kill only one. The same rule applies if the hunter meets a large herd or just three animals together. The Dukha say that to kill everything you see in front of you is an abuse of nature. The second principle is most applicable to a long hunting trip. The hunters take a pack animal, usually a reindeer, and if this animal is packed full of meat, it means that they have enough and cannot hunt anymore. The idea of overhunting is not tolerated in society, but the hunters state that most of the time they do not encounter so many animals anyway. Once the animal spirits have given enough, they usually do not look for any more animals and simply return home. As Ingold (2000: 15) puts it, “It is not a matter of taking what you can get but of accepting what is given.” Another important aspect of hunting is related to the location of the hunt. The Dukha worldview sees that their local environment is filled with spirits, thus one should pay great attention to where one hunts so as not to offend any of these spirits. There are many spirited places where the Dukha are not allowed to hunt because of an angry spirit owner at that location or sometimes due to reasons related with ancestral lands that are sacred for certain families, as I have discussed in the first chapter of the book. As evident in the detailed rules, the hunters not only need highly developed hunting skills but also spiritual education to succeed in hunting. It is very important they maintain concentration during the hunt, as observing the ritual and spiritual aspects of hunting are just as important. Thus, the hunter should

RESPECTING THE HUNT

141

be able to see and hear everything, always being aware of what is going around him, as mistakes are not acceptable while hunting. Hunting success is not about shooting animals but shooting them in the right manner. Apart from the spirited places that need to be avoided, it is also vital for the hunters to recognize spirited animals. These animals usually have signs on them that will indicate their exceptional situation. They may, for example, be white or another unusual color; they sometimes have an unusually shaped antler or another sign of their extraordinariness. These animals may be special in their own right, or they may be the land spirits who have changed shape and revealed themselves to the hunters in the form of an animal (Kücüküstel 2013: 96). The hunters are usually very careful not to shoot one of these animals by mistake, as the consequences would be a tragedy for the hunter. Yul explained it to me: A good hunter should always be on alert because you never know what is happening around you. Once we were in the forest and saw a reindeer from far. The animal was grazing. When my cousin prepared to shoot it, I looked at it again with binoculars and at the last minute when it turned around, I noticed that it had only one antler. I shouted at my cousin to stop and luckily warned him on time. It could be a spirited animal and shooting one is very dangerous. (Field notes, 2012)

Thus, as evident in the incident, together with other taboos such as the taboo of hunting pregnant animals, a good hunter should never kill an animal before seeing it clearly.

HUNTING MAGIC: A LOST HUNTING SONG It was a few days before I was about to leave the taiga, and, as usual, a feeling of panic was slowly capturing my body, with feelings of apprehension that I must have missed many things and I should make up for this quickly before leaving. As if my panic mode was not alarming enough, someone also mentioned to me about a “lost” hunting song used for seducing animals in one of my interviews those days, and then to my disappointment added that he did not know much about it. Once I heard that something like this existed, I kept asking other hunters if they had heard such a thing, and the answer was usually similar: many people had heard about it, but no one knew exactly what it was, making me even more impatient and curious. In the end, I went to one of the old hunters in the taiga, and he was able to explain to me briefly at least what this song was. Although Dukha hunters today do not mention the concept of animals giving themselves to the hunter, he said that there are some special ways to transcend into the domain of the animals and persuade them. One of those was a special ritual that the shamans

142

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

in the past used for seducing or persuading the animals—a special song that is sung in the fall, a song that only certain people can sing and which is supposed to hypnotize the animal. During the fall when elk hunting starts, some shamans would sing this song in order to become invisible to the elk, allowing them to get as close as they wanted to the animal. After telling me a few more things, he said that I would do better to find and talk to Yul, an old hunter who had now moved to the village because of his wife’s health problems. Since I was staying in the taiga with people continuing a nomadic lifestyle, I was spending a lot of time with them but had less opportunity to spend time with the people over seventy years old, of whom most had settled in the village. Thus, I decided to make a short trip to the village to interview the Dukha elders who lived there and also find Yul to ask about the hunting song. After a couple of days in the village, I managed to find Yul, who not only knew about the song but also experienced an incident once with a shaman he went hunting with many years ago. He explained to me that only the shaman, or a few people who may have learned from the shaman, could use this song. The aim of the song was to make the animal surrender itself and help the hunter. Yul added that it was mostly used for elk and told me about the day he witnessed it: Once I went hunting with an old shaman who was a good friend of my father. It was autumn, and we were riding in the taiga for a while when we came across an elk. The elk saw us and immediately started to run away. I aimed at it for shooting, and the shaman told me to stop. And then suddenly, while chasing the deer, he started to sing a song. When the elk heard this song, it started to slow down, still walking away but at a slow pace, and then it started to look back toward us, as if telling us to follow her. After a while, the elk completely calmed down and she was constantly looking at back to us while we were following her. The shaman kept singing the song from time to time. I was watching completely in shock, trying to understand what was happening. After covering some distance, we arrived at an open space, and there were many elk grazing. The shaman told me to shoot one of the elks where we arrived, watching carefully not to shoot the elk that brought us here. He told me that the elk brought us here to its herd, and he went behind that animal to thank her while I was aiming for one of the other elks. We shot one and came back. But we never really talked about it

I asked, “And how was the song? Did you learn it? Do you remember it?” It is very important to sing this song the right way, it is not just an ordinary song. Once I tried myself but got everything wrong. If you get it wrong, it is not good for you. It is only special people who can sing this and make the animal calm. When I listened to the song that day, I realized he pays very much attention to the wind, to the sound of nature itself, and he created a rhythmic melody following the nature vibe. The most important thing about this hunting song is not the lyrics because there are hardly any words in it, but

RESPECTING THE HUNT

143

the rhythmic melody that it produces; this is what makes the elk listen to him. There is not anybody who sings this song anymore, the young people do not know it. (Field notes, 2016)

This hunting song is one of the rare cases that the Dukha attribute full personhood and agency to the animal, but even in this instance the hunter knows that it is the land spirits who gave him the kill, not the animal itself. When I asked the old hunter if the elk is helping the hunter to kill one of its friends, he said that the animal helps because it knows that the land spirit wants to offer an animal to the hunter. Most hunters state that the animals know when spirits want to make an offering to the hunter and then concedes. This belief of surrender to the land spirits both by people and animals makes hunting morally easier for the hunter, as the spirits give moral justification and protection for both parties.

AFTER THE HUNT For many hunters around the world, such as sport hunters or hunters from nonanimistic societies, the hunt is over once the animal is killed. However, for the Dukha, the physical action of shooting an animal is definitely not the end of this ritual; instead, it is the start of the relationship between the hunter and the animal’s soul, as there are many more taboos and rituals to be followed after this stage. Performing rituals after the death of a person to ensure that their soul can make its journey to the afterlife is pretty common in many societies. Among the Dukha, the retribution for failing to perform this ritual is usually the risk of the soul failing to reach the afterlife, meaning that the spirit is forever stuck between worlds and may come with retribution toward the family of the deceased or perhaps the place of death. Similar taboos exist among hunters too, since the hunter is also dealing with death. It is a process that needs to be handled delicately, just like the death of a person, as the real danger of hunting, for the hunter, starts after the animal has been killed. Siberian nomadic hunters believe that the spirit of an animal waits near its body to take revenge and the hunter is in danger of predation. Heonik Kwon (1998: 119) perfectly illustrates this: In Siberia the position of human hunter as the predator is insecure. As soon as he succeeds in a predatory act, the hunter falls into the position of the prey. In this case, predation consists of violent actions reciprocated by the animal prey, and hunting involves not only the skill of finding and pursuing the animal but also the equally important skill of avoiding being preyed upon.

Since the introduction of the gun to hunting in the taiga, the hunters are no longer at such a risk of being hunted themselves. This would leave the

144

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

impression that they are at less risk. However, for a hunter who is at all times surrounded by spirits and invisible entities, the real danger of the hunt comes from improper ritualistic behavior. According to the Dukha, this danger might arise for one of two reasons. The first but less common reason is related to that of the animal spirit. Some Dukha elders mention that animals have souls, and they wait in a path when they die. If an animal is killed disrespectfully, its soul becomes chotgor, which means that it is torn between this world and the spirit world and turns into a ghost. The concept of chotgor, a Mongolian word, is used for people and animals alike. However, if an animal becomes chotgor, it may seek to harm the hunter and his family, or even the whole community. The second reason a hunter may be in danger after the hunt is from the animal masters. Since hunting success is considered a gift from the animal masters, it is the duty of the hunter to take care of his gift and show the required respect. If the hunter fails to do so, he risks getting punished. The way to avoid this danger is by simply dealing with the carcass of the killed animal with respect and not wasting any part of it. As soon as an animal is shot, the first thing a Dukha hunter must do is apologize and seek forgiveness from the animal. After the hunter has ensured the animal is dead, he takes the front legs of the animal together and touches them to his forehead. Here he says words of appreciation and of sadness at the death of the animal. There is no fixed wording, and the hunter is free to express his sorrow and gratitude as he sees fit. However, there is usually an apology, a thank you, and an explanation as to how much this was needed. The act of touching the paws of the animal to the forehead is a clear proof that the animal is regarded as a gift because this gesture is often used in Mongolia as an appreciation when people receive gifts. After the apology, the hunters butcher the animal on the spot and share the meat out among them according to the rules that I will explain in coming parts. The hunter should be the first one to touch the animal, and, before the distribution, the liver is taken from the animal and shared among the hunters, who eaten it raw. One of the most important parts of this distribution is that none of the meat is wasted. Hunters will always refrain from wasting any part of the animal, as this would be disrespectful to the spirits, which offered the animal as a gift. The hunters, after distributing the meat among them, will take it back to camp, where the women will take care of the meat. If the hunters are not returning directly home after the hunt, then they may sometimes leave the intestines or stomach for the birds to eat, as it is very hard to clean this in the wild. Once the meat is brought home, the hunter gives a portion of meat to the fire as an offering and places a part of the animal on the game eeren if he has one. Only after this can the meat be handled. While people consume all the edible parts of the animal, how the inedible parts are handled is still very important. This is again related to the fact that the hunter is responsible for providing the remains of the animal with respect. Step-

RESPECTING THE HUNT

145

ping over the fur or bones of the hunted animal brings bad luck to the hunter, so people never leave the meat on the floor. Almost every part of the animal represents a delicacy to the Dukha. However, giving the bones to the dogs is not considered to be in any way taboo. After the meat is removed, the bones are boiled, and then these bones are given to the dogs. It is only the skull of the horse, bear, or sacred reindeer that is not given away as dog food out of respect. They instead hang this somewhere, usually on a tree, and tie a khadag on it. Many northern hunting people believe that animals are reborn if they are hunted with respect (Beach and Stammler 2006; McNiven 2010). During my fieldwork among the Dukha, I never encountered any reference to the hunted animals being completely reborn. This information may have been lost or confused in the interviewing process. However, almost every hunter interviewed mentioned the fact that if you hunt animals respectfully, they become abundant; if you do not obey the rules and subsequently offend them, then they reproduce less. Most elders believe hunting and the reproduction of the animals are directly proportional, which means that the more people hunt, the more animals reproduce. Yul, an old Dukha hunter explained it in these terms: One strange thing I noticed in the last few years is that when we were able to hunt in the 1990s, there were many elk. I even used to see elk around the camp. But since they banned hunting them, the animals have become fewer. I think humans keep the balance of the animals. I heard about this from many people; everybody notices this. When we had the right to hunt, we could see animals around us almost all the time. After they banned it, we have barely seen animals at all. I think there is a connection between humans and animals. People are what makes the animals grow. (Field notes, 2015)

The link between treating an animal carcass with respect and animals being plentiful in the wild does not necessitate a direct rebirth of animals. It is instead related to ˇJer eezi, the master spirit. If people treat this spirit and the gifts they receive from it with respect, the spirit will provide them with more animals. The logic to this is very straightforward: if you do not appreciate the gifts you receive or use them with respect, then you will stop receiving them. The animal master will not reproduce as many animals in the future since the hunter does not appreciate and use the gifts to the full extent.

THE BEAR AS KIN When I first went to the taiga, the name Khairkhan was mentioned very often in conversations, and I could not understand who he/she was for a long time. People were talking about Khairkhan with respect, discussing where he was these days, and when I asked who he was, they would simply say he was the

146

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

brother of the taiga, making me think that they were talking about an elder. It took me a long time to realize that they were indeed talking about the bear because the word khairkhan does not literally mean “bear,” but is a Mongolian word for “almighty,” used to show respect. The bear, as one of the strongest and most dangerous key species of the forest, holds a special place among the people of Siberia, “occupying a privileged ontological position as other-than-human persons” (Hill 2011: 409). Hallowell addressed this issue in his article “Bear Ceremonialism in the Northern Hemisphere,” focusing on the prominent role that the bear plays in the customs and beliefs of hunters in the north, explaining that “some describe this as respect, others as reverence, veneration, or worship, but one and all are in agreement that among the animals, bears are held in special esteem” (Hallowell 1926: 22). It was common to use kinship words such as “grandfather” or “wise old man” to refer to the bears among the Altaic people (Hallowell 1926: 49). According to Cree hunters, the bear understands how people talk about him and what they think about him. They will only get a chance to kill the bear depending on how they are thinking about the animal (Scott 2006: 64). The Khanty in Siberia would similarly apologize to the bear and deny killing it after the hunt, instead putting the blame on the gun, which belongs to the Russians ( Jordan 2003: 115). When a bear was killed, the Inuit would apply the same restrictions on work as if someone had died in the camp. It was said that the soul of a bear was dangerous, that it should be treated like that of a kinsperson, which requires all work to be stopped for three days (D’Anglure 1990: 174). One of the main reasons for this special place of the bear is related to its similarity or closeness to people. For example, according to D’Anglure (1994), the polar bear has a special status among the Inuit, as people notice many similarities between their own way of life and that of the bear, such as standing on its legs or hunting like people. Some hunting techniques of the polar bear are indeed imitated by hunters. It also constructs a winter shelter, just like humans, and the Inuit imitate those techniques (D’Anglure 1994: 173–74). Some other societies view bears as a special guest from the forest world, like the Udeges in Russia, who regard the animals “as a mediator between the domain of the human village and that of the forest world” (Sasaki 2011: 265). Similarly, the Khanty perceived the bear as “an intermediary between the domains of people and spirit masters” ( Jordan 2003: 100). Viewing the bear as an ancestor is pretty widespread in Siberia (Hallowell 1926; Danglure 1990; Irimoto 1996). The Dukha likewise respect the bear very much and view it as kin. Old people say that their ancestors told them the human came from the bear and therefore the bears might be their relatives. Elders also used to call the bear hakka (older brother), but that term has not been used frequently in recent years. The word “bear” (irey) in Dukhan literally means “grandfather” or “old husband” according to the online Tuvan-English Dictionary.

RESPECTING THE HUNT

147

But still the Dukha do not use the word “bear”—irey—for the animal and instead just call it Khairkhan, which is the most commonly used address for a deity in Mongolian-Turkic myths (Sundueva and Dampilova 2015) and is used as a way of showing respect or love when talking about sacred places or animals. There are some linguistic rules that need to be observed in order to show respect to the bear. Bataar, an elder explained the proper way of addressing a bear to me like this: We would never use the real name for the parts of Khairkhan, it was considered disrespectful. So while we were talking about the bear, for example after killing it, instead of saying “blood,” we would say “red ochre” for the blood of the bear. The “head” of the bear was called “tip,” its skin was called a “coat,” its meat was called “red,” its fat was “snow,” the eyes were called “stars,” the ears were named “little,” implying that its ears are small and beautiful, the chin was called “chop,” the paw was named “feet” and its nose was called “nice smell.” Young people don’t use these names anymore, but we would always talk about the bear respectfully. (Field notes, 2016)

The Dukha hunt the bear usually in the spring, and traditionally every family is allowed to kill only one bear per year. However, there are some special rules concerning the proper treatment of the bear, and one should follow those proper codes of conduct while hunting it, as the animal has a strong spirit. One significant rule for the Dukha for bear hunting is said to be an agreement that was forged by their ancestors that still dictates this relationship, as I have also mentioned briefly in the introduction. If a hunter comes across a bear in the forest and the bear runs away, climbing a tree, the hunter would never shoot it. Similarly, when a man runs into a bear in the forest, perhaps unarmed, he should climb a tree because the bear also would not attack the person who climbs a tree. Thus, the bear is perceived as a nonhuman person who can understand people and make agreements with them. Another important aspect of hunting the bear among the Dukha is that the bear and the hunter are set in a position of equality when they encounter each other. According to this rule, a hunter is not allowed to shoot a bear from behind. If a person comes across a bear, first he has to shout out or whistle to warn the bear so that the bear can face the person. The bear must know that it will be killed. It is believed that they have to give the bear a chance to react so that he can run away or fight back (Küçüküstel 2013: 78). When the hunter kills a bear, it is vital that he takes a black willow bush, burns it, and takes it around the bear clockwise while praying to nature and making offerings to Jˇer eezi, the owner of nature. It is significant that the hunter states his urgent need for the meat and sadness so that the bear does not have hard feelings toward him, saying things such as, “I am sorry I had to kill you. Please be easy on us. We do not harm you with bad intentions; we did this for survival. Your meat was necessary for my family.” However, the person who shot

148

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

the bear should be the first one to touch the animal. Similarly, while preparing the meat, the hunter first touches the meat because he has the respect of killing the bear, and he drinks some of the blood of the bear first. Then he cuts the meat in six pieces and gives it to the oldest member in the team first. The limitation on the number of bears to be killed per year is also an important aspect to consider among the Dukha. Some people say that you can hunt only one bear a year, while others say it would be a maximum of three per person. This rule has been quite important in the past, as they were selling the feet of the bear on the open market to be used in the medicinal industry. They would also use some other parts of the bear as medicine for themselves. Old people suggest that the heart of the bear is considered good for heart diseases, while the kidney is good for kidney-related diseases. This similarity here, organ parts of the bear being remedial for the same organs in humans, for me can not be a coincidence. It is rather symbolic and shows how bears and humans resemble each other in many ways. The heart of the bear, being similar to a human heart in many ways, would heal a person, passing power and health to the human. Thus, the bear that lost his or her life helps another life to maintain health. The beliefs about the bear and the amount of personhood attributed to it are great examples showing the human-animal boundary in these societies and how some animals are perceived as nonhuman persons.

CHAPTER 7

THE WAY WE HUNT

iii South Siberia is a rich landscape for its animal population, especially the mammals. The Dukha usually hunt elk, musk deer, moose, mountain goat, brown deer, sable, wild boar, bear, squirrel, duck, and a plethora of different birds. These animals, much like the Dukha, live in the taiga year round, and the people know when the best season is to hunt each animal. Sometimes this requires different tactics of hunting. According to Paine (1971: 159), the “principle of least effort” for hunters is significant when compared to the pastoralists, as hunters will go on hunting trips only when they think their chances are high. He suggests that hunters will rather move on to a new area or new species when the population of a certain animal decreases (Paine 1971:160). I agree with this claim, as hunters do not go on hunting trips randomly but instead remain vigilant so as to go only when their chances are higher. On the other hand, hunting in the taiga is undergoing changes, and the frequency is decreasing as they adapt to new circumstances. While people in the past used to go hunting through every season, today most men avoid hunting in the coldest months and in the summer heat, as the need for game meat is not so urgent most of the year. Autumn and winter are considered better for hunting, but the hunters state that there are advantages and disadvantages to every season. It is a matter of knowing the landscape and behaving in accordance with it. In general, autumn is considered a good season for hunting because the animals are well fed and fatter after the summer. However, once the mating season arrives, around the end of October and November, the males lose weight because they are spending their energy on mating. Subsequently, August, September, and the beginning of October is the best period for hunting. The Dukha talk about hunting in terms of seasons and specific species. While an outsider may think of general seasons for this, the Dukha maintain a precise timing for hunting different species, giving exact dates for certain species. When I asked the hunters how they could be so specific about the dates, they told me that those dates are related to the

150

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

amount of snow on the ground, and they can usually predict the snow level on certain dates. However, with global warming and climate change, those dates are now also subject to change, and the hunters have had to adapt their timing. In the past, men would sometimes go on hunting trips that would take up to two or three months. Nowadays, since hunting is banned, the Dukha cannot go on such long trips. If they are not around their camps for long stretches of time, border officials may be alerted to their activity. They mostly go hunting for four or five days, especially after November when the domesticated reindeer are taken away to their winter valley. Fishing is also forbidden; however, just like hunting, it has been a vital part of their diet for many years, as fish are a quite a delicacy and are greatly enjoyed by the Dukha. This chapter aims to look into different hunting and fishing techniques the Dukha use and also discusses the role of dogs in hunting, as well as their role in society more generally.

HUNTING AND FISHING TECHNIQUES Most of the time, one hardly encounters wild animals when walking around the taiga or even when migrating long distances. This is why, since I arrived in the taiga, it has always been fascinating to me how hunters could find the animals in such an enormous terrain. However, the hunters do not encounter game by chance, but find them only after long pursuits, as they know where and how to look for them. Most hunters state that when they go out hunting, they have some potential places in mind where the animals can be located. As they are all learning from inherited knowledge, which is accumulated and perfected over many generations, by the time young hunters start to hunt, they have in their minds a map of the area with the most likely locations of the animals. Once the spot is found, catching the animals also requires the right techniques for the particular animal and at the particular time of year. Hunting the same animal in different seasons may require a different approach. In the winter season, the most frequently used technique is tracking. This means people look for the traces of an animal in the snow and use this as a guide. They are then able to unleash the dogs, who will more effectively be able to follow the scent and move quickly over the snow. During autumn and winter, the snow on the ground makes hunting easier for the Dukha, for it does not matter if the animal is in the forest or out in the open; snow makes it more difficult for animals to outrun their dogs. Conversely, tough winter conditions are the hardest for the Dukha to survive in. The workload is much bigger, and they must clear snow for their camps, as well as find firewood under the snow. In spring, around April or May, brown deer and moose are easy to find, but it is not a good time for hunting in general, as the animals might be pregnant and there is a strict taboo against hunting pregnant animals among the Dukha.

T H E WAY W E H U N T

151

Thus, people hunt with extreme caution if they go out hunting, to prevent killing pregnant animals. Spring is also a good time for hunting bears when they wake up from their long winter sleep. The bears sleep from November to March or April, so they can be hunted anytime except winter, but people usually hunt bears in May, June, or September, once the animal feeds after a long hibernation. The Dukha do not usually kill the bear in its den, as it is hard to locate. The summer offers its own advantages and disadvantages. The existence of mosquitos often dictates the pace of life in the taiga, and they may force the animals away from the safety of the forest. The mosquitos prefer the forest, and, if the animals become too irritated by them, they will leave the safety of the trees and go down to a river or out into the open, which makes it much easier for the Dukha to spot them. However, the Dukha and their animals are not immune to the mosquitos, so it is a trade-off for easier hunting with unpleasant conditions. One important technique used to hunt involves close cooperation among the hunters. This can involve one hunter going behind the animal and chasing it in the direction of the hunting party, where it can be shot. The Dukha prefer to go hunting in groups of at least two or more people, as this enables them to separate during the hunt and drive the animal toward the trap. When people go as a group, one person usually goes inside the forest to make noise and chase the animals, while the others wait for the animals to come out so that they can shoot. People take these tactics very seriously, and they are aware of how fragile and difficult hunting can be, as they do not view animals as inactive, weak-minded agents. On the contrary, they think that animals are aware of everything, learn, and develop their own survival tactics. While we were talking about the capacity of animals and their ability to decide as agents, Batbayar, one of the young hunters, said the deer are very intelligent and they also make their own strategies, like grazing early in the morning before people wake up. Thus, the Dukha are not dealing with a passive target while hunting. The animals have enough agency to learn from their predators, which means the hunters must take the entire environment into consideration when making judgments. If the wind is blowing toward the animal, it might give away their position or even distort the sound they are making. All of these factors must be taken into consideration, as one of the hunters explained: I look at the position of the animal. I see if I am able to do it alone, if I am closer, and I look at where it will lay down. I look at the animal for a while to observe him. Is he grazing fast or slow? Is he full, if he will lay down, how long will he lay down—I observe all these things. If I see that he is full and he will lay down, I think okay, I have enough time to go around on the other side and get closer. I look at the trees around him, which trees are blocking and if any of them would cause me trouble when I shoot it. I think in detail how I should approach. If there are too many trees and no possible way for me to shoot,

152

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

then I go ask for help from other people, so that they can chase the animal toward me. These are the only choices. Observing the animal and his location decides on everything. (Bata, field notes, 2016)

Today the Dukha still hunt with old Russian rifles. They are increasingly hard to obtain, and the ammunition for them is very expensive. This makes it necessary to be very frugal and careful not to waste bullets unnecessarily. However, before the guns were made widely available, people had different techniques for hunting. According to the elders, guns have been used consistently only for the last thirty or forty years. Their fathers had to use traditional hunting techniques, but when guns became easily obtained, people quickly stopped using traditional techniques, and the young hunters today are by and large completely removed from them. When talking about different traditional hunting methods used before the guns, an elder described to me some of those techniques. He said it was common to make a bow and arrow shafts of wood, with iron at the tip of the arrows, which were called ayalaar. However, this was part of a trap system; people did not use them by hand. They set the trap by tying horse hair around a tree opposite the trap. When the animal pushed through the hair, the trap was triggered and the arrow plunged into the animal. It did not require anyone to sit with the trap; it was possible to set it and leave the area to hunt moose or elk. There was also a common trap system used to catch little animals, such as rabbits and musk deer. It was made using a thin rope, which was tied to a tree, with the other end tied in a circle. When the head of the animal entered the circle, they would pull the other end to catch it, or it could also be pulled automatically when the animal tried to walk away. Another technique was a trap made using a large suspended log (sahbua). They hung the log from a tree above the path of an animal and put some food below the log. When the animal stopped to eat the food and then steps on the trap, the log falls. This technique was used for many animals, no matter if they were big or small. People would also make a small box from wood, calling it a small home (baysïn), and put meat inside. When the animal entered, it became trapped inside. The box could even be used to catch animals like sable if it was big enough. There were also many traditional methods for fishing. The most common one was using a traditional fishing spear (dirge) made from wood with a metal tip having three barbs. The person using it stood by a river and spear passing fish with it. According to elders, this way of fishing is good because it does not kill many fish like a net does. People would also dam the river (duglaar) using stones at the mouth of a river as it flowed toward a lake, preventing the fish from getting any further toward the lake. This could only be done in a reasonably shallow river so they could see where the fish were hiding in the water and simply catch them by hand. To catch big fish, they would catch a smaller bait

T H E WAY W E H U N T

153

fish and then put a wooden stick through it that acted as a hook (argamcï). They tied that fish to a fishing line connected to a fishing rod to catch big fish with it. They also used to make small nets made of horsetail ( ˇȷetgï) to catch fish in lakes. As the elders state, today there are few people who still remember those techniques, and young people especially have learned none of them. More and more people hunt the same species with a gun, instead of making traps for smaller animals such as rabbits. Thus, gun technology is not only changing hunting techniques but also changing which animals are hunted.

DOGS AS PARTNERS IN HUNTING When people walk into a camp in the taiga, it is always the dogs that welcome them first. The dogs begin barking long before the visitor arrives, thus informing the residents that someone is coming. Similarly, they indicate the location of the camp to the visitor, constituting the boundary between the camp and the outside. I remember how hearing the dog’s bark felt so comforting after a long journey in the forest, telling us that we had arrived “home” to a familiar environment. The dogs provide essential security; they operate like an alarm, not simply welcoming guests but warning the camp of any unusual activity or danger around the camp. This is especially true of the presence of wolves.

Figure 7.1. Dogs are important members of the camp in the taiga. Mongolia, 2013. Photo by the author.

154

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

The dogs in the taiga are Siberian dogs, which are small featured, short haired, resistant to cold weather, and can survive on little food. Just like the reindeer, the dogs are also the descendants of the old dogs of the taiga. Every family in the taiga has at least one or two dogs, and they call them “the taiga dogs,” always stating that they never get dogs from other parts of the country because these other dogs cannot survive in the taiga. The taiga dogs have inherited the necessary skills to survive in the taiga from their ancestors, and in that sense they belong to the community in a similar fashion as the people or the reindeer, and are regarded as part of the community from the beginning. Although it is changing rapidly, as everything else in the community, the taiga dogs are tough and can survive on their own, as they used to hunt for themselves animals such as rabbits and squirrels. These days, they mostly receive food from people, and in return protect the camp and help men while hunting. It is still possible to observe a dog disappearing for long hours, probably for hunting, and then coming back to the camp on their own. The relationship between these dogs and people is very different from the relationship most people have with their pet dogs in cities, as the intimate but possessive relationship between the owners and dogs are not noted here as often. Among the Dukha, it is not common for people to pet their dogs or treat them with any obvious compassion, but it does not mean that the relationship between the parties is weak or lacks any devotion. When asked, people consider the dogs part of the family; they share their intimate moments, but they do not express their love for the animal in the same way people do in some Western societies. However, the dogs still enjoy some similar comforts and compassion from time to time. It is not uncommon for a dog to enter the household and sit by the fire for warmth. While this is sometimes overlooked and they are allowed to stay inside, at other times people just yell at them and shout ˇȷörü ˇȷörü, which means “go.” Having witnessed this sudden change in mood so many times, I was unsure how to place the relationship between people and the dogs. However, it is not a matter of politeness or love, but a matter of mutual cooperation and partnership that enables both to survive in this harsh climate. Food is so scarce that feeding the dogs is not easy, and dogs earn their food by staying out and protecting the household. People do not want the dogs to get used to staying inside the tent in the warmth, which would turn them completely into pets. Since they are hunting dogs, maintaining their sensitive smelling senses is also very important, and the warmth and smoke from the fire decreases their ability to smell. Besides, a dog that does not do their duty is a big burden under those conditions when the Dukha can barely feed themselves. The family I stayed with had two dogs called Gulak and Muynak when I first went to the field in 2012. The little children at home played with the dogs all the time, and the adults were usually watching and smiling. Having gotten used to the way dogs, especially guard dogs, are trained back at home, I was sur-

T H E WAY W E H U N T

155

prised that nobody was concerned about the way their children held the dogs or played with them. In my hometown, guard dogs are never held nor petted so as to maintain the animal’s discipline and aggression. However, this did not seem to be an issue for the Dukha. The relationships between the children and the dogs were certainly intimate. Later on, I also found out that the adults had equally intimate relationships with some of the dogs but did not express this in the same way. When I returned back to the field in 2015, I found out that Muynak had unfortunately passed away. On a particularly snowy day while we sheltered inside around the fire, we spent most of the night talking about the dog. The way Muynak’s family talked about her was as if they had lost a family member. They reminisced about funny moments with Muynak. Sarnai told me her grandchild cried for many days after she passed away. The dog had an accident when they went hunting with Ultzi. On hunting trips, dogs are often set on a track and chase the pray to a rocky outcrop. Here the hunters wait for the arrival of the prey, and dogs may fall from the cliff together with the prey. This is what happened to her. Seriously injured, they could not bring her back, as it was so far from camp. Everyone was so sad when they found out Muynak did not make it back to the camp. We spent that night cherishing the memories of Muynak, as Sarnai kept telling stories about how her other grandchild Nomkun was fond of Muynak and rode her like a horse when she was little. She used to wash the face of the dog together with her own face every morning and played with her ears all the time. They said Muynak lived with them for ten years before she died. People name the dogs like they name the reindeer. This means that naming is dependent on the physical or characteristic features of the animal and that they usually need to wait some time before giving a name so as to see how the dog turns out. For example, one of the dogs in my family was called Gulak, which means “ear” in the Dukha language; this was because she had big ears. The other dog’s name, Muynak, means “white neck.” Another dog was called Öörgen, meaning happy, because he was always energetic and extremely joyful. But sometimes people name the dog depending on how they want the dog to be. For example, our neighbors named their dog Börgüt, which means eagle, in the hope that the dog will become strong like an eagle and will also have good eyesight. As an illustration of this, I will provide the names of a few of the other dogs in the camp: Akgol means “white leg”; Golük means “baby dog”; Dasgara means “pitch black”; Jˇinȷˇi literally means “jewelry maker,” and they named her this as it implies a fancy girl; Arslan, meaning “lion,” was big and strong; Harstïk is the name of a bird that walks around jumping, and the dog Harstïk moved just like this. The dogs in the taiga are known to be well-behaved and calm. They will not attack people nor will they beg for food unless you hand the food to them

156

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

and tell them to eat it, especially as they wait from a distance while one is eating. This is a line the dogs will not cross in the company of humans. However, after having my own tent in the taiga for a while, I found out that they did not behave the same when left alone. My food was stolen by the dogs on more than one occasion, and thus I understood why people did not want to leave the tents unattended. Some of the dogs specifically were known as thieves, and the only solution people found to prevent these thefts was tying their own dog in front of the tent. This would not only stop their own dog from stealing from others, but would also prevent other dogs from stealing from the tent. People also think that the dogs who are not fed well steal more, and this is not regarded as a good thing. There are sometimes stories of one particular family not feeding their dog well enough; this will draw criticism from others. Most elders stated that if you do not feed your dog well and leave it hungry, you will be punished by the spirits—maybe lose an animal from your herd, or even get sick yourself—so it is important to respect your dogs and not leave them hungry. This is an important attitude to evaluate because although people do not have a possessive relationship with their dogs, they are still responsible for the wellbeing of the animal. Russell (2010: 10) explains that the dogs “inhabit a liminal space” between the human sphere and the wild, so it is vital that while this “wild” side of the dog is respected by allowing it autonomy, people still share food with the dogs, as they are also a part of the human world. Besides, dogs are attributed with some kind of spiritual quality, as they can feel and see what people cannot. The idea that dogs can see spirits and start barking at them when they see them is a belief found in many societies (Ojoade 1990; Irimoto 1996). The Dukha similarly believe that dogs can make contact with spirits, alerting people when they see them, especially the spirits of the dead. Among the Dukha, the dogs are perceived as other-than-human beings, and their autonomy and ability to make decisions is recognized. Another thing the Dukha mention is that when taiga dogs gets really old, they usually leave home to die alone. This is because, normally, when a dog is too old and cannot do much work or walk well while migrating, the owner might need to shoot it. The dogs that are aware of this situation leave the camp so as not to become a burden on the household. The dogs are also aware that their owner may be saddened by the idea of killing them. Thus, when a dog reaches the age of fifteen to sixteen years, they usually leave the camp and never come back. People say that this happens very often in the taiga. I remember witnessing one of these intimate relationships between Otgonbayar, who was fifty-six years old, and his old dog, who followed him everywhere. Whenever he went to a tent to visit people, you could see the dog waiting for Otgonbayar outside the tent. One day he said, looking at his dog, “I am so afraid that one day I will wake up and not see my dog. I don’t want him to leave” (field notes, 2015).

T H E WAY W E H U N T

157

The Dukha believe, as with other animals, that the dog has a spirit that may return to them in another form. This means if a dog dies near the camp, people take the body to somewhere far from the camp, cut the tail with an axe, and put it under the dog’s head like a pillow. They say, “Come to me again,” wishing that the dog will be reborn and come to the same owner again. Oehler (2016: 113), who studied among the Soiots, mentions a similar burial ritual among them. Thus, the Dukha hopes that a beloved dog is not lost forever.

DOGS FOR HUNTING As I mentioned above, the dogs are vital in protecting the camp and alerting people to danger. However, one better understands the dog’s functionality after speaking to the men about their value for hunting. Being partners in hunting leads to a special relation between the men and the dogs, as collaborating is a matter of life or death on long hunting trips. The dogs and the men share many moments together, including the joy of having meat if the hunt is a success, and this creates a special bond between the parties. Dogs are essential to hunting in every season, and their role is dependent on the prey, the terrain, and the time of year. Hunting sable in October for instance, people release the dogs to find the animal’s scent. Once they find it, they chase it until the animal climbs a tree and people are then able to shoot it with a small gun. Similarly, they find the scent trail of musk deer in November, but when they chase the musk deer, it usually runs into a cave instead of climbing a tree. In February, deep snow prevents the dogs from running as fast as small animals, but at other times dogs are faster than most other animals, especially the bigger mammals. Although they are unable to tackle the larger animals on their own, they can successfully trap them in a corner and await the hunters to arrive and shoot it. During this chase, a dog works independently from his owner and knows what to do naturally. They are especially very useful for chasing big game animals such as wild boar and bear. The dogs can also follow injured animals that the hunters shot but could not kill. Especially while hunting a bear, most men state that an injured bear is very dangerous, as it always comes back to attack. This is why when an injured bear runs into the bush with lots of trees, it is difficult for people to see it. They instead send the dogs ahead to surround the bear and wait for the hunters to arrive. However, the risks are ever present for the dogs. Sometimes dogs may die from bear or wild boar attacks. If the bear catches the dog, it squeezes it, while a wild boar usually attacks with its tusk, pressing the dog into a tree. If a dog does not come back from the forest, people will look for it for a while, but after this they understand that it probably died. It is also believed that when a young dog chases an animal and disappears without any trace, the dog could have tackled

158

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

a bad spirit that otherwise would have attacked its owner. The dog has then sacrificed itself for its owner. It is like “taking the death on behalf of his owner,” as expressed by one of the hunters. The Dukha tell incidents of a good dog disappearing unexpectedly during a hunting trip, and they interpret this as a sign that it prevented what would have otherwise happened to its owner. As well as helping during the hunt, the dogs also protect the men in their temporary hunting camp while preparing food or sleeping outside. They alert people when wild animals approach or when there are wolves around the camp. This protection is not only against concrete physical dangers but can also be related to invisible entities, as the dogs are thought to be able to see spirits and warn people of them by barking. Hunters tell stories of how their dogs helped them by taking them away from certain places they were not supposed to be. One of those stories I listened was this: We were out on a hunting trip many years ago, and we found a good camping place by the river after a long day. When we were setting up the tent, our dogs started to bark all together, but we couldn’t understand the reason. We looked around to see if there were any animals but found nothing. However, our dogs just wouldn’t stop barking, and in the end we had to leave to find another camping spot. Later when we went back to the camp, we told the story to one of the elders. After he asked our exact stop, he told us that this area was spirited; the hill behind us had an angry spirit and the dogs must have noticed it. Who knows what would happen if we stayed there that night. Our dogs saved us from some big trouble. (Öviiy, field notes, 2016)

As evident in the story, dogs are important partners for the hunters in all aspects. Most Dukha people indicate the fact that if the dogs were not so important for hunting, they would not keep so many of them, as it is very hard to feed extra mouths in this harsh environment, where survival is a struggle. Indeed, some people mentioned that if a dog is useless, not helping for hunting, lazy during the day instead of protecting the camp, eating a lot, etc., they simply shoot it. Now with the introduction of the hunting ban, the fate of the dogs is more uncertain than ever, as it is dangerous to take dogs out hunting now because they bark when they surround an animal and it might catch the attention of a park ranger if there is one nearby. Thus, the dogs are not useful for hunting anymore, but they still protect the camp from dangers. TRAINING OF THE DOGS

A good hunting dog is not very easy to find, and people become very fond of it when they come across one. There is not a formal way to train dogs among the Dukha, just as there is not a formal way to train young boys for hunting. Most

T H E WAY W E H U N T

159

of the time, they start taking the dogs hunting when they are two years old, and the younger dogs learn from the older ones. The important thing here is that the independence of the dogs is respected, and people do not interfere with them much, just as they do not interfere each other. The dogs that have the potential to be good hunting dogs shine through in a short time, as the smarter ones learn quicker. Since it is the duty of the older dogs to teach the young ones, when a young dog is taken hunting the first time, people take along their best hunting dogs and go hunting together so that the young dog has a good mentor. Experience is also vital for the dogs, and people let them learn by trying. For example, wild boars can attack dogs with their tusks, so if a dog gets hit by the boar, it will learn how close it can get to the boar, and, next time it is on a hunt, it will know how to attack. One can almost never witness a hunter giving instructions to the dogs, as everyone knows what to do and no words need to be spoken. The way dogs learn is very similar to the way the children learn—through little talking, and instead mostly experiencing and observing. Another important thing that the dog should learn is to distinguish between the domesticated and wild reindeer. It is interesting to observe how dogs can recognize a domesticated reindeer from long distances and ignore it while they attack a wild reindeer the moment they encounter it. Thus, the relations in the camp are not only among people and the dogs but also among dogs and domesticated reindeer. While forming this relation, “familiarity” is a vital concept that plays a big role. Just like hunters, the dogs distinguish familiar animals and treat them differently. Domesticated reindeer are familiar animals with whom they live together, while wild reindeer may be perceived as strangers. One incident in the taiga shows this delicate difference. Once, one of the Dukha women found a baby moose in the wild unattended and started to look after the animal. However, the animal was in the end attacked by the dogs, who could not distinguish it from wild animals even though it was part of the household. While training or raising a dog for hunting, people do not use rewards, as the hunt itself, catching the animal, and eating the meat are natural rewards for all. The principles of sharing apply to the animals as well, and this is a natural phenomenon that Dukha hunters do not even feel the need to mention. When I asked the young hunter Batbayar once if they do anything to motivate the dogs or give them any meat, he said, “It is not really the meat that provides the motivation for the dog. If the dogs succeed, we all eat together, us and the dogs. Whatever is hunted, we eat it all together. But the dogs don’t eat so much meat anyway, even if we give it to them. So their real motivation is about chasing an animal for the sake of its owner and making everyone happy” (field notes, 2015). This view is very interesting because the patterns of motivation for a dog seem like the motivation of a hunter in some ways. As I will explain in coming

160

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

chapters, for hunters, hunting is more than getting meat; it is a passion, and people think that the hunting dogs feel the same passion along with the hunters. Most hunters talk of how a good hunting dog enjoys chasing an animal, and they are usually very ruthless in their approach. When a dog chases an animal for a long time and it keeps running, the dog gets very angry and does its best to catch the animal. According to the Dukha hunters, providing meat for the others is a big motivation for the dog, as it is for the hunters. The relationship between people and dogs is not a hierarchical one. This is evident from the qualities Dukha people seek in a dog, as obedience is never mentioned as a desired characteristic. When people talked about their favorite dogs, they usually mentioned how well the dog would chase animals, how it would use its initiative, and how they would be willing to sacrifice themselves for their owner. For example, one day Batbayar, a young hunter, told me about his favorite dog, called Altïr: It was a dog that chased all animals. I never taught him anything; he learned on his own. He was with our family for three years before he got ill and died. It was a very special dog; I have never seen any like him. He was always out chasing animals and looking for things. Even when I shouted for him, he wouldn’t come. Sometimes when I was out with this dog, he would disappear for three days and come back on his own. He was a very, very good dog. Other people also liked him a lot. If I didn’t go hunting, other people took my dog on hunting trips and came back with a lot of meat, so everyone wanted to take him. (Field notes, 2015)

The relationships between the people and the dogs is not very different from the Dukha’s relationship with other animals, or even relations among people, as the autonomy of both parties is respected while they still willingly cooperate and act together. The dogs, being a part of this social organization, are significant partners, as “an extension of man” (Safanova and Santha 2012: 92). The role of the dogs among the Dukha is irreplaceable both for practical and spiritual reasons. The dog, being the guardian of the camp and companion of a hunter, is a significant part of social life in the taiga, and they may also see things in the spirit world that people cannot. Thus, most people state clearly that they cannot imagine living in the taiga without the dogs, and the dogs could not live without people.

CHAPTER 8

LUCK IN HUNTING AND DIVINATION

iii One winter morning in the taiga, my partner, Mutlu, and Batbayar, one of the young hunters in the camp who became good friends with us, went out hunting to see if they could shoot anything. They had made the plan the day before and talked about where they could go in detail. The morning of the hunting trip, Batbayar woke up early, washed his face, made his offering to the fire spirit and to the spirit bag in the house, and, outside, to nature in all directions by spilling the milk tea he boiled. Afterward he came home, purified everything with juniper, and asked the spirits for an easy hunt. It was one of the rare occasions on which I saw him so serious. After they had a quick breakfast, they prepared their bags, taking some biscuits and tobacco with them, and left. In the afternoon, we heard a few gunshots from far away; we did not talk about it, but we were pretty sure they shot something, since Batbayar is one of the best hunters in the camp and has very good aim. When the sun was about to set, our tent became more crowded, as we started to have guests who were expecting a feast. Almost an hour later, hearing some noises and dogs barking, we all rushed out to welcome Batbayar and Mutlu. However, to our surprise, they came back empty-handed, as they had missed their shots and had to return back after walking in the forest for many hours, looking for other animals. People were still cheerful and comforted the hunters with jokes. I could see that Batbayar looked a little embarrassed. There was even an older lady who heard the gunshots during the day and had come from another camp, at least two hours walking distance, with the expectation of having some fresh meat. When people left, we were all quiet and struggled to make conversation. We talked about how they missed the animal, and, since

162

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

we did not prepare any food, thinking that we would eat fresh meat, we just ate some bread and went to bed. The next day, I heard some noises early in the morning and saw Batbayar getting out of bed in the tent. He went around to where Mutlu was sleeping on the floor and whispered something into his ear. After a few seconds of confusion, struggling against his drowsiness, Mutlu stood up and got dressed. I was still half asleep, so I could not really understand what was going on. I only knew that Batbayar had said something about going out. As my sleeping bag was warm from a night’s sleep and outside was still freezing, I easily drifted back to sleep. It was not more than an hour when I heard some cheerful noises outside the tent. Mutlu came in smiling and shouted out to wake Batbayar’s wife and me: “Hey, girls, we got a deer; wake up and help us prepare it!” We were surprised that they had decided to go hunting and had been able to shoot an animal so fast. The news spread quickly in the camp; people were just waking up, but they had started coming to our tent, all of them laughing, surprised but also curious as to how they got the animal so quickly. They were congratulating the hunters, praising them for how good they were. I wondered how they succeeded so quickly, but the answer was clear for Batbayar; as we talked about it later, he explained that there were no expectations that day, so this is how they succeeded.

WHAT LUCK IS ABOUT The concept of “expectation” is one of the most significant elements of luck. This is because a hunter should be humble; they should give in to the will of nature. The self-confidence of a good hunter is not a desirable quality. Subsequently, “expectations” are not something hunters should take with them into the wild. The first day Batbayar and Mutlu went hunting, everybody was expecting them to hunt something, and maybe even the hunter himself was expectant, and there were no animals given to them. When no one had any expectations the second morning, the animal was unexpectedly given. So the first rule is, also as Utzin said later on, that the hunter gives in to nature and waits to see if he will receive any gifts that day. The hunter should never feel sure that he will shoot something. That is why the hunters do not even say “I am going hunting,” as that would presume he will hunt for sure, but instead says “I am going to see places.” Similarly, it is not considered a good sign if a hunter dreams that he hunts because it is interpreted as a signal that he is confident he will find an animal. Expectations then may inhibit luck, so a hunter must do all he can to keep expectations firmly at bay. Indigenous conceptions of luck (büdümče) in Siberia are quite removed from the idea of “luck” in the native English lexicon. “Luck” in the Oxford En-

LU C K I N H U N T I N G A N D D I V I NAT I O N

163

glish Dictionary is defined as “success or failure apparently brought by chance rather than through one’s own actions.” Conversely for the Dukha, luck in hunting is related with the general wellbeing and morality of the person. In that sense, there is no luck that implies chance; rather, it is believed to be a “result of previous good deeds and proper intensities of hunting” (Ziker 2003: 351) and “the result of supernatural intervention” (Broz and Willerslev 2012: 73). This does not mean that there is no uncontrollable side of luck, as hunting is related to supernatural forces that the hunter cannot control as much as to the deeds of the hunter. Still, for the most part, there are many things the hunter can do to improve his luck or contribute to it. For this, first of all, the hunter should always watch his behaviors, respect the world, pray to the spirits, and follow the general rules of spiritual conduct. Making offerings and sharing what you have with the spirits and others around you is one of the most central ways to improve your standing with the spirits and subsequently your luck. As Hamayon (2012: 99) states it, instead of being passively given, “luck requires an active behavior and implies controlled interactions with various types of agencies of the natural environment and within society.” According to the Dukha, burning juniper and making offerings will often keep one’s door open and bring luck, especially on the first day of the new moon. People also pray to their spirited places (daïlga) and sacred trees for luck in hunting, as success is not only obtained from animal masters but also from other invisible entities and spirits in the taiga. By making offerings to all these spiritual entities and sharing everything one has with other members of the community, the hunters “‘obtain luck’ in order to obtain game” (Hamayon 2012: 101). I was discussing this with Batbayar on a day when he shot a big moose, and he said, “You know this morning without any reason I woke up early, washed my face, made offerings to ˇJer eezi, and left home to check the reindeer. Then I saw that big moose. Because I did all these things, spirits offered” (field notes, 2016). Thus, hunting luck is related to the hunter’s own behaviors, but it is not only related to current deeds. There is an uncontrollable side of luck in hunting because each hunt is not to be considered separate from previous hunts, and past mistakes affect one’s luck in future hunts too. This means that the hunter should always look back to question himself, and this is indeed what the hunters do, because they know that “success in present hunting depends on personal relationships built up and maintained with animal powers through a history of previous hunts” (Ingold 2000: 68). Thus, a hunter who comes back from a hunting trip with empty hands or had some troubles during his trip tries to find the reason or explanation for his specific lack of “luck” by questioning his possible mistakes in the past. On the other hand, hunting as a collective activity can also bring a “collective lack of luck” to the society or to a specific family, which constitutes the

164

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

uncontrollable side of hunting. I heard many stories in the taiga about how the mistakes of a person while hunting can affect generations of his family, especially men when they go hunting. It is common to hear stories in which a person had shot a pregnant animal, and his sons or even grandsons could not hunt for so many years because of this. There are also stories regarding how some people cannot hunt a specific animal because perhaps a grandfather hunted a moose excessively in the past, so the hunters in that family could not hunt moose anymore. Such examples make clear the idea that one should always try hard to receive luck, but some factors are uncontrollable and not even related directly to the hunter himself. Each hunter is responsible for his own hunting luck and also in charge of the luck for the next generation, as hunting luck is both personal and collective to the whole community. However, everyone agrees that hunting luck is not fixed and is subject to change, depending on many different factors. Apart from getting in touch with spirits and making offerings, people can also try to make practical things to obtain luck. As I mentioned in a previous chapter, hunters refrain from carrying objects belonging to other people as it might bring bad luck to them. Similarly, according to some hunters, the people they go hunting with or the reindeer they choose to ride can also affect a hunter’s luck. Some people state that they usually come back with a kill when they go hunting with certain people, so they say that they have the same level of luck. Sometimes the opposite happens: when two people go together a few times and never get anything, it might be that one of them does not have good luck, which means that he is not making offerings, and this affects the other. However, this is not something anyone can know or predict. It is something that is always suspected but rarely spoken about. For example, Nergüi, a Dukha hunter, told me that last winter they went hunting in a group of seven men for seven days, but they caught nothing. He said they were joking and teasing each other about whom it was among them that did not make offerings. Some people also think there are certain riding reindeer that bring good fortune to them while hunting, so they try to choose the reindeer they believe will bring them luck. It is also significant that hunters follows signs around them to evaluate their luck and behave accordingly. For instance, some people say that seeing ravens following them on a hunting trip means good luck. The Dukha mention that ravens eat the leftovers, like intestines, from a hunt, and when they know that there will be an offering they follow people. In other words, they can feel when there will be an offering. On the other hand, not being able to hunt is not always perceived as a lack of luck, since there are many uncontrollable sides of hunting that are not associated directly with the hunters. The system of the universe is not always “human oriented” and it is full of invisible entities, so on a given day, people might not successfully hunt because the land spirits do not feel like offering its animals or spirits in a certain area, perhaps because they are angry that day, and so on. When people go out hunting, no matter how hungry they are or how they feel,

LU C K I N H U N T I N G A N D D I V I NAT I O N

165

there is always a feeling of submission and trust toward the spirits. The rule is pretty clear: you try to take whatever you are supposed to, and if ˇJer eezi does not want to offer you its animals, there is nothing you can do about it except continue to trust in it and wait for another moment. What is of great importance here is that one should share anything one receives with others, and never get angry at the land spirits if one is left empty-handed for a long time. Although the disappointment after an unsuccessful hunt is inevitable, it is crucial that this feeling is suppressed and that the hunter simply surrenders themselves to the supernatural powers, believing that they will eventually offer something when the right moment arrives. Once I asked a young hunter, Nergüi, how he feels when he cannot hunt for a long time, and he said, “You don’t think so much about it. You just think, okay the land spirit doesn’t want to offer me anything this time. They control what to give, what not to give” (field notes, 2015) People often express this submissive attitude when they talk about hunting. Some other hunters reported that there had been times of shortage but they still kept their trust. Ganaa said that one day they were out hunting for two weeks without being able to shoot anything: I remember on this trip, we used to see animals, but we just couldn’t shoot them anytime we tried. Our food supplies and flour finished after a week, and then the rest of the time, we had to drink only black tea, walking around hungry. It also started raining on the way back home, and I remember I was almost fainting, feeling dizzy. When we arrived home, there was nothing to eat there too, so we had to slaughter a reindeer. Then we went hunting again in a couple of days, taking some reindeer meat with us, and this time shot two wild reindeer. If you know how to trust (sïnzïgar) ˇJer eezi, it will eventually give to you. (Field notes, 2016)

This reliance on nature’s spirits to offer you a necessary amount is one of the core values of hunting. While hunters keep their faith in spirits even if they do not see any animals for a long time, the opposite situation—when they see too many animals—can also create confusing feelings for the hunters. Many hunters in Siberia believe that too much hunting luck is a suspicious and dangerous thing because the spirits might in return ask for compensation and take the life of the hunter or harm him in other ways (Russell 2010; Broz and Willerslev 2012; Hamayon 2012). Thus, having too much hunting luck is also uncertain and the hunter should question if he should keep hunting or not. However, the Dukha often say that they do not remember many times when the spirits offered many animals, and they mostly agreed that if your pack reindeer is full of game, it means that you should stop hunting, although this almost never happens anyway. The hunters say they do not often hunt and come across another animal while returning back, as spirits already gave what they offered. In short, for the native people, the concept of luck is a complicated phenomena, much deeper than just a matter of chance. The owner of the world and

166

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

its spirits know what to give and when; as for the hunter, there is not much to do except accept the result. The hunt is considered a gift from nature; you cannot negotiate over a gift someone gives you, but if you are generally nice and respectful, then it is more likely that you might receive more gifts in life.

GAME EEREN FOR LUCK One day when I was sitting in Batbayar’s tent, I realized that he had taken out an eeren full of animal hair. It was a big eeren, and there was a lot of hair and other animal parts, such as hooves and claws, on it. When he saw how astonished I was, Batbayar explained that it was a special eeren called olȷˇa eeren, made to bring luck in hunting. He had inherited it from his father. His father had gone through a period when he did not have much luck while hunting, and he went to visit a shaman about that problem. After a ritual, the shaman made him that special eeren to bring luck in hunting. He explained the story like this: This eeren is about fifteen years old. The shaman who made it to open my father’s luck in hunting lived to be hundred years old. My father, before he passed away, told me that I should pray ( ˇȷalvarïr) to this eeren before hunting and then tie some part of the animals like feathers or paw on the eeren if I succeed in a hunt. I did as he advised, and I hang a part of all animals I have

Figure 8.1. Eerens are shamanic protective spirits and are situated across the entrance of the dwelling. The number of eerens in a household depends on the family’s history. Mongolia, 2012. Photo by the author.

167

LU C K I N H U N T I N G A N D D I V I NAT I O N

hunted such as reindeer, sable, bear, moose, on this eeren. I just don’t hang a wolf feather on it as I am not sure our eeren like this animal.

Not all families have an olȷˇa eeren, but it is vital that the hunter who has it in his family, even if it is not in his own household, prays for the eeren before going hunting. For example, Sarnai, the woman I stayed with, never got married, so she was holding the eerens of her family in her household. They had a very old olȷˇa eeren inherited from her grandparents, and her brother Bataar and her nephews came over from time to time to pray and make offerings to that eeren. Another person who had an olȷˇa eeren was Yul, and he said this eeren would guide and protect him and give him luck, bringing everything to him. He explained the story of it: When I was young, I had trouble hunting. Whenever I went out hunting, there was always something going wrong and I couldn’t really succeed. So, I went to see a female shaman living in the steppe. I was thirty years old when I did this. She made me an olȷˇa eeren to call the animals for me. Ever since I got that done and brought to life through her ritual, I brought it to my home and started paying respect to it. Since then it really turned my life around. I realized that it really does make a difference. I still keep it. (Field notes, 2016)

When hunters return from a trip, they make offerings to their eeren before anything else because they believe that they are able to hunt with the help of that eeren. If they hunted a small animal like a squirrel or sable, they hang a nail, nose, or hair of the animal on the eeren. If it was a bigger prey, they just cut a piece of its hair and tie it to the eeren. The important thing is that the part of the animal first touches the eeren before anyone consumes the animal, and by hanging animal parts on this eeren, the hunter makes hunting those animals easier even for his children in the future, as the aim of this eeren is to attract animals to the hunter. Apart from the olȷˇa eeren, there is another amulet that the Dukha use for summoning animals. On rare occasions, a hunter will shoot an animal that has a ball of fur under its skin, and the hunter keeps this ball of fur very safe because it is a collection of hair from different animals and can be used to call the animals during a hunt. People also use the ball to predict or change the weather.

DIVINATION THROUGH ANIMAL BONES AND DREAMS The bone never lies, but you just have to read it right. —Bata

I think we can agree that most of us wonder what would happen in the future. Although it would not be nice to know that you will die or have a serious illness in the near future, our curiosity to know what is waiting for us ahead comes out

168

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

when we meet people who can help us with this. As a person who comes from a society where telling the future is part of the tradition, I have also on occasion found myself listening to the words spilling from the lips of the fortune teller, usually sarcastically but also anxiously. We have a traditional divination method of interpreting patterns in coffee grounds in Turkey, which means that any meeting with a friend to have coffee may end up with the parties guessing each other’s future. When I went to the taiga in winter 2013 for the second time, I took Turkish coffee and its special cups as a gift for the family I stay with. It turned out that the fortune telling part of the coffee aroused much more interest than the coffee itself, as we had a crowd of people in front of the tent who heard about the new divination method and wanted to try it. Although there are many different situations where the Dukha may ask for their fortune, hunting trips especially spur that request, since hunting is a sphere of the unknown, and the hunter embarks on a journey that involves delicate relationships with the animals and spirits in the taiga. The reading of burnt animal bones as a means of predicting the future or solving a problem used to be common among the Dukha. Indeed, collecting information about the “hidden state of affairs existing between men and game animals” has been a long-practiced tradition in many hunting societies (Tanner 1979: 110). This technique is called “scapulimancy” and involves the heating of bones on a fire and then interpreting the cracks that appear on the bones. Although it is not practiced very widely today, most people in previous generations among the Dukha could read bones, and they would use it for predicting luck in hunting. They usually used the shoulder bone of animals such as sheep, small deer, squirrel, sable, reindeer, or bear. Goat and rabbit bones were never used for scapulimancy among the Dukha—the latter because they say rabbit is always on the run so it is not good for advice. However, the bear bone is the strongest for reading, as it is possible to foresee three years with it, including the year past, the current year as a whole, and the coming year. Bone reading was usually used among hunters for deciding where to go or solving any problems they might have encountered during the hunt. Apart from hunting, it could also be used to find the cause of a disease or the location of a lost object. However, it is a complicated system, and there are many things one needs to learn to be a good reader. Bone reading could be done with different techniques, but burning the bone or breaking it were the most basic ways of bone reading. To explain it simply, the bone is put into the fire and taken out just before it completely shatters. By looking at the cracks and lines, the reader foresees the future and makes guesses about coming incidents. However, reading the bone well requires experience as well as talent, and it is not something everyone can do. The shaman is the most experienced bone reader on account of his fire’s spiritual purity; however, ordinary people who are deemed to have some sort of special powers could also carry out readings. Still, divination is mostly practiced by older men,

LU C K I N H U N T I N G A N D D I V I NAT I O N

169

as experience is one of the most necessary qualities for it. According to Tanner (1979: 110), such readings are a way of keeping everyone involved in the hunting process by spreading the responsibility for the killing to the whole instead of an individual. Readings are not performed for any sort of entertainment; rather, there should be a specific purpose or question being answered. Bataar explained the tradition to me like this: Generally, you ask a question and then burn the bone to get an answer to your question, but not many people do it these days. Even if we burn a bear bone now, there is nobody left who can properly read it. In the past, when somebody burned a bone, he would take it to all the men in every household one by one because one man can be specialized in a particular part of the bone while another man can read another part better; thus, if you put all these together, it gives you the full reading. You are not supposed to look at your own bone. Having heard the same thing from many different people, you can be sure it is true and take your precautions. You are also not allowed to burn bone when the pot is on the fire because it messes up the fire. (Field notes, 2015)

Although not practiced as often as it used to be, I have heard stories of people burning bones even today. Generally young hunters are still very happy to receive information from bone readings before a hunting trip. According to Gerel, one of my informants, her husband, Batbayar, once burned a bone just before going hunting, and his brother was looking at it. The reader said that they would see an animal with black fur but would not be able to shoot it, adding to this that they would not have much luck on this hunting trip. They went on their hunting trip, and, having caught nothing at the end of six days, they set out to return home. On the journey back, they saw a bear with black fur crossing a river, but, abiding by the reading, they could not shoot it. Everything his brother had predicted came to be true. Although there are still a small number of people who can perform the readings today, they are not as experienced as readers in the past. People claim that readers in the past could have given an exact date to their predictions. For example, they would say your reindeer will be attacked by a predator in three days’ time. The point in a prediction like this was so that the herder might be able to prevent the attack by taking precautions. If they did not, then they risked losing some of their herd. There are strict procedures to bone burning; if one does not stick to some of these sometimes elaborate rules, then they will not make good interpretations. Bata, who is a young hunter, is one of the few young people who can still read a bone, as his father was a well-known bone reader. According to his explanations, the art of burning a bone is rather intricate. Before the ceremony begins, the reader will whisper to the bone, asking it for a prediction. After this, he must make the fire from scratch as opposed to using a fire already being used for cooking, for example. The bone is burned until it breaks in half, whereupon it is removed from the fire. By examining the way in which the

170

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

bone has cracked, while following the lines, the reader is able to begin deciphering the bone. According to some, the largest crack in the center of the broken bone is the road. The road forms the basis of the prediction; it is the diverging cracks or cut-across cracks that enable the reading of one’s fortune. If the reading is connected to a hunt, then a small cracked line diverging from the road indicates a small animal. If the diverging crack is larger, then this may indicate a larger animal. A zigzag line indicates a black-haired animal, which is usually presumed to be a bear, moose, or black boar. As the bone has been in the fire, there is a cold side and a hot side. If there is a line on the cold side, it usually indicates a predator that can attack humans; if it is on the hot side, then this will indicate an elk, this is considered safe, as an elk will not attack humans. There is a further smaller indicator that is connected to the chamber of a gun. This indicator tells the hunter how their aim will be—whether they will be able to hit an animal or not. Scapulimancy was also used as a way of communicating between the hunters and family members in the camp when hunting took many weeks or even months in the past. When people needed to make decisions or when they were worried about their loved ones back at the camp, they would burn a bone and ask for the solutions or ask how their relatives were back in the camp. For example, when a group of men went hunting and had not returned after a long period of time, people in the camp, especially the women, would burn a bone and ask when the group would come back. Similarly, the men on the hunting trip would also burn a bone with the intention of asking about their families back in camp. The bone would show if they were struggling or not. Through my research, I encountered many stories where people claimed they had been able to perform a bone reading while hunting or in camp that assured them that their loved ones were fine. One of my interviewees told me a story in which a group of men went hunting, and, after a long time, the men wanted to burn a bone to ask after their family at home. In the reading, somebody in the camp seemed to be in trouble, so they returned home earlier. When they returned, it turned out that a child of one of the hunters was very sick. Aside from scapulimancy functioning as a means of staying connected with loved ones, it is also used as a means of predicting a hunters fortunes while away. For example, if a group has been out hunting for a few days but has not been able to catch anything, they will burn a bone to see if their fortunes may turn. If it is a clearly bad reading, they will return back so as not to waste their energy. People who burn a bone before or during the hunt say that if the right reading is done, the bone can show one how the hunt will go or even how many animals the hunters will shoot. Bata told me, “The bone never lies, but you just have to do the reading right. This is the key, reading it right, and then the bone will never lie” (field notes, 2015). Scapulimancy is not just used for reading the future but also for accessing the past and for understanding why certain things have happened. This may be

LU C K I N H U N T I N G A N D D I V I NAT I O N

171

to understand why someone has been ill for a long period of time, or perhaps why one of their animals is ill. The reader may be able to assess what exactly the problem is and make a prescription for offerings. The important thing with bone readings is that one is able to take preventative action; it enables people to change their luck.

SEEING FUTURE WITH THE POWER OF RIVERS There are also other ways of divination among the Dukha, although not as common as bone reading. I came across one of them by chance while visiting one of the families in the taiga, an old couple who set their tent by itself far from others. It was wintertime, and most of the reindeer were away in the valley, leaving us with quite a lot of free time. Although having this free time could be interpreted as a luxury to enjoy, it was also hard for people like Enkhtuya and Bat, who are used to doing something all the time. Bat still was out all day taking care of the riding reindeer left in the camp. I entertained myself by chopping some wood and walking around, and then came to the tent where Enkhtuya was boiling tea and sewing a jumper. We sat down for a while silently, and she suddenly asked me if I was fine, with a caring smile. I was fine, but it was one of those long days in the field when you sometimes feel really tired, unmotivated, bored, questioning what you are doing so far away from everyone you know. I said, “I am fine, I just miss my family and am wondering if they are alright.” She looked at me with empathy, patted my back, and said that I should not be sad because they were also my family, adding that all their children were away in the village and I had replaced their daughter. I knew that she was right, they were indeed like my family there, making me feel welcomed when I was a little melancholic, taking care of me when I was sick, or making me burst into laughter when we were teasing each other. I thought this was one of the controversies of doing fieldwork for a long period of time, as my feelings constantly changed. Sometimes I was feeling completely at home there, almost up to a point of forgetting the life I had left behind, as if I had been born there and had always lived in the taiga. On the other hand, there were other times that I was questioning what I was doing there, longing to go back and see my loved ones. That day was one of those moments. Right after this short dialogue, Enkhtuya suddenly jumped, stood up in excitement, and shouted out, “Ah wait, I know what can help you. I have been in that situation many times myself !” She leaned to the back of her bed where there was a big pile of blankets, looking for something, and I was waiting impatiently and curiously to see what it was that she thought could help me. After digging through the blankets and old clothes, she turned back to me with an old sack in her hand, opened the string around it, told me to sit next to her, and poured out some stones on the

172

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

floor. She said, “There are forty-one stones here that my husband and I have collected from different rivers in the taiga over a number of years. I am going to see how your family is doing with them.” She said that the stones, having come from different rivers across the taiga, were deemed to be endowed with greater divination powers, acting as forty-one different eyes watching the future from different directions. She could easily see how my loved ones back home were doing with those stones, adding that this was always what she did when her husband was away hunting for a long time and she was worried. I was suddenly very excited about this unexpected encounter, and my boredom was immediately gone. We sat down to start my divination. She told me to have a question in mind, although we both knew my question; having a question in mind before the ritual is a requirement in most other shamanistic rituals performed by the Dukha. One needs a specific question in mind that she wants to learn from the reader. Then Enkhtuya rolled the stones continuously in a piece of fabric. Then taking the stones in her hand, she blew on them and whispered to them. After this, she separated the stones into three groups, then moved her fingers through the groups of stones and removed individual pieces. Removing three stones from each group, she repeated the same move three times. Then by looking at the stones that remained on the floor, she was able to answer my question. Enkhtuya said she learned this future reading from her grandmother, but to have her own special power, it was important that she collected her own stones from the rivers, which naturally took a long time. She explained, “I usually use my stones to see where my husband or son are during a hunting trip. I can see where they are, if they are still far from the camp, when they are returning, and if they were able to hunt anything. Most of the time, what I saw ended up being true. I can also use my stones to assess sick people, to find out if they will get better or not” (Enkhtuya, field notes, 2016). This incident gave me a chance to personally experience the place of divination techniques in a landscape where communication with others who are away is rarely possible. Divination provides a link between families separated through the search for sustenance. By seeing through the obscurity of hunting up to a certain degree, the hunter can take some prevention and deal with the unknown better, as the unknown turns into the foreseeable.

DREAMS AS A WAY OF COMMUNICATION You get so much good from nature (büdüš) that when you go out hunting, dreams let you connect to nature, so the more you listen to your dreams, in a way it becomes like you are talking to the nature through your dreams. —Yul, 2016

LU C K I N H U N T I N G A N D D I V I NAT I O N

173

Dreams are profoundly important for the Dukha in many facets of life, but dreams about hunting hold a special place and can give one clues about future hunting trips. They, too, function as a means of divination in the society. More importantly though, dreams may help hunters communicate with animals around them, which makes it one of the most significant ways of conveying knowledge while hunting. Dreams while hunting serve as a check on the hunter, allowing them to know whether they are hunting right, whether they are in the right location, or whether they are following the appropriate spiritual code of hunting. They serve as a warning to hunters in case they need to change their location, return home, or perhaps change how they are hunting. Hunters claim that they have changed their travel routes on the basis of a warning given to them in a dream. Dreams serve as a spiritual compass for the hunters. They believe that, although not common, the spirits or even the animals can sometimes communicate with the hunters via dreams. A young Dukha hunter explained this to me using one of his own dreams. He said, “Once I dreamed about a small child who took me to a valley and then disappeared. When I woke up the next day, I had a feeling and thought maybe I should just go to that valley to look for animals. Then I saw a moose and shot it. The child in my dream showed me the way to the animals” (Nergüi, field notes, 2016). There are also some dreams in which the animals can directly communicate with the hunter and ask him for a favor or help him in a difficult situation. For example, a young hunter, Bata, told me that once he dreamed of a sable that begged him not to approach it. The next day he came across a sable but, remembering the dream the night before, made the decision not to shoot it, just like the dream sable had asked him. An elder hunter told me a similar story that he heard from his uncle. He dreamed about a female elk with calves that was drinking water from a river and that told him to be careful. A few days later, he saw an elk, and although the elk had not told him anything clearly in his dream, the hunter did not shoot it. Only later, after scrutinizing the animal, he realized that it was pregnant. If the hunter had reacted without considering his dream, he would have been guilty of breaking one of the worst taboos and could have been seriously punished for it. The animal had warned him in his dream and thus saved him from being punished for killing a pregnant animal. The hunter then perceived this as a huge favor. Although interpreting dreams is an art, there are certain dreams that are mostly understood the same way by everyone. For example, dreaming about a celebration or about white things, such as white khadag, milk, or vodka, are considered to be good signs and usually mean that the hunter will have plenty of game. Dreaming of a woman outside of your family members is also interpreted as a sign that you will be successful in hunting. The appearance of members of the opposite sex in your dreams, particularly strangers, is interpreted as referring to game animals and is seen among other societies (Tanner 1979: 125). Dukha elders state that women have a special spirit of their own, soft spirits, which

174

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

means that good spirits usually appear in the form of a woman. This is why when a hunter sees a woman in his dream, it might be ˇJer eezi coming to him in that form, and this is interpreted as a sign that he will see something on his next hunting trip. This can also be interpreted as a symbol of sexual attraction between the hunter and the animal. Many scholars mention the occurrence of a sexual dream before the hunt as representing the desire between the hunter and his prey. However, those dreams usually involve sexual intercourse between the hunter and the animal (Willerslev 2007: 8; Hamayon 2012: 102). Most agree, though, that dreaming of women before a hunt is a clear sign of a successful hunt. However, the same is true of a bad dream as this is universally interpreted as a sign that a hunter should return home. A dream that is considered bad is if a hunter dreams himself packing a lot of meat onto his pack animal. This is regarded as a very bad dream because it is as if, in his mind, the hunter has already hunted something without waiting for nature to offer an animal to him. If the hunter is confident that he will kill something, then nature will not give him anything as he has assumed something for himself. Boasting about hunting is considered a big taboo among the Dukha; it is considered equally bad to dream about this, as it is considered arrogant. Migration is also a bad dream that tells the hunter that he is in the wrong place at the wrong time and nothing will be offered to him. Dreaming about water animals, especially fish, is also usually interpreted as a bad sign. The second vital significance and function of dreams in hunting is to provide communication between the hunter and his family back at home, like other divination techniques. On long hunting trips, most hunters feel motivated when they dream about their family. It is usually considered a relief if the dream is good. Bataar told me, “When I was young, whenever I hunted away from home for long, the dreams used to tell me how my wife, reindeer, or children were doing, and details about their lives. And then when I got back home, I asked my wife and it usually matched my dreams” (field notes, 2016). The dreams were a way of communication between spouses or relatives in times when there was no other means of communication. Even today, although most people have mobile phones, they are completely useless when men go hunting because reception in the taiga is very poor or nonexistent in certain areas. This leaves very few means of communication between families, thus necessitating the use of divination techniques. Men away from their home could also dream of things that are related to things happening back at home and maybe even decide to go back on the basis of it. For example, dreaming about giving something to a stranger means that the wolves might come to attack your reindeer, or dreaming one’s tent or an object is on fire means that you might have a heated discussion or a fight with someone. Dreaming about losing a tooth means someone might die. Most women similarly express that they can dream when the men will return or whether they will return with game meat or not. Women having dreams

LU C K I N H U N T I N G A N D D I V I NAT I O N

175

that “refer to hunting success, in the same way that they may have wished, brings success to their husbands,” and this is pretty common among northern societies (Tanner 1979: 125). One of the elders, Gantulga, told me that his wife always knows when he will be back and prepares a special dish in advance: We used to go far away to hunt in older times and the hunting trips would sometimes take a few months. In those times, our communication would be through dreams. For example, my wife always knew when I would be back. She said she would see me in her dreams, and in a few days, I would appear. Similarly, I would sometimes see her in my dream and see how she was doing. (Field notes, 2016)

Most Dukha elders believe that dreams are very powerful because they can tell people about the past, present, and future. However, it is very important to learn how to listen to your dreams because the meaning is not always clear and simple. Of course, the art of interpreting dreams is something people learn through time. First, you need to listen to your dreams and put the pictures together, because dreams can meander and drift from subject to subject very quickly, and the first step in interpreting is piecing together the pictures. People claim that one needs a lot of experience in understanding these images, of putting them together in the correct way, to fully understand their dreams. It is like the bone reading—something people perfect over time. Some people also mentioned that just like with bone reading, if you have a specific question in mind, you put a backbone in your armpit and sleep with it. Next morning, if you know how to interpret your dreams, you can get answers to your questions. One of the elders, Yul, gave a very clear explanation of why dreams are so important to the Dukha: You get so much input from nature when you go out hunting so the more you listen to your dreams, in a way it becomes like you are talking to nature through your dreams. When you go out hunting you listen to yourself more. Your senses are so open that you can even dream about the future—for example, if you are going to be expecting a child, the dream will tell you. Especially as a hunter, you need to pay a lot of attention to them because dreams can tell you what you need to watch out for, what obstacles you may come across, and what you need to be aware of. If you listen to them carefully, with the guidance of your dreams, in a way you can control your life and read your fate through dreams. If one starts to listen to their dreams very carefully, the dream is the only thing that doesn’t lie to you. (Field notes, 2016)

Thus, as evident in what Yul said, dreaming is one of the most significant divinatory methods among the Dukha, as it helps the hunter to ease the unknown a little, just like with bone reading. These divination techniques direct them as a mentor would when they need help the most.

Figure 9.1. When a small animal is hunted, people boil it and everyone eats together. Mongolia, 2013. Photo by the author.

CHAPTER 9

HUNTING AS A WAY OF REGULATING THE RELATIONS

iii We were sitting in one of the tents as a group of women drinking tea together and chatting when suddenly all of the dogs started to bark at the same time. We all went outside to see who the visitor was, correctly predicting that it was probably the men who went hunting a couple of days ago. They were getting off their reindeer and unpacking their bags. They all looked very happy, so, without asking, we knew that the hunt was successful. Excited about the feast waiting for all of us that night, we went back to our own tents to let others know about it. Nobody actually told us that there would be a feast, but it was almost like an unquestionable rule we did not even need to think about, as we could all anticipate that there would be a feast, regardless of who shot the animal. A couple of hours later, just following the sound of the cheerful crowd and the smell of meat, we found out who the hunter was. The hunted animal was a small one, so instead of dividing it among families, the family of the hunter cooked it for everyone to gather and eat together. Those gatherings where people came together to eat meat always constituted the most cheerful moments in the taiga. The boiled meat would always be placed in the middle of the tent in a big pot, with a knife on it so that people could help themselves. People of all ages were there sitting on the ground, laughing and teasing each other. I cut a piece of meat for myself from the most lean part of the meat, but one of the elders who saw that immediately objected. Since the fat of the meat was considered the best part, he insisted that I take from the fat. During those joyful moments, people were also asking about the events of the hunt, praising the hunter, saying how good he was, but in a playful way. And, surprisingly, the hunter would usually be the quietest person at those feasts, just smiling modestly when commended but not talking much.

178

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

Hunting, as discussed previously, is beyond a way of obtaining meat for subsistence hunters; it goes further to affect the social relations in a hunting society in many different ways, both providing a product to be shared and also a general system of providing people with access to resources equally and causing egalitarian relations in the society. Game meat as the product of the hunt was not produced but rather collected, so it does not belong to any one individual. The hunter who killed the animal maintains a certain set of ownership rights to it, but there is an elaborate set of rules required for the proper distribution of game meat. Thus, one of the most important ways hunting affects social relations is directly related to the rules of meat sharing among the community. More specifically, how the power of the hunter is negotiated in the community may be different depending on different distribution methods. In addition, hunting societies are known to have more egalitarian social relations, and the studies indicate the importance of “consensus” and “collective decision making” (Gowdy 1999: 397). This does not mean that power is unimportant for hunter-gatherers. However, power does not mean “power over somebody, but rather it comes with personal skills and wisdom in the form of attraction rather than coercion” (Ingold 1999: 404). Although there might be charismatic leaders in hunter-gatherer societies, they always make sure that individual people have their own autonomy and the “leader” is never in a position of authority to tell other people what to do. As is widely discussed in the literature, and what has been apparent through my own field research, boasting is similarly shunned in hunting societies; instead, hunters are expected to be modest. For instance, among the Kung of southern Africa, the hunter is supposed to be humble about his hunting success (Lee 1979); among the Hadza of Tanzania after a successful hunt, the hunter should quietly sit in the camp with other men and not talk of his success (Woodburn 1982: 440). Similarly, among the Dukha, one of the most important behavioral principles of a hunter is modesty, and this is related to two factors. The first reason compelling a hunter to modesty is their reciprocal association with nature. There is an explicit understanding that their success is totally dependent on the nature spirits, or in ˇJer eezi, and that a hunter does not “take” the hunting animals but is “given” them. This acceptance effectively renders the hunter powerless, at the mercy of the spirits, and this form the basis of their relationship. Evident in this belief, the hunter does not have much to boast about, as the animals are given to him as a gift, and to receive a gift is rather easy. Although one should behave well and follow the rules of respect, there is not much to boast about as the logic suggests the hunter did not win their prize on account of their own prowess. The second factor compelling a hunter to modesty is related to the network of social relations in the community. A hunter who wants to earn respect knows that this is possible only by being humble and generous. Among the Dukha, I observed this modesty on many occasions when hunters

H U N T I N G A S A WAY O F R E G U L AT I N G T H E R E L AT I O N S

179

returned from a successful trip. Despite the generous praise laid on the hunters, they would always remain shy and quiet. If there were more people in the hunting party, then they would not only praise the person who shot the animal but all participants, as the success belonged to the team, not only to the individual. Hunting is a product of teamwork: someone may see the animal, others will chase it, and one may shoot it. In the event a hunter shot an animal alone, he would always keep quiet and modest, as he was respected in accordance with his humbleness and generosity. In this chapter, I will discuss the principles of sharing among the hunters, what kind of ownership is attributed to the hunter, and how those rules are set in a way to restrain the hunter from gaining too much power while still giving him enough prestige to motivate him for the next hunt. I will examine the rules of sharing among the hunters in detail and how they are evolving through time. I will also address the significance of sharing in general in the society, especially as a means of interacting. In the second part, I will discuss briefly how hunting is regulating the relations among people, enforcing the bond among men and women separately, and helping people maintain close relations.

PRINCIPLES OF SHARING “No hunter anywhere in Siberia would ever keep a piece of game for himself, no more than he would ever steal meat. Sharing wild meat is an absolute principle, deeply internalized by all hunters,” writes Hamayon (2012: 109). The existence of sharing among hunter-gatherers is a well-known topic in anthropological literature (Marshall 1961; Ingold 1980; Kelley 1995; Woodburn 1998). In most of these societies, sharing is an essential part of the social system, and every individual has a “share of the social product” no matter how much he or she has “contributed” to it (Gowdy 1999: 396). Some scholars claim that sharing is essential for hunter-gatherers, functioning as a guarantee for survival, as someone who shared with others will also expect to get meat from them in times of hunger (Marshall 1961: 236). In this view, sharing is a kind of “insurance” to decrease the risk of not having food (Gowdy 1999: 393) or “a collective insurance against natural fluctuations” (Ingold 1980: 144). During my fieldwork among the Dukha, which took place on and off for a period of four years, I came to realize that if there is one single rule that is always practiced among the Dukha, it is “meat sharing.” People always share their game meat, no matter who shot it or which families went hunting. Although my interviewees have always been a reliable guide to this rule, it is also something I have experienced as an observing part of the community. Since game meat belongs to the land, sharing it with others is essential. It is never owned by any one hunter; instead, the hunter acts as a mediator who

180

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

is simply bringing the meat to the community. However, this is not intended to deny the role of the hunter completely. Although hunters do not hold the game meat as property, they do still maintain the rights to distribution, and it is this distribution that gains them prestige within the community (Dowling 1968: 505). Different societies ascribe this ownership to different people. For instance, among the Inuit, the person who first sees the animal is considered to have the right to the animal. Among the Kung, the owner of the weapon, arrow, or spear that kills the animal is ascribed the owner (Dowling 1968: 503). For the Dukha hunters, the person who kills the animal is the so-called “owner” of the animal and possesses the right to distribute it. As previously said, this comes with prestige despite the fact that everyone knows how the meat will be distributed. However, if a man hunts an animal alone, then, depending on the size of the animal, he has some control and influence over the distribution of its meat. I would like to start with the rules of sharing among the hunters, as sharing of game meat is a requirement in itself, but the rules of sharing can change depending on how many people went hunting and the size of the animal. For example, when people hunt a small animal such as a deer, they do not divide the raw meat among the families; instead, the hunter cooks it at home and invites others to come over to eat. Most of the time, the families who hear news of fresh meat just come over to the hunter’s tent anyway, regardless of whether they have received an invitation, and they all eat together. If they went hunting as a team and shot a big animal, the game is shared among the hunters, and the sharing is dependent on a number of fixed rules. There is a fixed order based on age. The oldest man in the hunting party receives the “lion’s share” of the meat. The person who shot the animal is not in any sort of advantageous position, as age is the deciding factor rather than hunting prowess. A young hunter, who was known to be one of the best hunters in the taiga, explained, “The one who shoots the animal takes the heart, tongue, and back. The oldest person gets the right leg; the second oldest gets the left leg and neck. The rest of the legs are divided among the participants. The oldest person in the hunting party also gets the skin” (Batbayar, field notes, 2015). An older hunter gave a more detailed illustration of this tradition: The animal is split into six parts: two front legs, two thighs, neck, and back. If there are eight people on a hunting trip, depending on the length of the trip, the first six people share the first animal we shoot, and then the others wait until we shoot another animal. However, if we will not continue, then the front and back legs are divided. But the sharing rules do not change either way; the oldest in the group gets the best part. Now let us say that the person who shot the animal is me, the oldest person in the team. Then in this case, the front legs and the skin are given to the oldest person among the others, and I as the hunter receive the back. The age of the hunter doesn’t matter. He always gets the heart and back. (Bataar, field notes, 2016)

H U N T I N G A S A WAY O F R E G U L AT I N G T H E R E L AT I O N S

181

As is apparent in this system, the hunter is not necessarily rewarded with the best meat. Egalitarianism is accomplished through its relevance to the age of the hunters as opposed to their skill. As everyone will eventually get old, every member of the society will be in a position to benefit from this system. Although hunters certainly possess a certain amount of charisma, this, instead of being a material benefit for them, is instead confined to their social standing, and most of the time the best cut from the hunt is not given to the hunter. Traditional rules forbidding the hunter from taking the best part of the animal should not be considered a randomly allotted rule. It is a social mechanism to prevent hierarchy and to make sure the hunter does not acquire more wealth or power, or claims more status than other people (Woodburn 1982: 432). Different societies apply different rules but for the same purpose; they are what Woodburn (1982: 440) terms a “leveling mechanism” to prevent the hunter from gaining too much power. Hunters are aware of this “leveling mechanism,” but one of the hunters I interviewed interpreted the reasoning behind this rule differently. He said, “When we go hunting as a team, it doesn’t matter who sees or shoots the animal. We share the game meat among all participants. Most of the time, the one who shoots the animal gets less than the others. Maybe it is a way of punishing the hunter for killing an animal, I don’t know” (Bata, field notes 2016). Whether this rule is to be interpreted as a punishment for the one who inflicted pain on another living being, or should be understood as a natural mechanism to stop social hierarchy in society, in either case it still functions to curb the power of any one individual in society. Giving this privilege to the elders means that all people in the society will take the position of advantage eventually. The elders in Dukha society perform important educational roles, which, as discussed in the previous chapters, are of deep cultural value. In the time I spent with the Dukha, I observed that people spend a lot of time at the homes of the elders. This means that the elders indirectly share a lot of what they have. I even heard a few times how the oldest person, the one who receives the front leg, will always share this with others. The next question is how game meat is shared among families who did not participate in the hunt. The rules of sharing when a group of men go hunting is fixed; however, from what I observed in the taiga, there are not always fixed rules about how the meat is shared among other families in the camp who did not join the hunt. Instead, this depends on how much meat those families already have. This is based on the fact that everyone in the camp is always aware of the food stocks of other families as a means of ensuring everyone has enough. Thus, when men come back from a hunting trip with their shares already distributed before reaching the camp, everyone is then responsible for sharing what they received with their relatives and neighbors. At this stage of sharing, it is up to the hunter how much he wishes to share with the others, and this depends on

182

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

how much meat the families have, as sharing increases when their food is less. This means that hunting party members may choose to share if they know their family or neighbors have no meat, or they may simply choose to invite them to eat with them if they have enough meat already. As Ingold (1980: 145–46) states, “The ‘intensity of sharing’ rises when the scarcity of food increases so sharing peaks at two extremes, when food is scarce or abundant.” But one thing is certain: everybody in the camp should have meat, regardless of whether or not they joined the hunt, and the more a hunter shares, the more respected he is. During my research, there was an older couple who had problems with the rest of the camp. They lived a little further away than everyone else and preferred to be somewhat isolated from the community. Despite this, they still received their share of the hunt. Any personal feuds or disputes are never considered enough to forgo the rules of sharing. This would be considered too disrespectful. When a hunter goes hunting alone and shoots an animal on his own, it is up to him how much he keeps for himself and how much he shares. In this case, the hunter can enjoy the real prestige of sharing. The hunter will be aware that he will eventually have to give most of the meat away due to people’s demands on sharing, but this is not a concern, as the hunter will almost always generously share, knowing they will gain prestige from doing this. When he returns to the camp, the successful hunter is expected to host others in the community, so it is a chance to show generosity (Ingold 1980: 146). However, meat distribution brings along the risk of “accusations of stinginess” together with the prestige, so every hunter has this in mind and is mentally forced to share as much as he can to avoid it (Lee 1979: 247). From what I observed, solo hunters shared the meat among all families, maybe keeping more for himself and his close relatives, but in either case, they always shared it with people in the camp. However, these were also the times when people were gossiping more about the amount of meat they had received, so hunters are indeed under some sort of social pressure. The taiga provides another commodity with a particularly interesting moral basis for sharing. In the spring, people go out to collect elk antlers—these naturally drop around this time—and they sell them in the nearest town, Murun, to traders, who sell these to Chinese markets, where they make some kind of medicine with them. Men usually collect antlers when they go on a hunting trip together, as there are more antlers in faraway valleys. Normally after camping together, they separate and look for antlers on their own. If it is a valley with forests on all sides, they discuss how to divide the search area up among themselves and then set off to look for antlers. However, if there happens to be two people looking for antlers together, the rule is very interesting: people give the antlers they find to each other, regardless of age. For example, if two people go collecting antlers together and only one of them finds the antlers, he will give everything he has found to the other person, and it is possible that he may

H U N T I N G A S A WAY O F R E G U L AT I N G T H E R E L AT I O N S

183

simply return back empty-handed. So in the end, everyone owns what the other person has found, not what they themselves personally collected. One hunter explained, “This is out of respect. If I find an antler, I give it to you; if you find it, you give it to me. If there are three people, then the one who finds it gives it to the oldest person. If you are with others, you don’t keep it for yourself, you just give it to your companion as a way of respect” (Nergüi, field notes, 2016). I claim that the main function of all these sharing systems, including the game meat and others, is to avoid competition so that people may avoid tension between each other. The sharing rules encourage kindness and generosity instead of rivalry and greed. The more you share or give away, the more prestige you have in society.

EVERY THING CHANGED, BUT WE STILL SHARE THE SAME The conditions and material supply of hunting is changing over time, but traditional game sharing rules still apply. Although this is creating some injustice, as will be explained below, young people still do not object to the rules of sharing, as they are aware of the situation. In the past, everyone had guns, and the person who shot the animal was often changing, meaning that the hunters were not always the same people. This created a means of balancing, a provision of justice among the hunters, as most hunters at some point were able to shoot something. However, recently more and more people have started to sell their older guns, which they think are not very good, and instead join others who still own a gun on hunting trips. This means there are fewer people on hunting trips now with their own guns. Today, there are only three young people among the Dukha who possess advanced guns, and most people join them on hunting trips. But the money for ammunition is not shared among the hunters; it is the responsibility of the owner of the gun to buy ammunition. One of the gun owners said, “Since people know that being the hunter is more difficult and you don’t even take most of the meat, they started to sell their weapons and just follow the other people instead. They think if I have a gun, I won’t get anything so I will just sell my gun” (Batbayar, field notes, 2016). In other words, in recent years there have been more “‘hangers-on’ who live in comfort without trying much to be successful in hunting” (Paine 1971: 166). When I asked young hunters if this changed the traditional sharing rules, they said it was still the same, but the only thing that has changed today is that they sell the skin and share the money among all of the hunters instead of giving it to the oldest person. They actually sell any part of the animal that is worth the money, like the feet or skin of the animal, which is used to make shoes, and then they share the money.

184

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

The indirect punishment leveled on the hunter is not only restricted to having less meat and spending money on bullets. There are also other responsibilities associated with gun ownership that further disadvantages them compared to the rest of the group. This is why, although people can borrow guns from each other, most people prefer to go with the gun owner, as it will save them the responsibilities of being the hunter. For instance, the person who has the gun has to go in front of the group; they must remain vigilant at all times because an animal can jump out of nowhere. However, being at the front of the hunting party is difficult, especially in winter when the snow is deep; it means that his riding animal always has to make the path through the snow. On long hunting trips, the hunter sometimes wakes up by himself very early to go to the mountain to look for animals and then comes back to the camp to ask for help when he spots the animals. Sometimes the gun owner can even shoot the animal on his own when he is out looking for game alone. It all depends on the situation. If the hunter needs help, he asks for it, but it is likely that he can manage without the help of others. Even in this situation, the game meat is shared among all the people who joined the hunt. It does not matter who shot the animal or how he shot it. They are a team, and the meat is shared among the team. On most hunting trips, older hunters do not do much anyway; they usually wait by the fire and assist the younger men with their knowledge of the landscape, but they are not physically active. They participate in the hunt mostly to receive their rights to the game. In short, the hunting rules are still applied among the Dukha strictly even if other factors relating to the hunt are changing.

THE JOY OF SHARING Why do the hunters or people in general share? What is the motivation behind becoming a hunter if the conditions are changing as I describe? Looking at all those factors that make life difficult for the hunter or gun holder, it is hard to understand why someone would still prefer to have a gun, as it seems much more practical in all aspects to join other people while hunting instead of having a gun. However, young hunters still desire to be the hunter, as holding the right to share and being in the position of prestige is still appealing for some people. Although the hunter is in a way punished for shooting the animal, as he gets less—a punishment from nature as some would say—it is the hunter who touches the animal first and distributes it to others. The hunter decides when to give or what to give even if everybody knows what will be given. It is the hunter’s decision that the community follows as he shares the animal. This is almost like a performance: although everyone knows the rules, asking the hunter to share puts him in a privileged position. This feeling of “holding the control” of sharing is prestigious even if the outcomes are predetermined. Thus, as discussed

H U N T I N G A S A WAY O F R E G U L AT I N G T H E R E L AT I O N S

185

above, a certain degree of possession is given to the hunter as a means of motivation and pride. In other words, the hunter is given the “possession of prestige” rather than the ownership of the meat. As Ingold (1980: 160) explains, men compete with each other for prestige, and they need this motivation for the cycle to continue: It is a necessary condition for the functioning of a hunting society that men be motivated to produce the means for their material reproduction by an ideal of generosity and a desire for prestige. But there can be no generosity without a conception of property: to give away, one must first have, and others must not. A pretense of appropriation has therefore to be constructed ideologically, in order that it may be cancelled out socially.

I understand this feeling on one level because I experienced it in some other ways concerning our social relations with the family I stayed with in the taiga while sharing some of my materials, mostly food. I always shared what I had with the family I stayed with, but the way of sharing and the access to the resource varied a lot depending on how the right was held. For example, if I bought some biscuits from the village and gave them directly to my adopted mother, then she would own the resource and I would not even be able to ask for one without feeling embarrassed, even if I was the one who bought them. However, if I kept the biscuits for myself, opened them, and shared them with everyone, then kept the rest among my own belongings and shared them every time I took them out, they would feel grateful and thank me at every turn. In both cases, we shared the biscuit all together every time we took them out whether she kept them or I did, but having control of it changed the way we felt. Similarly, on hunting trips, even if the amount shared among people is always the same, just like our biscuits, the right to distribute the resource is a prestigious thing, and naturally the hunter feels proud of it while sharing. It was easy to observe this, especially when a small animal was hunted and people went over to the hunter’s tent to eat all together. Although the meat is shared equally among all, as it is cooked and put in the middle with a few knives in it for people to help themselves, it is clear that the hunter’s family is in the position to host others and hold the “privilege to share.” Game meat that was provided through proper contact with spirits and animals enables relationships to develop within the community by bonding people through sharing. By attributing a degree of ownership to the killer of an animal, an incentive to hunt is provided in society, which is a necessity for sharing; otherwise, without any rewards given to the hunter, people would just be sitting around and waiting for others to do the work (Altman and Peterson 1991: 75). On my last night in Mongolia, before I was about to leave the area, I was staying with Batbayar and his wife in the new house they were building in the village, and we had a chance to discuss this issue. When I arrived at the house in

186

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

the afternoon, almost frozen from an interview I did with one of the elders in the village, the smell of food already welcomed me at the door. Batbayar was dealing with the stove, Mutlu was carving something with his knife, and Gerel was cooking. I ran to the stove inside to get warm, and Gerel told me with a big smile that we would make a small celebration that night as a farewell party for us. She went to the bed, leaned down, and took out what she had bought for our special night. A small bottle of vodka and chips! I don’t know if I need to state how precious things bought with money are in an area where resources are so scarce. I was sad that they had spent money on us, but also touched by their gesture. As always, I was experiencing mixed emotions before leaving, anxious to reunite with my family and home, but also sad to leave my home there in the taiga. After a delicious dinner, we had some tea, and then our hosts took out what they had bought for the night. Gerel and Mutlu were looking at some photos from the phone, giggling, and I was talking to Batbayar. Although we had talked many times, the topic came to hunting again, but this time he was more talkative than ever, maybe with the effect of the vodka filling our glasses. He stood up and brought out an old rifle that was wrapped inside the blankets behind the bed, and said, “This was my father’s rifle that he inherited from my grandfather.” His father had died when he was young, and everybody knew how much they were fond of each other. I asked if he still used that rifle for hunting, and he said that he had had two rifles before, this one and a newer one, but it was too expensive to keep both rifles. People kept borrowing them, and he could not afford to buy so many bullets and thus had to sell one of the guns. He added, “Since I would never sell my father’s gun, I sold the other one and now use only this.” “Why do you want to be a hunter?” I asked. “Why don’t you also join others then?” “It is true that the hunter has a responsibility to find the animal, shoot the animal and provide the bullets. But the most rewarding thing for me in the end is that when I shoot something, I see the happy faces of people. This is like a reward for me; it is worth everything. But then if you miss an animal and to tell them you missed it, it is also embarrassing for me.” “But don’t you ever go out hunting with other people without a gun?” “I would never join other gun holders just for more meat because I like hunting. I like being the hunter. Ever since we were young, we always had guns. My father never sent us out without weapons. I think I see it now that my father wanted us, the children, to be the ones to provide for others. Because my father was the hunter, and he wanted me to be the next hunter for the community. Since I was little, I have never gone anywhere without my gun; I have always taken my gun on every hunt. Never have I had a time when I hunted without carrying something on my back. There is no respect if you are not a hunter. Besides, I have promised my father” (Batbayar, field notes, 2016).

H U N T I N G A S A WAY O F R E G U L AT I N G T H E R E L AT I O N S

187

We had a long silence after this; there was not much to say. Having spent more time among the Dukha, I could understand how he felt about it because helping people fill their stomachs in this harsh geography is precious. It was clear in the society that the hunter is respected and that people look at them with admiration and respect no matter how old the hunter is. This prestige and status is hard to give up for a hunter once he has experienced it, but the hunting ban in the region made it much harder for young hunters to keep this way of life.

FORCED TO SHARE Are people in societies like the Dukha always so generous and willing to share? Of course, sharing is a complex social mechanism and is not always so straightforward. Personal belongings and money are usually not shared among the Dukha, but can only be borrowed; however, sharing is not only restricted to game meat. Other things are usually shared indirectly or sometimes even involuntarily, since it is pretty rare for people to be able to keep things for themselves, as there is hardly any personal space for anyone. Whatever is available, at least in terms of food, people would rather share it when they have guests, or they are obliged to share it because the others demand it. In this system, which Peterson (1993: 78) calls “demand sharing,” people can make claims on the possessions of others, and those who have more than they can consume are expected to share without expectation of payback. The basic principle of the sharing system here is that even if they are not always willing to share with others, people “request from each other, expect to get what they ask for, and feel obliged to give what they are asked for” (Bird-David 1990: 191). However, the difference between meat sharing among the hunters and sharing other goods is that there are no fixed rules in demand sharing, as people get whatever they can using different tactics. Money and personal objects are usually not shared and instead mostly borrowed, but when it comes to food or tobacco, people can directly or indirectly demand it among the Dukha, as it is never considered appropriate to refuse these demands (Peterson 1993). As I wrote earlier in a previous chapter, people usually come to the tent of the hunter after a successful hunt and wait for the meat regardless, so in a way they force the hunter to share. Thus, the families who did not have a member in the hunting party not only depend on the generosity of the others, but also demand their own share by forcing the hunters who have meat to share. For instance, the rules of sharing for domestic reindeer meat is different from game meat: since the reindeer is considered the possession of a particular family, it is up to them how much they share with other people, as there is no obligation in sharing the reindeer meat. However, most families would boil some meat and invite others to eat out of respect, as fresh meat is always appre-

188

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

ciated. Although this is usually the case, people can still demand meat from the owner who did not invite them through tactics such as “direct request, opportunistic visiting or indirect accusations of stinginess” (Nadasdy 2007: 28). Accusations of stinginess are especially very widespread for the Dukha; the most common form of gossip about other people is related to their parsimony. For example, there was a story that people told in the camp of how one winter one of the older women who lives with her son in the camp slaughtered a reindeer. The animal was old and about to die. Despite the fact that people had little meat at the time, she invited no one to join in eating it with her. One of the younger girls in the camp retold the story: When we heard that Narangerel slaughtered a reindeer, we, a few young people, went to her tent to eat some fresh meat. When we arrived, she was boiling some bones and meat, but although we waited a long time, she didn’t take them out to offer us. We waited for hours, but she kept saying that they were not ready. We said that she should maybe put in more wood to the fire to speed up the cooking, but she ignored us. After waiting there for a long time, we had to go away without eating anything. (Gerel, field notes, 2016)

As the story illustrates, these rules or societal guidelines are not always strictly adhered to. This was in spite of some open demands for sharing. However, Narangerel was known to be quite frugal when it came to sharing, so it demonstrates that there are outliers as in every society. Most of the time, food and meat are shared with guests no matter what, and one of the most common ways of demanding it is through opportunistic visiting, which I also personally used a few times in the taiga. News spreads very fast in the camp, so when someone intends to make a special dish, like dumplings or huushuur, people who hear about it may pretend to “drop in by chance” and then get offered food. Opportunistic visits peak around late afternoon, before it gets dark, when everyone is making their main meal of the day. People know if they visit another family around this time they will get offered a meal. Besides, opportunistic visits help keep the economic balance in the society. People who have more are obliged to give away what they have in this way. For instance, as I stated earlier, two families in the taiga who earned more from tourism always had visitors over, so they had to share what they had with others. Opportunistic visits prevent enrichment. What is interesting is that sharing, even if voluntarily or forced, is never done with an expectation for future reciprocity or as reciprocity of what they shared before. This is why it is possible to see that there are some people who get by living as “hangers-on,” and you can observe them visiting different tents all day long, getting offered food as they go. They know that to take food from one person is not going to necessitate being asked to reciprocate the gesture, nor will they get refused. This is really the case, as there was a woman in our camp who

H U N T I N G A S A WAY O F R E G U L AT I N G T H E R E L AT I O N S

189

always ate over at other people’s tents, and, despite gossiping about this, no one would ever refuse to give her food during her opportunistic visits. In conclusion, sharing is a fundamental part of the social life rather than a choice in the society, and is an important mechanism to maintain the social and economical balance.

A WAY OF SOCIALIZING: GOING HUNTING Hunting may sound like a way of sustaining oneself and filling the stomach, but, spending some time in the taiga, one can easily grasp that it is far more than subsistence for the Dukha men. Wandering in the Siberian wilderness for many days, sometimes even a few months, in temperatures below thirty, sleeping outside by the fire, and just surviving on what you can find, is obviously exhausting and hard, but it is also rewarding. From the many stories I listened to and also from what I observed on a few hunting trips I joined, I can confidently claim that it is a way of being and socializing for the Dukha, much more than just surviving and eating. Hunting stories are what cheer people up on long cold nights in the taiga; it is also what motivates men and young boys for upcoming trips. On hunting trips that last up to a few months, men get to spend an extremely long time together. This is away from their wives or parents, and it connects them in a different way, allowing them to develop an extremely strong bond. Lifelong friendships are formed on those nights in the wilderness, when one is dependent on the others to endure the hard conditions they are in. There are so many things that the hunters experience in each other’s company, during which different kinds of emotions or feelings need to be negotiated. Thus, those long hunting trips of many men turn into communal events where one can learn about others and experience the landscape together. Trust is one of the first and most important feelings that are nurtured among the men on hunting trips. They need to trust each other with their lives, knowing that, no matter what, they are a team and everybody is responsible for each other. On a hunting journey, one has to rely on others for almost everything and trust their lives to the decisions of others without question. However, this “trust” is not only about helping each other in dangerous situations, but also about every single phase of the trip: trust that others will share their food with you even if it is little, a belief in the fact that even if you cannot hunt, someone else will; trust that even if you are dependent on each other, no matter how little experience you have, your independence will still be respected, as consensus is incredibly important for the group’s survival. This last part, recognition of the autonomy of others, is especially important, as respecting the way of others and avoiding egotistic conflicts in the group is critical for both success in hunting and the general functioning of the society.

190

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

What I understand from the few times I have had the chance to join these hunting trips with the men is that there are unmentioned rules of conduct on hunting trips that everyone knows, and the possibility of conflicts arising is avoided by taking precautions. When a group of people spend so much time—twenty-four hours a day for weeks—together in conditions in which many decisions will affect survival outcomes, tension and clashes are usually inevitable. However, among the Dukha, socializing in hunting requires forming careful and elaborate relations with each other. People should always make decisions together; nobody is supposed to dominate the others. Everyone’s autonomy is maintained and respected. Although this applies to all other phases of life, hunting is one of the most significant fields for men to negotiate power conflicts. Like other parts of their lives, in the relationship between friends and the rest of the community, the balance of power is provided through trust, not dominance. Essentially, hunting is a social event where one learns to trust others as much as to trust the environment, safe in the knowledge that others will take care of you just like ˇJer eezi looks after you and offers animals. Aside from being an arena in which power dynamics are negotiated, there is the added benefit of hunting providing an enjoyable and entertaining event that binds people together through shared experiences, discovering new places, struggling together, succeeding after that struggle, or failing, and coming to terms with that as a group. The physicality and emotional elements form strong bonds in the men. The significance of this activity beyond simply being a source of food cannot be underestimated. As discussed, men usually prefer to go hunting in a group. How the composition of the group is decided, when the group will leave, and where they will go is like most other decisions in Dukha society: open for discussion and very flexible. When I was in the taiga in spring 2015, only three people in the camp had professional rifles, while the others were using old Russian rifles, which made shooting the animals much harder. That is why those three young hunters were usually involved in the planning of most hunting trips. People can also borrow guns from each other but they do not really do it often and instead just simply go together with the owner of the gun. When evaluating hunting as a social event, my starting assumption was that people would naturally divide into groups and might have hunting partners they preferred to go with. I assumed that grouping in such social events was natural and that the hunters would absolutely have that division among them. After persistent questions on this, supported by my own observations, I was persuaded that such a division does not exist, at least to any significant degree. It is as if it is a principle of Dukha society to avoid forming groups in hunting. For instance, when I was talking to Turgen, a gun owner, about who can go hunting together and how they make the decision, he said, “Whoever wants to go can join; whether to go or not is their decision. For example, if I decide to go on a

H U N T I N G A S A WAY O F R E G U L AT I N G T H E R E L AT I O N S

191

five-day hunting trip, anyone who wants to go can come with me or I go alone. But if someone says they want to join, we cannot say no. We are not allowed to refuse anyone” (field notes, 2015). Although people may secretly have preferences for certain people or there may be groups that are naturally formed, it is interesting to hear that whoever wants to join the hunt must be allowed, a rule held as strictly as the meat-sharing rule. Going hunting in big groups means that they have to share the meat among more people, so it would seem natural to assume that hunters may prefer to go in smaller groups. It is certainly observable that men go hunting alone, especially on short day trips, but generally there is a preference to go hunting in groups because hunting is not only a way of supplying meat but also as a way of socializing and cooperating, and also a way of connecting to the geography. The unwritten rule of accepting whoever wants to join is indeed related to the sharing principle, as hunting is regarded as a gift sent from the land spirits and it is not people who can decide who will be granted this gift or not, so anyone can join the way they like.

BACK IN THE CAMP: HUNTING FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF WOMEN One day in the middle of the depth of winter, after I went to the village to buy some supplies and stayed for a couple of days, I returned back to the taiga on a cold afternoon. There was an unusual silence and peace in the camp. When I approached the camp, there were no dogs running toward me. In front of the first tent I came across, Purve, a middle-aged herder, was chopping wood. When she saw me, she walked slowly toward me smiling and asked how I was doing. I walked to the tent of the family I stayed with to put away the supplies I bought, but there was no one inside, a very unusual situation. To learn what was going on and also to catch up with the news from when I was away, I walked to Gerel’s tent, and when I opened the door, a lot of women were sitting inside, laughing out loud. The tent was extremely warm with the steam coming out from the tea boiling in the middle and was overcrowded. Young mothers and aunts were playing with the kids. Nomkun, who was five years old, was braiding her grandmother’s hair. Older women were bursting into laughter while watching the children putting lipstick all over their faces. As soon as they saw me, they all shouted out loud “come in, come in,” opened some space for me, and gave me a cup of tea. After a short while, I was a target for the kids with the lipstick. Once their mission was over, everybody was laughing at me, as my face was painted with red lipstick. They teased, “ Ohh, soo beautiful! Shall we get you married with Temujin?” “Sure, but are there other options? And what about my husband?”

192

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

“Well, yes, we can find you someone more handsome. But your husband is in Turkey so you need a husband here in the taiga too.” We went on joking and teasing each other for a while like this, everybody laughing and talking cheerfully. I was wondering what it was that felt different than usual, until I realized that there were no men around! Yes indeed, there were no men; they had gone for a hunting trip that would last a week, and we women were alone in the camp. Scholars have talked about how hunting trips provide the means for men to connect with each other and form memories, but few resources mention how this “men-free” time connects women who are left behind in the camps. In the taiga, although families live together close to each other, the autonomy of every household is of great importance. Every family is a world on its own, and each nuclear family makes its own decisions. The couples usually make their decisions together, and sometimes, if they have decided to migrate somewhere else for a limited time, they are easily capable of living, isolated, away from the rest of the camp for a while. I met some families in the taiga who lived alone as a single household for many months, and this was pretty common in the past, when the Dukha had more reindeer and had to keep the herds separate. Thus, the nuclear family among the Dukha have some similarities with the Western family structure, as people always form a new household when they get married, even if the elder mother or father is left alone. It is not very common to see extended families who live together in the same tent. However, there is one event that necessitates couples being separated for extended periods of time, and that is hunting. The women of the taiga get the chance to spend a lot of time on their own when the men go out on long hunting trips. Being left necessitates the women being able to survive independently of the men, and this in turn allows strong bonds to form between the women, just as it does among the men on hunting trips. In my own observations, I saw that when the men left on a hunting trip, the young women would all of a sudden act like teenagers. They hardly spent any time in the tent; they laughed more, visited other families, and made use of the demand sharing so as to eat in another’s tent. The more time I spent among the Dukha, especially during winter, I came to realize that these moments of “men-free” time in the camp were not rare, and, at one point, there were almost no males in the camp for a week. These moments provided a lasting impression on me, as I cannot forget those intimate moments spent among the women. Women from different households would cook together while the younger girls gathered together in one of the tents to watch Korean television. It was also these moments that enabled me to appreciate how the women are capable of surviving in this harsh geography alone. There are no tasks in running the camp that the women do not do themselves. Women carry and chop wood, repair anything that is broken, or gather the reindeer when they go walking, which

H U N T I N G A S A WAY O F R E G U L AT I N G T H E R E L AT I O N S

193

sometimes takes them to faraway valleys and keeps them out overnight outside in freezing temperatures. This is not to say that these tasks are not distributed equally between sexes when the men are in the camp; as in many nomadic societies, these tasks are performed by everyone. Rather, the time alone when the men are away hunting gave the opportunity for me as an observer to see how comfortable the women are at performing these tasks alone. I also saw how this time away from the men allows the women to connect on a deeper level. Hunting provides the basis for both sexes to form deeper bonds and connect with each other outside of the nuclear family, which ultimately brings the whole community closer together. Many scholars have written of the role women have, from a distance, in affecting the success of a hunt; they, too, must endeavor not to break hunting taboos (Irımoto 1996; Hill 2011; Bodenhorn 1990; Praet 2015). As game meat is given by the spirits to a household as opposed to an individual hunter, the women are similarly connected to the gift of game. This requires them to observe proper behaviors in the eyes of the spirits. The behavior of a woman before, during, and after a hunt can affect the success of the hunter (Hill 2011: 411). For example, it is considered important among the Dukha that the women keep the fire going in their household when men are away. Since the fire of every household is sacred and in a sense the owner of the house, it is vital that the woman continuously make offerings to it while their husband is away hunting. The men pray to the fire and olca ereen when they are at home before going hunting, but once they leave, it is the responsibility of the women to pray and regularly make offerings to the fire or ereens. Today, not all women practice this, but they are still aware of their connection to their husbands’ hunting success. If they fight with others in the camp while their husbands are away, this can negatively affect their hunting luck. On one occasion a, hunter told me that for no understandable reason he had had no luck on a hunting trip. When he returned, he learned from his wife that she had quarreled with a neighbor.

THE LIFE OF AN OLD HUNTER All men in Dukha society are hunters, and hunting has always been an important way of subsistence, just like herding reindeer. However, through the socialist period, some were hired as state hunters, and their job was to provide meat, skin, and antlers for the government. Dukha state hunters were mostly people who settled in the village, sometimes because they married Mongolian women. The people who lived in the taiga with reindeer were employed as “reindeer herders,” so they hunted only as a means of subsistence. I personally think that this was a good thing because hunting for the government, as a job, would definitely be in contradiction to the traditional and spiritual system of hunting among the

194

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

Dukha. The state hunters would usually hunt sable to provide skinned game to the government. They would sometimes hunt up to fifty animals at a time. One can understand that hunting so many animals would not be possible if framed through the Dukha worldview. Some believe that these wrongs committed during socialist times have polluted the taiga and created a malevolent spiritual force in some places. In this final portion, I would like to record the memories of Gantulga, an old subsistence hunter, to show a cross-section of life from those times. I will do that by referencing the account of an older hunter about how his life was over several decades. While collecting this information in December 2016, I had to guide the conversation toward the past many different times, and my interviewee was more than happy to engage me in this. However, instead of just focusing on hunting, he wanted to tell me how life was back then in general. I was born in 1950 in the west taiga in a tent and spent the first eight years of my life in the forest with my family. It was different when I was a child, and hard in a way that we did not have so much as today. At the time, we did not use canvas for the tents, and we never even had enough animal skins to cover it. So we made the outline of the tent with the tree branches, like today, and covered it by compressing the bushes we found, before putting animal skins on top. We had no blankets to cover ourselves, so we would sleep with our clothes and shoes on in the fetal position, putting a few animal skins on top if available. I learned what socks were for the first time when I saw them on tourists. Before that we would wear our shoes barefoot and put reindeer hair inside the shoes we made from their skin. We lived entirely on what nature gave us. The meat we had was basically the only food we had. Of course, we also used flour but only when our father had the chance to go to the village and take his salary as a reindeer herder from the government. We also had times that we had very little food. We would survive only on meat, but if we couldn’t find anything, we would just go to bed with empty stomachs. We had reindeer, but they were so few that we could not afford to slaughter any of them. Imagine, can you slaughter any reindeer if you have only six of them and needed them badly to ride? I remember once how worried my mum was to feed us, but she still didn’t slaughter a reindeer. We used to make the soles of our shoes from moose skin. When we couldn’t find anything, one day my mum removed that part of the leather, softened it by boiling it, and had us eat it. But this was an exceptional case. I also remember the times when we had plenty of game meat and enjoyed it. There were always animals around us. I was six or seven years old when I first started to go on hunting trips with my dad. He was my instructor. He would first teach me how to approach different animals, how to fix your wind in the morning, afternoon, or at night because the wind changes by hours. That is how I became a hunter. My first kill was when I was with my father in the winter. I shot a

H U N T I N G A S A WAY O F R E G U L AT I N G T H E R E L AT I O N S

sable that had climbed a tree; my father showed me how to shoot it and I did. This was my very first kill. My second hunt, I went along with other men and my father. The other men were on the other side of the mountain scaring the animals toward us, and we saw the tracks of a ˇȷerlik aŋ (wild reindeer). My father told me, you only have the chance to shoot one, do not shoot more than one, also do not shoot the bull. If it is a female or a young one, go ahead, shoot it, and then I started to hear the men screaming, which meant that they were scaring the game toward us, and then right at me a two-year-old female reindeer came, and I shot it. That was my second hunt. I was seven years old. Then I went to the school at eight years old so I had to take a long break. We were living far away in the mountains at that time. It took ages to go to the village. The first time I went to the village was when I was eight years old, to go to the school. I still remember how shocked I was seeing houses or even a car. I grew up in the taiga, never seeing anything like that before. After spending six years at school, living in the dormitory of the school, I went back to the taiga when I was fourteen years old. I spent most of my life as a reindeer herder and hunter. When the socialist era ended in 1994, then the real hard times began for us. We received some supplies from the government before, but between 1994 and 2004, we had some real difficulties. We had to rely completely on hunting then, not even able to buy flour. The men spent maybe half of the year away hunting. We went on long hunting trips in those times, but we were also closer to the hunting grounds because our camps were always set far away, not like today. Life in the taiga as a hunter was good. (Gantulga, field notes, 2016)

195

C H A P T E R 10

HUNTING BAN STRUGGLING IN THE NATIVE LAND

iii They tell us to stop hunting and give us money to buy meat. Last year I saw the same dream so many times, a woman coming to me and telling me to follow her. It is the land spirit offering me animals. How can I not go hunting? They will be so offended! —Batbayar, 2016

The above words were how a young Dukha hunter expressed his feelings on the hunting ban in the region after it was declared a national park. It was on a cold winter day, and we were sitting by the fire in a tent in the taiga. We had been discussing how five young men were almost sent to prison last year when they were caught hunting. We had talked about it so many times, but people were still not able to fully grasp how hunting could be banned. What is considered “conservation” for the authorities was clearly the opposite for the Dukha, as they were all worried about offending the spirits, something that would be destructive in the long term. The idea that outsiders had come to their remote forests to “protect” their home from them was completely perplexing for the community members. Conflicts about land rights and usage are rising between indigenous people and governments in many parts of the world today. Indigenous people, who have lived on their traditional territories for many generations and usually have strong connections with their surroundings, suffer all around the world from the occupation of their territories by private companies or extractive industries such as timber firms, mines, or hydropower plants. On top of that, there are also many conflicts in recent years rising under the name of “conservation,” which aims to “protect” the indigenous lands by turning them into national parks or special protected areas, banning all human activity on them, and evacuating people from their own land, including those who have been living there for centuries.

198

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

Unfortunately, in most of those conservation projects, local people are excluded from the program, and, instead, strict nature protection policies are implemented (Holt 2005: 199). One of the reasons for this exclusion is related to the standpoint that underlies “protected areas or national parks,” which is indirectly connected with a very important development in human history: the distinction or separation of humankind from nature. According to this standpoint, animals belong exclusively in nature, while humans are the only exception, as the “essence of their humanity transcends nature” (Ingold 1994: 4). Or, in a similar line, for nature to be considered “pure,” it has to be away from human touch since humans are not part of the natural world and the two cannot be combined. Thus, today national parks or protected areas are usually defined as an area where ecosystems are not materially altered by human exploitation and occupation. However, unlike the official description of national parks as wild and uninhabited, we know that, in reality, most national parks are indeed inhabited by indigenous people in many parts of the world, who are nevertheless still excluded from the projects that occur there. In most of those instances, the reason for this exclusion is related to the conservation ethics and ontological views of the different parties. While for scientists there is only one nature out there, defined by a positivist approach, the way hunter-gatherers view their environment and hunting is quite different, as I have discussed throughout the book. This difference makes it hard for the scientists to include hunter-gatherers in the protection. As Ingold (1994: 10–11) explains, Scientific conservation is firmly rooted in the doctrine . . . that the world of nature is separate from, and subordinate to, the world of humanity. . . . The sense in which hunters and gatherers see themselves as conservers or custodians of their environments should not, then, be confused with the Western scientific idea of conservation. This latter, as I have shown, is rooted in the assumption that humans—as controllers of the natural world—bear full responsibility for the survival or extinction of wildlife species. For huntergatherers this responsibility is inverted.

The Dukha experienced what Ingold describes when their ancestral land was declared a national park in 2011, called Tengis-Shishged National Park. All of a sudden, hunting was banned in their area, and strict restrictions on movement were imposed. Under the regulations of the national park, hunting was completely prohibited, and the Dukha needed to inform military officials about their migration plans before they changed their camp location (Rasiulis 2016: 4). As I stated earlier, the Dukha do not have any economical benefit from the reindeer, and their subsistence is principally based on hunting and gathering. With the imposed hunting ban, staying in the taiga with reindeer and buying everything from the village, including meat, does not really make

HUNTING BAN

199

sense and brings an unsolved issue with it: how will the Dukha live in the taiga? As a researcher going to the field since 2012, I witnessed the whole process, as it all happened in front of my eyes. When I was in the field in the winter of 2013, the rangers brought a piece of paper to the Dukha camp, which involved a list of different animals and the fines of hunting them. Every animal had a certain fine, some of them up to fifty thousand dollars, and, if people were caught hunting, they could go to jail up to seventeen years. I still cannot forget the shock on their faces when the hunters were looking at that piece of paper. The ban was declared in 2011, but it was practiced strictly especially after 2013, with the rangers following the Dukha and even placing cameras around the taiga. Of course, this created confusion in the community, as they did not know how to live otherwise. The authorities, who were aware of the fact that the Dukha hunters have no other means to support themselves other than hunting, found the solution by giving a basic stipend to everyone so that they could buy meat from the village instead of hunting. In 2016, all families received around sixty dollars for adults and thirty dollars for children in their household. This money, at the beginning, was a relief. The Dukha were less worried about whether they could survive or not, since they could easily buy supplies such as flour and salt now. People bought beef from the village, especially during winter, when the Dukha are less mobile and it is easier to keep the meat because of low temperatures. However, once they started to move again, it was not practical to buy meat so they still continued to hunt. Nevertheless, they appreciated this money and had major improvements in their economic situation. Most people started to save this money to buy land in Tsagaannuur or save it for their children to go to university in the future instead of buying meat. Today, the Dukha have many expenses they did not have before. Since children started going to school, this brought along many expenses like books, clothes, their transportation to the village, and food. That is why receiving this stipend eased life for people but also made them more dependent on the village. Buying the supplies from the village instead of receiving it from the taiga meant that now everyone had to go to the village more frequently. Thus, more and more families were encouraged to move to the village, especially in the winter, as they could afford a house now. Besides, having this cash every month also contributed to the alcohol addiction for some young men who spent their stipend on alcohol. When I asked people what they thought about the hunting ban and salary, and if they would give up the money for hunting freely again, they all had different opinions on it but agreed on only one thing: “This money will not be there forever.” Young men still went on hunting trips but had to take extra precautions to hunt secretly. As the wife of a young hunter said, “In the past, men would go hunting sometimes for months, and we would not worry because we knew that they would come back with lots of meat. Now I am so worried

200

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

when they secretly go hunting, as someone might see them” (Aurina, field notes, 2015). However, when I went back to the taiga in autumn 2016 for the second half of my fieldwork, the situation had gotten much worse, and the ban not only caused people to have huge troubles with the officials, but also initiated serious problems in the social relations of the community, which was new to everyone. The incident that caused the big fragment in the community happened in the autumn of 2015. Some young hunters and two girls, sisters of two hunters, took the reindeer to a faraway valley close to the Russian border, and, since the game is plentiful in that area, they thought they could also hunt and have some fresh meat on the spot. The girls insisted on going with them so that they could see their ancestral lands that their parents always talked about. Some of the boys also wanted to visit their sacred land on the way to make offerings, so it was an exciting trip for all. On their way back, they hunted a moose and ate it during the trip. It was an unforgettable time for the young people, who connected with their landscape and each other. However, when they arrived back to the autumn camp, there was a horrible surprise waiting for them. Some of the rangers had followed them and found evidence of the game, so the boys were fined and supposed to pay around 8,000 US dollars or they would go to prison. With the bad news spreading around fast, everyone was shocked, and no one knew what to do. Of course the people would not be able to pay that amount of money, so the boys had to go to Moron, the capital of the region, which is fifteen hours by jeep from Tsagaannuur, and stay there for five months during the trial. They had to stay there because they were supposed to go to the police station every other week to sign a paper or face three years of prison at the end of the trial if they did not. Those five months in which the boys had to stay in Moron waiting for the unknown result was no doubt very traumatic for the whole society, as it was the first time they faced such a serious threat. Besides, it was practically very hard for them, as staying in Moron required a lot of money and the boys had nowhere to stay. Luckily, they found a Mongolian family to stay with, but they still needed a lot of money while staying in Moron for their daily expenses. After the trial, due to unknown reasons and after spending five horrible months in Moron, the Dukha men did not face any fines. Facing the danger of prison in exchange for hunting a moose was scary enough for the Dukha, but, even worse than that, one of the rangers who followed them was a Dukha man and their good friend. That is why this incident affected them even more deeply and led to serious consequences, shaking the core values in the community. After the area of the Dukha was declared a protected area, the government employed two people from the taiga, one from the east taiga and one from the west, as rangers. They thought that having two rangers from the community would be more helpful and that those rangers would control the others. However, the rangers from the Dukha naturally did not turn their back on their own community and traditions, and, until that incident, they

HUNTING BAN

201

overlooked the illegal hunting in the community. Furthermore, they warned people when they received the news of border officials coming. However, according to people I spoke with, one of the two rangers followed the young men and took the video as evidence and reported them. In addition, people claim that on their way to the border, he also showed the secret paths of the Dukha to the officials, which meant that people would not be able to hunt in the future, as the little paths that only the Dukha knew were now known by all. The fact that someone inside the community reported them had abused the trust of the community deeply, though this person claimed that he was not the one who reported the men. Of course, as a researcher, it is not my job to figure out the truth about what really happened in this case. Either way, whether he really reported them or people wrongly think so, the outcome was obvious: people in the community were very disappointed and shocked. Although nobody knew the exact reason, some people thought that he might have done it for money because he was about to be retired and rangers receive prize money when they catch someone. After the incident, nobody spoke to that family, and they had to put up their tent a little far from the others. Even though he was an old man, people stopped visiting his tent, and, on the rare occasions when he visited the others, people hardly spoke to him unless it was necessary. Tuya, the girl who was on that hunting trip said, I have never seen people staying angry with somebody for such a long time. Sometimes there are small quarrels among the families, but people forget about it the next day. Even if they are angry, other people smooth things over between those, saying let’s drink tea all together and so on. However, this time everybody was so angry; we don’t understand how he can do this. He even had relatives among the boys who hunted, and he ate game meat himself last year. My father was so disappointed that for a long time he kept saying, “How can this happen? When I was young, I would sometimes consult him related to hunting and we would even go hunting together. He ate meat in our home.” (Field notes, 2016)

When I went back to the taiga, people had started talking to him again, and even one of the boys who was in danger of getting arrested visited his tent, but it was obvious that the relations were tense. Thus, this strict hunting ban affected the relations inside the community in a way that had never been experienced before and also created a deep anger and disappointment in the society. One of the other reasons people felt so angry about the hunting ban was that outsiders sometimes could hunt in the taiga. The controls were strict only when it came to the Dukha. According to some people, this hunting ban indeed first started when many people from the steppes, or even foreigners from time to time, started to come over to hunt wild game and sell it to China as medicine. People state that when they go to the village, they often hear stories from the

202

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

Darhat people about how they went on long hunting trips and nothing happens to them. Sometimes they would even see the hunters from outside the taiga themselves. A young couple told me a story that happened in the autumn of 2015 and how they were surprised about what they saw: Last year when we were returning back from the autumn camp with my husband, we saw two men on horses with two packed horses tied to them. We could see the wild reindeer antlers on the packhorse, so we hid in the forest to see who they were. When they came near us, we could see maybe eight or nine wild reindeer antlers and skin on the horses. The men seemed very relaxed, as if they were not afraid of anything. We knew one of the men from the village. It was so sad and offending to see it for us because they didn’t even take the meat! It is horrible to think that so many animals and meat was wasted. They hunted just to sell the skin and antlers. We hunt to feed our families. (Gerel, field notes, 2016)

Similar incidents happened at other times and raised the anger among people. As one of the elders said, I don’t know how they can hunt. The rangers don’t control them or maybe they pay bribes, we really don’t know. Besides, they don’t even have any rules while hunting; they shoot at any animal without distinguishing if the animal is young, pregnant, etc. But we know everything about this land, where and when to hunt which animal or the sacred places where we are not allowed to hunt. We know all the taigas, valleys, rivers in this land. I don’t understand how they are trying to protect our own home from us. (Bataar, field notes, 2016)

This opinion was very common in the society in general and everybody was worried about the future. Most people were aware that this ban not only restricted them from hunting in the present, but also would create a big knowledge gap for the young people. One of the young hunters who was caught last year protested the unfair treatment they received: We all learned hunting from our fathers and practice what they taught us. I know all the rules concerning the hunting and the respect we need to pay, because my father would always tell me things at home whenever he remembered. He would always check if I knew those rules or sacred places. The bad thing is, with this new hunting ban, young boys cannot learn hunting anymore. Before, when they were twelve, thirteen years old, they would start begging their fathers or brothers to take them, but they don’t have this chance anymore. Nobody wants to risk their children. So what will happen if they don’t learn hunting by the book but need to hunt in the future? They won’t know where to hunt, which animal to hunt, or spirited places, so they will hunt in a wrong, disrespectful way. What we know now, they will not know. (Turgen, field notes, 2016)

HUNTING BAN

203

In addition to the hunting ban, the restrictions on the migration paths are another major problem that makes life hard in the taiga. People used to migrate wherever they wanted, but now suddenly they need to ask for permission from the border officers every time they decide to move. Some areas, especially faraway camps toward the Russian border, are completely banned to visit, probably because the authorities cannot control people when they are so far away and suspect that the men hunt there illegally. People wanting to visit their ancestral sacred lands to pray have to ask for permission from the border officials even for that. The idea of asking for permission is very odd for the Dukha, but even if they ask, the answer is not always favorable. Some people have been allowed to visit their sacred land while others have not, likely because the petitioner is a hunter and officials suspect that he might hunt there. This situation also affects the reindeer pastures, since people are afraid to take their reindeer that far away these days. All those restrictions and rules have made people feel like they are living in a prison now, in their beloved taiga, and the authorities are always suspicious of their movements, chasing them wherever they go. In short, the hunting ban caused many problems for the society, as hunting is not simply a way of obtaining meat for the men; it is a way of being. On long winter days, when the reindeer are away, young men do not know what to do. This is obvious from the fact that, like many other indigenous communities around the world, the Dukha men started to have alcohol problems. It is not fair to put the blame entirely on the hunting ban, as alcohol addiction is a common problem in Mongolia, but people state that, in the past, they would rarely drink in the taiga. I could rarely see people drinking in the taiga during my first years there. However, when I was in the field in 2016, I witnessed many times people bringing alcohol from the village, and they would drink nonstop for three days in a row. Sitting in the taiga and not being able to go hunting is definitely one of the reasons why men are bored, and the only consolation is drinking. Besides, the feeling of being so restricted and pursued all the time gives a feeling of weakness and lack of self-determination to the people, who feel like they are in an open prison in their own land. I remember when we were talking about the hunting ban, one of the young men said, “Feeding ourselves is important, but more importantly, if hunting is allowed, we get back our freedom” (Batbayar, field notes, 2016). As we discussed briefly at the beginning, the Dukha are strict conservationists who hunt intentionally without causing a decrease in animal population, and they should be involved in the national process. As Berkes (2008: 133–34) mentions in his book Sacred Ecology, about the Cree hunters who overhunted during a period and learned their lesson with the disappearance of caribou, when involved in the process, indigenous people can also learn from their mistakes and develop their conservation ethics. For example, Dukha similarly mentions a period in which there were few fish left in the rivers and Tsagaannuur

204

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

Lake, because of the fishing factory during socialism. In return, they decided to stop fishing for a while and let the population grow again. Thus, if involved in the process and convinced, the Dukha could participate in the practice of conservation, which they are used to practicing from their own hunting ethics anyway, and new solutions can be developed. As Ingold (1994: 12) states very well, they would definitely be a part of it and their approach would even be more effective, as “caring for an environment is like caring for people: it requires a deep, personal and affectionate involvement, an involvement not just of mind or body but of one’s entire, undivided being.” I agree with Ingold that the relations the Dukha maintain with the environment is dramatically different from most scientific views. However, collaborative approaches are possible to institute, and this can only be achieved through a diversity in conversations around environmental issues and being open to learning together.

CONCLUSION

iii The question at the outset of this book was something of a philosophical one, intended to probe how humans view themselves within the net of relations surrounding their landscape by looking into the life of a nomadic hunter-gatherer/ herder society in northern Mongolia. Needless to say, the intention was not to uncover final answers to such deeply sophisticated questions but rather to encourage deeper consideration of the issues embedded within them. Throughout the book, I have discussed in detail what domestication and wildness mean for the Dukha and how the dynamics are set in both herding and hunting systems. However, I came to the conclusion that starting the discussion with those categories is not the right point, as domestication or wildness had completely different connotations for the Dukha, and this division itself was meaningless. Hunting and herding systems are integrated, or enmeshed, and this is evident from the fact that each sphere, domesticated or wild, impacts the other one. The health of a domesticated animal depends on the behavior of the hunter (who is also a herder), as the behavior of hunters or herders can negatively impact the health of their herds, their families, or even the wider community. Similarly, a family’s sacred reindeer serves to protect that family and can even bring luck in hunting. Hunting and herding, for the Dukha, are not representative of separate systems in which they have possessive relations with their reindeer and egalitarian ones with the wild animals they hunt. In this case, can we say that the Dukha do not differentiate in the way they interact with all animals? This is, of course, not the case. Having an integrated system does not mean that people do not distinguish between different animals or interact with them differently in various circumstances. However, after careful observations and interviews among the Dukha, I came to the conclusion that it is not the tameness or wildness of animals that change those relations. There is another concept in the taiga that defines relations between people and

206

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

animals: it is the familiarity of the parties that plays an important role, meaning that while people maintain their relations with animals, both in herding and hunting systems, they distinguish others depending on how familiar or unfamiliar they are. For example, for the herders, the difference between their domesticated reindeer and wild reindeer is correlated to the familiarity of the animal—how much history they have together. They do not view domesticated reindeer as their property, but they view them as family members who live together with them and with whom they collaborate. In contrast, wild reindeer are strangers whom they rarely encounter. They belong to the land, and there is no history between the Dukha, so they are unfamiliar nonhuman beings whose intentions are not known. Similarly, while hunting, familiarity plays a vital role in determining the relations. In certain familiar places where the land spirits reside, or spirited places that the Dukha have inherited from their ancestors, hunting is suspended, preventing hunters from touching any animal on those grounds. Likewise, when the hunter comes across a familiar animal—for instance, a sacred animal that represents the spirits—he should apply different rules or abstain from hunting totally. Thus, familiarity is, at its core, the moderating force between people and their environment in the vast taiga. It moves human-animal relationships onto a totally different ground than that of domesticated or wild. Beyond academic categories of domestication or wildness, there are other factors contributing to the formation and strengthening of relationships between people and nonhuman animals in the taiga. Landscape in this sense has a huge effect on those relations, serving as a common “home” for all its residents. Since humans and animals are neighbors who live together, they are bound to each other and have to find a sustainable way to live with each other. The desire of the Dukha to live in the taiga is what keeps them connected to both reindeer and wild animals; they know that there is no way to survive in the taiga without cooperation with reindeer and game animals. Since living in the taiga is of great importance for the Dukha, they have to find ways to persuade the reindeer to stay with them and also treat other animals and the landscape with respect so that the land spirits continue offering their animals. This is why I suggested that when evaluating the relationships between people and animals, landscape and vicinity is of great significance, which brings another dimension to the anthropological debates on human-animal relations—apart from functional, economic, or social significance—and the issues of domestication. Once the relationship with the landscape is severed, humananimal relations are destined to change shape. After living among the Dukha in the taiga for some time, I got used to the geography and experienced the joy of returning to the camp even after a short visit in the village, despite leaving the comforts of modern life behind. However, I did not know that there were other strong reasons for people not being able to

C O N C LU S I O N

207

leave their household behind until a cold evening in the winter of 2015 when I was sitting by the fire with Sarnai. I found out how this connection was beyond my perception, etched into the hearts and minds of the people. It was about to get dark, and we were preparing food. Sarnai had been on the phone with her daughter for more than ten minutes when the connection cut out, and she was complaining about the instability of the mobile phone network in the taiga. Sarnai, who was fifty-six and had three daughters, had been living in the taiga almost all her life. Despite having children, she never got married. One of her daughters lived in the village with her husband and children, and Sarnai talked to them at least a few times a day when the network was available. They talked about the details of their day: Sarnai would tell her daughter about the reindeer, and her daughter Tunga would tell Sarnai about her grandchildren and what they were doing at school. Since they were so fond of each other, I asked Sarnai that evening why she did not move to the village for the winters, staying with them, as some people did. Since the reindeer were kept in a faraway valley in the winter, there seemed to be no reason for her not to move to the comfort of the village. To my surprise, she said she could not go because she could not leave her alaȷˇï (tent). Unable to understand what she meant, I looked at her in puzzlement. Then she pointed to the backside of the tent, and observing that I was still confused, she said, “The eerens. I cannot leave because of the eerens. I cannot leave them.” An eeren in Tuvan is a protector spirit, a kind of shamanic totem. Most Dukhas had spirits in the form of eerens in their home, and there is a special place in the household for eerens, usually opposite the door. Physically, the ereen is a piece of fabric that has been animated by a shaman, to turn it into a protector spirit. When people had a serious problem, they would go to the shaman, and the shaman, after performing a ritual and communicating with the spirits, would disclose the source of the problem. Depending on the nature of the problem, sometimes at the end of the ceremony, the shaman fashioned an eeren to protect them. Some eerens were intended for a specific person, others could be for the whole family, and some were made for a reindeer. If a person was having problems individually—for example, if a small child was suffering from an illness—the shaman could make a special eeren for her or him. Once an eeren has been formed, the person or family needs to take care of it all their life, renewing the eeren with a ceremony every spring. On rare occasions, a shaman might make an eeren for someone but tell them to keep it in the household on behalf of another relative, such as a parent or grandparent. In either case, the eeren becomes almost like a family member, living with the person for the rest of their life. The eerens in the household, along with the spirit of the hearth, were considered the owners of the dwelling. This is why people make offerings to eerens and to the hearth constantly, offering milk tea in the mornings. When a gift is brought home, including game meat, the first piece is

208

E M B R AC I N G L A N D S C A P E

offered to the hearth and the eerens, and only after that do people start to eat. Hunters always pray to the eerens at home before departing on a hunt. The number of eerens in a household varies, and some families, especially younger ones, sometimes have none. According to tradition, when a couple gets married (öglenir, literally to “get a tent or home”), they form a new household, which always starts out without eerens. The beginning of a new household is represented by building a new hearth in this household together, forming a new unit. Because the spirit of the fire is considered the owner of the household, it is very important that the couple build their own hearth, giving life to the household. Along with a new fire, a couple eventually obtain their own eerens in the household, since none can be brought from their parents’ households. In this sense, every family creates their own history through eerens, so they serve as a family history, or album, indicating the main struggles of the family and marking the times they needed protection. The reason Sarnai was so sensitive about her eerens was that she had never gotten married. Without a husband, she had never formed a new dwelling of her own. Instead, she was keeping her parents’ household spirits, maintaining the same household with its eerens and hearth. In total, she had twelve eerens: two of them were for the sacred reindeer; one belonged to her elder sister; another, to her niece; she had one for herself; there was a hunting eeren from her family; and the others were for her children and grandchildren. Since people left their eerens—even their personal ones—in the household of their parents after they got married, Sarnai, being single, was keeping the eerens of both her sister and brothers, as well as those of her own children. In this way, her home tied together multiple generations. All of these people would visit her tent from time to time to pray and make offerings to their protector spirits. Since she was also holding the olȷˇa eeren (hunting eeren, which could be a piece of hair, hooves, or claws) of her family lineage, all the men in her family, among them being her brother and nephews, came to her household to pray before they went on hunting trips. By keeping alive the fire of her parent’s household, including their spirits, she was serving as a medium connecting the past to the present. This was why she could not leave her household to go and live in the village. Even if her move were to be temporary only, she would be leaving behind a huge responsibility. I had never realized, up until this point, how weighty a responsibility Sarnai had been carrying, and why it had been so difficult for her to leave the taiga. Leaving the taiga, for her and for most other elders, meant abandoning who they were. It meant leaving behind their spiritual connection, their identity, and breaking the family chain and its history. This is why the Dukha cannot or does not want to leave their landscape and why they need to cooperate with their nonhuman neighbors to live there. This dynamic is the foundation of their relations.

C O N C LU S I O N

209

Today, despite all this strong connection to the landscape, the decision to stay in the taiga or abandon it is unfortunately beyond the will of the Dukha. The recent hunting ban in Dukha territory has affected their life dramatically and is likely to modify the relation between people and animals in the long term. Although it is undeniable that the existence of reindeer has always provided the Dukha with a unique political identity, and its cultural and social significance appears in every aspect of their society, their worldview comprises a unique form that bonds domestic and wild animals in equal importance. This shift in the economy, if hunting is not practiced at all and the reindeer increase in numbers, is likely to change the way people interact with their reindeer, wild animals, and even the landscape. Those rapid changes may threaten the foundation of all these relations, in which people trust the land spirits to provide for them, turning the relations into a different form that favors stability over trust. The way they interact with their environment, reindeer, and other nonhuman animals is a unique system that is established on the combination of many factors. This is why it is of critical importance that future researchers record human-animal relations among the Dukha, and give us a chance to compare the changing nature of their relations over time. As a researcher who was privileged to stay among the Dukha and experience life with them, I sincerely hope that the inhabitants of the taiga are given the chance to decide upon their fate on their own.

REFERENCES

iii Altman, Jon, and Nicolas Petersen. 1988. “Rights to Game and Rights to Cash among Contemporary Australian Hunter-Gatherers.” In Hunters and Gatherers: Property, Power and Ideology, vol. 2, edited by T. Ingold, D. Riches, and J. Woodburn, 75–94. Oxford: Berg. Anderson, David G. 2000. Identity and Ecology in Arctic Siberia: The Number One Reindeer Brigade. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 2012. “Comments to Knight, J., The Anonymity of the Hunt: A Critique of Hunting as Sharing.” Current Anthropology 53(3): 334–55. Aporta, Claudia. 2016. “Markers in Space and Time: Reflections on the Nature of Place Names as Events in the Inuit Approach to the Territory.” In Marking the Land: Hunter-Gatherer Creation of Meaning in Their Environment, edited by W. Lovis and R. Whallon, 67–89. Oxon: Routledge. Arhem, Kaj. 1996. “The Cosmic Food Web: Human-Animal Relatedness in the Northwest Amazon.” In Nature and Society: Anthropological Perspectives, edited by P. Descola and G. Pálsson, 185–204. London: Routledge. Badamkhatan, Sandagsuren. 1960. “Khövsgöl Aimagiin Tsaatan (Uriankhai) Ardyn Garlyn Asuudal.” Shinjelekh Ukhaan Setgüül 1:30–35. ———. 1962. “Khövsgöliin Tsaatan Ardyn Aj Baidlyn Toim.” Studia Ethnographica, vol. 2, fasc. 1. Ulaanbaatar: Academy of Sciences. ———. 1965. “Khövsgöliin Dakhad Yastan. Studia Ethnographica.” Kh. Perlee, vol. 3, fasc. 1. Ulaanbaatar, Academy of Sciences. Bahti, Mark.T. 1990. “Animals in Hopi Duality.” In Signifying Animals: Human Meaning in the Natural World, edited by R. Willis. London: Routledge. Beach, Hugh, and Florian Stammler. 2006. “Human-Animal Relations in Pastoralism.” Nomadic Peoples 10(2): 6–30. Berger, John. 1972. Ways of Seeing. Based on the BBC television series with John Berger. London: Penguin Books. Berkes, Fikret. 2008. Sacred Ecology. London: Routledge. Bekoff, Marc. 2002. Minding Animals: Awareness, Emotions and Hearth. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

REFERENCES

211

———. 2013. “Who Lives, Who Dies, and Why? How Speciesism Undermines Compassionate Conservation and Social Justice.” In The Politics of Species: Reshaping our Relationships with Other Animals, edited by R. Corbey and A. Lanjouw, 15–27. New York: Cambridge University Press. Bird-David, Nurit. 1990. “The Giving Environment: Another Perspective on the Economic System of Gatherer-Hunters.” Current Anthropology 31(2): 189–96. ———. 2006. “Animistic Epistemology: Why Do Some Hunter-Gatherers Not Depict Animals?” Ethnos 71(1): 33–50. Blench, Roger. 2001. “You Can’t Go Home Again”: Pastoralism in the New Millennium. London: FAO report Bodenhorn, Barbara. 1990. “‘I’m Not the Great Hunter, My Wife Is’: Iñupiat and Anthropological Models of Gender.” Etudes/ Inuit/Studies 14(1/2): 55–74. Bökönyi, Sandor. 1989. “Definitions of Animal Domestication.” In The Walking Larder: Patterns of Domestication, Pastoralism and Predation, edited by J. Culutton-Brock. One World Archeology Serious. London: Unwin Hyman. Bosso, Keith H. 1996. Wisdom Sits in Places: Landscape and Language among the Western Apache. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Brightman, Robert A. 1993. Grateful Prey: Rock Cree Human-Animal Relationships. Berkeley: University of California Press. Broz, Ludek, and Rane Willerslev. 2012. “When Good Luck Is Bad Fortune: Between Too Little and Too Much Hunting Success in Siberia.” Social Analysis 56(2): 73–89. Campbell, Joseph, and Bill Moyer. 1991. The Power of Myth with Bill Moyers. New York: Anchor Books. Carmichael David L., Jane Hubert, and Brian Reeves. 1994. “Introduction.” In Sacred Sites, Sacred Places, edited by D. Carmichael, J. Hubert, B. Reeves, and A. Schanche, 1–8. London: Routledge. Cassidy, Rebecca. 2007. “Introduction: Domestication Reconsidered.” In Where Wild Things Are Now: Domestication Reconsidered, edited by R. Cassidy and M. Mullin, 1–27. Oxford: Berg Chaussonnet, Valerie. 1988. “Needles and Animals: Women’s Magic.” In Crossroads of Continents: Cultures of Siberia and Alaska, edited by W. Fitzhugh and A. L. Crowell, 26– 209. Washington, DC: Smithsonian. Clutton-Brock, Juliet. 1994. “The Unnatural World: Behavioral Aspects of Humans and Animals in the Process of Domestication.” In Animals and Human Society, Changing Perspectives, edited by A. Manning and J. Serpell, 23–36. London: Routledge. D’Anglure, Bernard S. 1990. “Nanook, Super-Male: The Polar Bear in the Imaginary Space and Social Time of the Inuit of the Canadian Arctic.” In Signifying Animals: Human Meaning in the Natural World, edited by R. Willis, 169–86. London: Routledge. Darwin, Charles. 1859. On The Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or, the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life. London: J. Murray. Daston, Lorraine, and Gregg Mitman. 2005. “The How and Why of Thinking with Animals.” In Thinking with Animals, edited by L. Daston and G. Mitman, 1–14. New York: Columbia University Press. DeMello, Margo. 2012. Animals and Society: An Introduction to Human-Animal Studies. New York: Columbia University Press. Descola, Philippe. 2015. Beyond Nature and Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

212

REFERENCES

———. 1994. In the Society of Nature: A Native Ecology in Amazonia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dethier, Vincent G. 1977. “The Taste of Salt.” American Scientist 65(6): 744–51. Donahoe, Brian. 2004. “A Line in the Sayans: History and Divergent Perceptions of Property among the Tozhu and Tofa of South Siberia.” PhD dissertation, Indiana University. ———. 2012. “Trust or Domination?” Divergent Perceptions of Property in Animals among the Tozhu and the Tofa of South Siberia.” In Who Owns the Stock, edited by A. M. Khazanov and G. Schlee, 99–121. New York: Berghahn Books. Dong, Shikui. 2016. “Overview: Pastoralism in the World.” In Building Resilience of Human-Natural Systems of Pastoralism in the Developing World: Interdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by S. Dong, K.-A. S. Kassam, J. F. Tourrand, and R. B. Boone. Switzerland: International Publishing. Dowling, John H. 1968. “Individual Ownership and the Sharing of Game in Hunting Societies.” American Anthropologist 70: 502–7. Dunayer, Joan. 2013. “The Rights of Sentient Beings: Moving beyond Old and New Speciesism.” In The Politics of Species: Reshaping Our Relationships with Other Animals, edited by R. Corbey and A. Lanjouw. New York: Cambridge University Press. Dwyer, Mark James, and Kirill Vladimirovich Istomin. 2008. “Theories of Nomadic Movement: A New Theoretical Approach for Understanding the Movement Decisions of Nenets and Komi Reindeer Herders.” Human Ecology 36(4): 521–33. Dwyer, Sonia Corbin, and Jennifer L. Buckle. 2009. “The Space Between: On Being an Insider-Outsider in Qualitative Research.” International Journal of Qualitative Methods 8(1): 54–63. Endres, Jürg. 2014. Die Rentierhalter-Jäger des südlichen Ostsajangebirges. Praxis, Wandel und Adaption bei den Dukha und den Tozhu im mongolisch-russischen Grenzraum. Berlin: Freie Universität. Farkas, Otto. 1992. “Tsaatan Reindeer Herdsmen.” Paper read at the Lent Term Seminar Series of the Mongolia and Inner Asia Studies Unit, University of Cambridge. Fijn, Natasha. 2011. Living with Herds: Human-Animal Coexistence in Mongolia. New York: Cambridge University Press Fuentes, Agustin. 2006. “The Humanity of Animals and the Animality of Humans: A View from Biological Anthropology Inspired by J. M Coetzee’s Elizabeth Costello.” American Anthropologist 108(1): 124–32. Gowdy, John. 1999. “Hunter-Gatherers and the Mythology of the Market.” In Cambridge Encyclopedia of Hunters and Gatherers, edited by R. B. Lee and R. Daly, 391–98. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Guenther, Mathias. 1991. “Animals in Bushman Thought, Myth and Art.” In Hunters and Gatherers, vol. 2, edited by T. Ingold, D. Riches, and J. Woodburn, 192–211. New York: Berg Hallowell, A. Irving. 1926. “Bear Ceremonialism in the Northern Hemisphere.” American Anthropologist, n.s., 28(1): 1–175. ———. 1958. “Ojibwa Metaphysics of Being and the Perception of Persons.” In Person Perception and Interpersonal Behavior, edited by R. Tagiuri and L. Petrullo, 63–85. Stanford: Stanford University Press. ———. 1960. Ojibwa Ontology, Behavior, and World View. New York: Columbia University Press.

REFERENCES

213

Hamayon, Roberte. 1990. La chasse à l’ame: equisse d’une théorie du chamanisme sibérien. Nanterre: Société d’Ethnologie. ———. 2003. “Game and Games: Fortune and Dualism in Siberian Shamanism.” In Shamanism: A Reader, edited by G. Harvey, 63–67. London: Routledge. ———. 2012. “The Three Duties of Good Fortune: ‘Luck’ as a Relational Process among Hunting Peoples of the Siberian Forest in Pre-Soviet Times.” Social Analysis 56(1): 99–116. Harris, David. 1996. “Domesticatory Relationship of People, Plants and Animals.” In Redefining Nature: Ecology, Culture and Domestication, edited by R. Ellen and K. Fukui, 437–63. Oxford: Berg. Helskog, Knut, and Svein Indrelid. 2011. “Humans and Reindeer.” Guest Editorial. Quaternary International 238:1–3. Heywood, Paolo. 2017. “Ontological Turn.” In The Cambridge Encyclopedia of Anthropology, edited by F. Stein, S. Lazar, M. Candea, H. Diemberger, J. Robbins, A. Sanchez, and R. Stasch. Anthroencyclopedia.com, 19 May. http://doi.org/10.29164/17ontology. Hill, Erica. 2011. “Animals as Agents: Hunting Ritual and Relational Ontologies in Prehistoric Alaska and Chukotka.” Cambridge Archaeological Journal 21(3): 407–26. Holbraad, Martin, and Morten Axel Pedersen. 2017. The Ontological Turn: An Anthropological Exposition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Holt, Flora Lu. 2005. “Catch-22 of Conservation: Indigenous Peoples, Biologists and Cultural Change.” Human Ecology 33:199–215. Hubert, Jane. 1994. “Sacred Beliefs and Beliefs of Sacredness.” In Sacred Sites, Sacred Places, edited by D. L. Carmichael, J. Hubert, B. Reeves, and A. Schanche, 9–19. London: Routledge. Humphrey, Caroline, Marina Mongush, and B. Telengid. 1993. “Attitudes to Nature in Mongolia and Tuva: A Preliminary Report.” Nomadic Peoples 33:51–61. Inamura, Tetsuya. 2005. “The Transformation of the Community of Tsaatan Reindeer Herders in Mongolia and Their Relationships with the Outside World.” Senri Ethnological Studies 69:123–52. Ingold, Tim. 1974. “On Reindeer and Men.” Man, n.s., 9(4): 523–38. ———. 1980. Hunters, Pastoralists and Rangers: Reindeer Economies and Their Transformations. New York: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1986. The Appropriation of Nature: Essays on Human Ecology and Social Relations. Manchester: Manchester University Press. ———. 1994. “From Trust to Domination: an Alternative History of Human-Animal Relations.” In Animals and Human Society: Changing Perspectives, edited by A. Manning and J. Serpell, 1–22. London: Routledge. ———. 1999. “In the Social Relations of the Hunter-Gatherer Band.” In Cambridge Encyclopedia of Hunters and Gatherers, edited by R. B. Lee and R. Daly, 399–410. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2000. The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. London: Routledge. Irimoto, Takashi. 1996. “Ainu Worldview and Bear Hunting Strategies.” In Shamanism and the Northern Ecology, edited by J. Pentikäinen, 293–304. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyder. Istomin, Kirill Vladimirovich, and Mark James Dwyer. 2010. “Dynamic Mutual Adaptation: Human-Animal Interaction in Reindeer Herding Pastoralism.” Human Ecology 38(5): 613–23.

214

REFERENCES

Jordan, Peter. 2003. Material Culture and Sacred Landscape: The Anthropology of Siberian Khanty. Lanham, MD: Altamira Press. Keay, Morgan. 2006. “The Tsaatan Reindeer Herders of Mongolia: Forgotten Lessons of Human-Animal Systems.” Encyclopedia of Animals and Humans. http://library.arctic portal.org/437/1/tsaatan_reindeer_herders.pdf. Kelley, Robert L. 1995. The Foraging Spectrum: Diversity in Hunter-Gatherer Life-Ways. Washington, DC: Smithsonian. King, Barbara. 2013. “The Expression of Grief in Monkeys, Apes, and Other Animals.” In The Politics of Species: Reshaping our Relationships with Other Animals, edited by R. Corbey, and A. Lanjouw. New York: Cambridge University Press. Kirksey, Eben, and Stefan Helmreich. 2010. “The Emergence of Multispecies Ethnography.” Cultural Anthropology 25(4): 545–76. Knight, John. 2012. “The Anonymity of the Hunt: A Critique of Hunting as Sharing.” Current Anthropology 53(3): 334–55. Kristensen, M. Benedikte. 2004. “The Living Landscape of Knowledge: An Analysis of Shamanism among the Duha Tuvinians of Northern Mongolia.” Master’s thesis, Institut for Antropologi, Københavns Universitet. ———. 2015. “Returning to the Forest Shamanism: Landscape and History among the Duha of Northern Mongolia.” PhD dissertation, University of Copenhagen. Krupnik, Igor. 1993. Arctic Adaptations: Native Whalers and Reindeer Herders of Northern Eurasia. Hanover: University Press of New England. Kücüküstel, Selcen. 2013. “The Dukha and How They Perceive the Environment: Maintaining Good Relations with Landspirits.” Master’s thesis, Yeditepe University, Istanbul. ———. 2016. “Witnessing a Disappearing Turkic Language: The Dukhan.” In Before the Last Voices Are Gone: Endangered Turkic Languages, vol. 4: Interdisciplinary Approaches, edited by S. Eker and Ü. Ç. Şavk. Astana, Ankara: International Turkic Academy. ———. 2019. “I Can’t Leave My Erens: Living in a Spirited Geography with Reindeer.” In Multispecies Households in the Saian Mountains: Ecology at the Russia-Mongolia Border, edited by A. Oehler and A. Varfolomeeva. London: Lexington Books. Kulemzin, Vladislav M. 1984. Chelovek I priroda v verovaniiakh Khantov. Tomsk: Izdatel’stvo Tomskogo Universiteta. Kwon, Heonik. 1998. “The Saddle and the Sledge: Hunting as Comparative Narrative in Siberia and Beyond.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 4(1): 115–27. Landais, Etienne. 2001. “The Marking of Livestock in Traditional Pastoral Societies.” Revue scientifique et techique 20(2): 445–79. Laugrand, Frederic, and Jarich Oosten. 2008. The Sea Woman: Sedna in Inuit Shamanism and Art in the Eastern Arctic. Fairbanks: University of Alaska Press. ———. 2015. Hunters, Predators and Prey: Inuit Perceptions of Animals. New York: Berghahn Books. Layton, Robert, Robert Foley, Elizabeth Williams, Claudia Chang, Tim Ingold, Deborah Olszewski, Michael Rosenberg, Steven Shackley, Eric A. Smith, and Marek Zvelebilj. 1991. “The Transition between Hunting and Gathering and the Specialized Husbandry of Resources: A Socio-ecological Approach [and Comments and Reply].” Current Anthropology 32(3): 255–74. Lee, Richard B. 1979. The !Kung San: Men, Women, and Work in a Foraging Society. New York: Cambridge University Press.

REFERENCES

215

———. 2005. “Power and Property in Twenty-First Century Foragers: A Critical Examination.” In Property and Equality, vol. 2: Encapsulation, Commercialisation and Discrimination, edited by T. Widlok and W. G. Tadesse. London: Berghahn Books. Maffi, Luisa. 1999. “Language and the Environment.” In Cultural and Spiritual Values of Biodiversity: A Complementary Contribution to the Global Diversity Assessment, edited by A. P. Darrel, 22–36. London: Intermediate Technology Publications, UNEP. Malinowski, Bronislaw. 1954. Magic, Science and Religion and Other Essays. New York: Anchor Books. Marino, Lori. 2013. “Humans, Dolphins, and Moral Inclusivity.” In The Politics of Species: Reshaping Our Relationships with Other Animals, edited by R. Corbey and A. Lanjouw. New York: Cambridge University Press. Marshall, Lorna. 1961. “Sharing, Talking, and Giving: Relief of Social Tensions among !Kung Bushmen.” Africa 31(3): 231–49. Martin, Calvin. 1978. Keepers of the Game: Indian-Animal Relationships and the Fur Trade. Berkeley: University of California Press. Mathews, Freya. 1994. The Ecological Self. London: Routledge Mazzullo, Nuccio. 2010. “More than Meat on the Hoof ? Social Significance of Reindeer among Finnish Sami in a Rationalized Pastoralist Economy.” In Good to Eat, Good to Live With: Nomads and Animals in Northern Eurasia and Africa, edited by F. Stammler and H. Takakura. Sendai: Center for Northeast Asian Studies, Tohoku University. McNiven, Ian J. 2010. “Navigating the Human-Animal Divide: Marine Mammal Hunters and Rituals of Sensory Allurement.” World Archaeology 42(2): 215–30. Mirov, Nicholas T. 1945. “Notes on the Domestication of Reindeer.” American Anthropologist, n.s., 47(3): 393–408. Morris, Brian. 2000. Animals and Ancestors. Oxford: Berg. Müller-Wille, Ludger, Dirk Heinrich, Veli Pekka Lehtola, P. Aikio, Yulian Konstantinov, and Vladislava Vladimirova. 2006. “Dynamics in Human-Reindeer Relations: Reflections on Prehistoric, Historic and Contemporary Practices in Northernmost Europe.” In Reindeer Management in Northernmost Europe Linking Practical and Scientific Knowledge in Social-Ecological Systems, edited by B. C. Forbes, M. Bölter, L. MüllerWille, J. Hukkinen, F. Müller, N. Gunslay, Y. Konstantinov, 27–47. Berlin: Springer. Mullin, Molly H. 1999. “Mirrors and Windows: Sociocultural Studies of Human-Animal Relationships.” Annual Review of Anthropology 28:201–24. Mysterud, Atle. 2010. “Still Walking on the Wild Side? Management Actions as Steps towards ‘Semi-Domestication’ of Hunted Ungulates.” Journal of Applied Ecology 47(4): 920–25. Nadasdy, Paul. 2007. “The Gift in the Animal: The Ontology of Hunting and HumanAnimal Sociality.” American Ethnologist 34(1): 25–43. ———. 2011. “‘We Don’t Harvest Animals; We Kill Them’: Agricultural Metaphors and the Politics of Wildlife Management in the Yukon.” In Knowing Nature: Conversations at the Intersection of Political Ecology and Science Studies, edited by M. J. Goldman, P. Nadasdy, and M. D. Turner, 135–51. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. O’Brien, Matthew, and Todd Surovell. 2017. “Spatial Expression of Kinship among the Dukha Reindeer Herders of Northern Mongolia.” Arctic Anthropology 54(1): 110–19. O’Connor, Terry. 1997. “Working at Relationships: Another Look at Animal Domestication.” Antiquity 71(271): 149–56.

216

REFERENCES

O’Neil, Dennis. 2011. “Pastoralism.” In Patterns of Subsistence: Classification of Cultures Based on the Sources and Techniques of Acquiring Food and Other Necessities. https:// www2.palomar.edu/anthro/subsistence/sub_3.htm. Oehler, Alex C. 2016. “Being between Beings: Soiot Herder Hunters in a Sacred Landscape.” PhD dissertation, University of Aberdeen. ———. 2020. Beyond Wild and Tame: Soiot Encounters in a Sentient Landscape. Oxford: Berghahn. Ojoade, J. Olowo. 1990. “Nigerian Cultural Attitudes to the Dog.” In Signifying Animals: Human Meaning in the Natural World, edited by R. Willis, 169–86. London: Routledge. Orton, David. 2010. “Both Subject and Object: Herding, Inalienability and Sentient Property in Prehistory.” World Archaeology 42(2): 188–200. Paine, Robert. 1971. “Animals as Capital: Comparisons among Northern Nomadic Herders and Hunters.” In “Comparative Studies of Nomadism and Pastoralism,” special issue of Anthropological Quarterly 44(3): 157–72. ———. 1988. “Reindeer and Caribou: Rangifer Tarandus in the Wild and under Pastoralism.” Polar Record 24(148): 31–42. Patterson, Francine, and Wendy Gordon. 1993.” The Case for the Personhood of Gorillas.” In The Great Ape Project: Equality beyond Humanity, edited by P. Cavalieri and P. Singer, 58–77. London: Fourth Estate. Paulson, Ivar, and E. Nancy Auer. 1964. “The Animal Guardian: A Critical and Synthetic Review.” History of Religions 3(2): 202–19. Pedersen, Morten A. 2001. “Totemism, Animism and North Asian Indigenous Ontologies.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 7(3): 411–27. ———. 2009. “At Home Away from Homes: Navigating the Taiga in Northern Mongolia.” In Boundless Worlds: An Anthropological Approach to Movement, edited by P. W. Kirb, 135–52. Oxford: Berghahn Books. Pelly, David F. 2001. Sacred Hunt: A Portrait of the Relationship between Seals and Inuit. Vancouver, BC: Greystone Books. Peterson, Nicolas. 1993. “Demand Sharing: Reciprocity and the Pressure for Generosity among Foragers.” American Anthropologist 95(4): 860–74. Petrov, Alexandr A. 1989. “The Bear Taboo in Even Language and Folklore.” Etudes/Inuit/ Studies 13(1): 131–33. Plattet, Patrick. 2011. “Landscapes in Motion: Opening Pathways in Kamchatkan Hunting and Herding Rituals.” In Landscape and Culture in Northern Eurasia, edited by P. Jordan, 97–117. Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press. Praet, Istvan. 2015. “The Positional Quality of Life and Death: A Theory of Human– Animal Relations in Animism.” Anthrozoös 26(3): 341–55. Ragagnin, Elizabeth. 2011. Dukhan: A Turkic Variety of Northern Mongolia. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Rasiulis, Nicolas. 2016. “Freestyle Bearing: Work, Play and Synergy in the Practice of Everyday Life among Mongolian Reindeer Pastoralists.” Master’s thesis, University of Ottowa. Rivera Andia, Juan J., and Cecilie Vindal Ødegaard. 2019. “Introduction: Indigenous Peoples, Extractivism and Turbulences in South America.” In Indigenous Life Projects and Extractivism: Ethnographies from South America, edited by Cecilie Vindal Ødegaard and Juan Javier Rivera, 1–50. Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan.

REFERENCES

217

Ruotsala, Helena. 2005. “In the Reindeer Forest and on the Tundra: Modern Reindeer Management and the Meaning of Local Ecological Knowledge.” In “Culture and Environments,” edited by A. Terje, R. Pille, and V. Laur, special issue of Pro Ethnologia 18:23–48. https://www.erm.ee/sites/default/files/18.pdf. Russell, Nerissa. 2002. “The Wild Side of Animal Domestication.” Society & Animal 10(3): 285–302. ———. 2010. “Navigating the Human-Animal Boundary.” Reviews in Anthropology 39(1): 3–24. Safanova, Tatiana, and Istvan Santha. 2012. “Stories about Evenki People and Their Dogs: Communication through Sharing Contexts.” In Animism in Rainforest and Tundra: Personhood, Animals, Plants and Things in Contemporary Amazonia and Siberia, edited by M. Brightman, V. E. Grotti, and O. Ulturgasheva, 82–95. New York: Berghahn Books. Sagdarsürüng, Tsevel. 1974. “Mongolın Tsaatan Böögijn Tuxaj.” Aman Zoxiol Sudlal (Studia Folklorica) 8(6). Ulaanbaatar. Salzman, Philip Carl. 2004. Pastoralists, Equality, Hierarchy and the State. New York: Westview Press. Sasaki, Shiro. 2011. “Sacred Places and Masters of Hunting Luck in the Forest Worlds of the Udege People of the Russian Far East.” In Landscape and Culture in Northern Eurasia, edited by P. Jordan, 257–79. Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press. Scott, Colin. 2006. “Spirit and Practical Knowledge in the Person of the Bear among Wemindji Cree Hunters.” Ethnos: Journal of Anthropology 71(1): 51–66. Solnoi, Batulag, Purev Tsogtsaikhan, and Daniel Plumley. 2003. “Following the White Stag: The Dukha and Their Struggle for Survival.” Cultural Survival Quarterly 27(1): 56–58. Stammler, Florian. 2005. Reindeer Nomads Meet the Market: Culture, Property and Globalization at the End of the Land. Halle Studies in Anthropology of Eurasia vol. 6. Münster: Lid Publishers. ———. 2010. “Animal Diversity and Its Social Significance among Artic Pastoralists.” In Good to Eat, Good to Live With: Nomads and Animals in Northern Eurasia and Africa, edited by F. Stammler and H. Takakura, 215–43. Sendai: Center for Northeast Asian Studies, Tohoku University. Stammler, Florian, and Hiroki Takakura. 2010. “Introduction: Living with Animals as the Socially Significant Other in Pastoralism.” In Good to Eat, Good to Live With: Nomads and Animals in Northern Eurasia and Africa, edited by F. Stammler and H. Takakura, 1–18. Sendai: Center for Northeast Asian Studies, Tohoku University. Steffen Will, P. J. Crutzen, and John R. McNeil. 2007. “The Anthropocene: Are Humans Now Overwhelming the Great Forces of Nature?” Ambio 36(8): 614. Stepanoff, Charles. 2012. “Human-Animal “Joint Commitment” in a Reindeer Herding System.” Journal of Ethnographic Theory 2(2): 287–312. Sundueva, Ekaterina V., and Luda S. Dampilova. 2015. “The Semantics of the Word Khairkhan in a Turkic-Mongolian Ritual Event.” Türkbilig 29:77–87. Takakura, Hiroki. 2010. “Arctic Pastoralism in a Subsistence Continuum: A Strategy for Differentiating Familiarity with Animals.” In Good to Eat, Good to Live With: Nomads and Animals in Northern Eurasia and Africa, edited by F. Stammler and H. Takakura, 21–42. Sendai: Center for Northeast Asian Studies, Tohoku University.

218

REFERENCES

———. 2012. “The Shift from Herding to Hunting among the Siberian Evenki: Indigenous Knowledge and Subsistence Change in Northwestern Yakutia.” Asian Ethnology 71(1): 31–47. Tanner, Adrian. 1979. Bringing Home Animals: Religious Ideology and Mode of Production of the Mistassini Cree Hunters. London: C. Hurst & Co. Tatarintsev, Boris I. 2000. Etimology Dictionary of Tuvan Language, vol. 1. Novosibirk: Nauka. Tein, Tassan S. 1994. “Shamans of the Siberian Eskimos.” Arctic Anthropology 31(1): 117–25. Tuhiwai Smith, Linda.1999. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous People. Dunedin, NZ: University of Otoga Press. Turner, Edith. 1990. “The Whale Decides: Eskimos’ and Ethnographers’ Shared Consciousness on the Ice.” Etudes Inuit Studies 14(1–2): 39–52. Tylor, Edward B. 1913. Primitive Culture: Researches into the Development of Mythology, Philosophy, Religion, Language, Art and Custom. London: John Murray. Ullah, Isaac. 2005. Human-Animal Interactions and the Shift from Hunting to Herding. Toronto: University of Toronto. Vainshtein, Sevyan. 1980. Nomads of South Siberia: The Pastoral Economies of Tuva. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Venstel, Aimar. 2006. “Hunter-Herder Continuum in Anabarski District, New Sakha, Siberia, Russian Federation.” Nomadic Peoples 10(2): 68–86. Vitebsky, Piers. 2005. Reindeer People: Living with Animals and Spirits in Siberia. Glasgow: Harper Collins Publishers. Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo. 1998. “Cosmological Deixis and Amerindian Perspectivism.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 4(3): 469–88. Wheeler, W. Alan. 2000. “Lord of the Mongolian Taiga: An Ethnohistory of the Dukha Reindeer Herders.” Master’s thesis, Department of Central Eurasian Studies, Indiana University. Willerslev, Rane. 2004. “Not Animal, Not Not Animal: Hunting, Imitation and Empathetic Knowledge among the Siberian Yukaghirs.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 10(3): 629–52. ———. 2007. Soul Hunters: Hunting, Animism and Personhood among the Siberian Yukaghirs. Berkeley: University of California Press. Willerslev, Rane, and Olga Ulturgasheva. 2012. “Revisiting the Animism versus Totemism Debate: Fabricating Persons among the Eveny and Chukchi of North-Eastern Siberia.” In Animism in Rainforest and Tundra Personhood: Animals, Plants and Things in Contemporary Amazonia and Siberia, edited by M. Brightman, V. E. Grotti, and O. Ulturgasheva, 82–95. New York: Berghahn Books. Woodburn, J. 1982. “Egalitarian Societies.” Man, n.s., 17(3): 431–51. ———. 1998. “Sharing Is Not a Form of Exchange: An Analysis of Property-Sharing in Immediate-Return Hunter-Gatherer Societies.” In Property Relations: Renewing the Anthropological Tradition, edited by C. M. Hann, 48–63. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ziker, John P. 2003. “Assigned Territories, Family/Clan/Communal Holdings, and Common-Pool Resources in the Taimyr Autonomous Region, Northern Russia.” Human Ecology 31(3): 331–68.

INDEX

iii ancestors, 8, 12, 29–30, 38, 41, 97, 105, 119, 147, 206 ancestral sites (daïlga), 37, 38 tree, 39 Anderson, David G., 33 animal agency, 7–9, 128, 131, 143, 151 behaviors, 6, 105 bones, 40, 129, 145, 167–69 carcass, 136, 145 masters, 134, 140, 144–45, 163 rebirth, 129, 145 tracking, 150–52 animism, 7–9, 30–40, 130–32 anthropocene, 3, 4 antlers of elk, 123, 182, 183 of reindeer, 21, 59, 83, 106, 119 of wild animals, 141, 202 art, 66, 169, 173, 175 autonomy of animals, 15, 53, 61, 105, 130 of dogs, 156, 160 of people, 17, 97, 178, 189, 190, 192 Avilan, 36, 37 Batïqšan, 36, 37 Beach, Hugh, 11, 14, 50, 52, 53, 70, 72, 89, 128, 140, 145 bear, 145–148

Bekoff, Marc, 6, 105 Berger, John, 41 bilateral gift-giving, 14, 134–136 bilingual, 17 borders, 16, 18, 19, 27, 30, 39, 94, 95, 200–203 Buddhism, 40, 84, 109 calves, 64, 76–78 delivery of, 78–80 camps, 93, 98 carvings, 21 cash, 19, 20, 199 ceremonial scarf (khadag), 38, 40, 41, 84, 145, 173 cheese, 19, 77, 121–22 climate change, 21, 67, 76, 81, 87, 94, 150 collecting plants, 17 collectivization campaign, 18, 19 communication through divination, 167–72 with dogs, 54, 55 through dreams, 173–75 with geography, 33, 41 with people, 23 with spirits, 207 confrontation, 15–16, 136–38 conservation, 11, 140, 197–204 contemporary life, 20–21, 113–20 controlled breeding, 52 cultural shock, 118 culture and nature dichotomy, 3–6

220

INDEX

death as bilateral gift giving, 14–15, 134–36 deception, 15–16, 136 Descola, 27 dignity, 53, 139 disrespectful, 32, 72, 140, 144, 147, 182, 202 divination, 167–75 with bones, 168–71 with stones, 171–72 dogs, 155 and autonomy, 156 as guard, 155 in hunting, 157–58 naming, 155 and people, 154–57 as protection, 158 Siberian, 154 and the spirit world, 158 training, 158–60 domesticated-wild dichotomy, 55–58 dreams, 162, 172–75 drum, 51, 110 dual form, 37 Dukha history, 18–21 language (Dukhan), 17, 23, 24, 29, 55, 57, 59, 105, 120, 155 tent (alaȷˇï ög), 17, 192, 207, 208 egalitarian, 8, 14, 17, 70, 178, 181 elders, 17–20, 39, 93, 113–15 elk, 34, 123, 142, 143, 145, 149, 152, 170, 182 encampments, 30 encounter between hunter and prey, 15, 132, 140, 147, 150 ethical dilemmas, 24 ethnocentrism, 8, 27, 28 evolution, 5 exchange, 128, 130, 133 familiarity, 57, 68, 159, 206 fence, 87 Fijn, Natasha, 67, 84, 102, 109 fishing, 150 spear, 152 food, 18, 21, 48, 50–54, 72, 106–07, 120, 133, 138, 154–56, 179, 181–82, 187–89

funeral rites, 41 future, 117 generosity, 179, 182–83, 185, 187 geographical locations, 30 government, 10, 18–20, 28, 93, 95, 118–19, 193–95, 197 Hallowell, Irving, 7, 130, 146 healing, 35, 36, 37, 148 health care, 19, 94 mental, 72 of people, 135, 148 problems, 37, 81, 117, 119, 142 of the reindeer, 21, 22, 79, 205 hearth, 207, 208 herd size, 87–89 herding techniques in autumn, 82 in spring, 76 in summer, 80 in winter, 85 Heywood, Paolo, 9 hierarchy, 14, 160, 181 home, 28, 42, 56–58, 62, 153, 170, 172, 174, 197, 202, 206–8 household, 14, 22, 23, 47, 71, 101, 110, 154, 167, 192, 207–8 human, exceptionalism, 5 supremacy, 4 human-animal boundary, 6–9, 130–32, 145–48 hunter and motivation, 184–85 and prey, 128–32, 136 hunter-gatherers, 4, 7, 8, 10, 16, 49 and animals, 131 and conservation, 140, 198 and geography, 27, 198 and hierarchy, 178 and sharing, 179 and trust in nature, 133 hunting ban, 197–204 as bilateral gift giving, 14–15, 134–36

INDEX

as confrontation, 136–37 danger of, 144 dilemmas in, 132–33 expectation in, 162 as a gift, 128–30, 133, 144, 145, 166, 178, 191 humbleness in, 136–37, 162, 178–79 magic, 141–143 moral conflict in, 133 morality in, 163 from the perspective of women, 191–93 preparing for, 136–38 reciprocity in, 128–29 as regulating the relations, 177–93 respect in, 132–48 rituals after, 143–45 rules of conduct in, 128, 130, 133, 135, 139–48 seduction in, 15, 130, 141 for socializing, 189–91 subsistence, 128 success, 15, 16, 39, 43, 127–39, 141, 144, 157, 163–65, 173–79, 187–89, 193 techniques, 150–53

221

as home, 27–31 memories about, 30–31 as a mental map, 29–31 as an open cemetery, 40–41 and reindeer domestication, 12–13, 42–43 spirited, 31–40 land spirit ( ˇer ȷ eezi), 2, 33, 34, 135, 145, 165, 178, 190 and reindeer, 106–108 legend, 29, 36, 37 leveling mechanism, 181 life stories, 120–23, 193–95 linguistic restrictions, 138, 147 livestock, 19, 20, 42, 50, 54, 57, 68 luck collective, 163 in hunting, 161–67

Khairkhan, 138, 145–47 Khövsgöl province, 16 kinship, 72, 103, 130, 132, 146 knowledge gap, 202

marginalized, 118 market economy, 20, 59 medicine, 148, 182, 201 methodology, 22–24 migration, 89–99 and autonomy, 95–98 deciding to, 95 packing during, 97 spiritual factors in, 97–98 milk (milking), 10, 16, 19, 49, 55, 56, 65–66, 77, 79, 80–89, 103, 106, 109–10, 115, 121–22, 173 misfortune, 23, 135, 137, 139 mobility, 92 money, 20, 118, 122–23, 183–84, 187, 199–201 Mongolian calendar, 76, 94 moose, 16, 149–50, 152, 159, 163–64, 170, 173, 194, 200 mosquitos, 14, 76–77, 81–82, 151 mountains, 12, 29–31, 33–38, 42, 49, 63, 80, 86, 87, 91, 107, 122, 195 myths about reindeer, 105–8

lakes, 16, 29, 33–35, 121, 123, 152, 153, 204 lama, 40, 109 landscape attachment to, 41–42 as an embracing point, 12–13, 206

Nadasdy, Paul, 8, 15, 128–29, 135, 188 neighbor, 98, 181–82, 193, 206, 208 negdel, 19, 122 new moon, 39, 108, 110, 163 nightmare, 34, 35

identity, 28, 89, 132, 136, 208–9 illness, 71, 135, 207 imaginary mental map, 27–29 indigenous people, 7–10, 28, 197–98, 203 Ingold, Tim, 4, 5, 7, 8, 16, 48–54, 111, 128–29, 131, 133, 140, 163, 178–79, 182, 185, 198, 204 Inuit, 129, 134, 146, 180 juniper leaves, 15, 65, 79, 84, 109, 137, 161, 163

222

INDEX

nomadic pastoralism, 92 nurturing control, 13–14, 60–62, 70–73 offerings to nature, 32, 128, 138 ontologies, 8, 9 overhunting, 140, 203 Paine, Robert, 11, 87, 89, 149 parenting, 14, 71–73 participant observation, 22, 23, 103 pasture, 59, 63, 64, 68, 82–83, 92–93, 104, 203 personhood, 6, 7 of animals, 15, 102, 132, 148 in hunting, 130–32, 135, 143 perspectivism, 14, 15, 131, 134 Peterson, 187 place names, 29–30 political dimensions of knowledge, 8 pollution, 40 power of animals, 4, 7, 42, 52, 53, 111, 163 of dreams, 175 dynamics between people and reindeer, 14, 71, 73 emotional, 14 healing, 35 of landscape, 33, 34, 171–72 parental, 14 among people, 168, 178–79, 181, 190 of spirits, 133 prey, 29, 34, 38–40, 106–7, 108, 138, 147, 155, 163, 166–67, 193, 203, 208 predator, 52, 53 pregnant animals, 71, 135, 139, 141, 150, 164, 173, 202 reindeer, 1, 2, 60, 78, 98 prestige, 179, 180, 183–85, 187 prison, 197, 200, 203 protection, 33–35, 52 from wolves, 67–70, 111, 143, 158, 198, 208 punishment, 35, 70, 135, 181, 184 purification, 15–16, 136–37 rangers, 158, 199–202 raven, 40, 164

reindeer (ivi) and artificial feeding, 62 birth, 78–79 breeding, 83–84 castration, 84–85 character of, 103–5 controlling, 62, 70–73 drawings, 49 and historical bond between people, 102, 119 and human, 48–51 inheritance, 119 and intimate relations with people, 101, 119 milking, 65 myths, 107 and naming, 102 origin stories of, 107 placenta, 78–79 riding, 65–66 sacred, 108, 111 semi-domesticated, 54 slaughter, 16, 19, 72, 121, 165, 188, 194 social significance of, 101 training, 64 tying, 64–65 reindeer domestication exceptional situation of, 53 and morphological change, 54 origins of, 48 and tameness, 53 reindeer pastoralism in Eurasia, 50 large-scale, 50 Sayan type, 16, 49, 66 small scale, 40, 50, 72 reciprocity between hunter and prey, 128 with nature, 40–41 between people and reindeer, 52 in sharing, 188 research questions, 9–11 respect in hunting, 132, 148 the reindeer, 71, 72, 111, 115 spirits, 36–39 riding, 10, 16, 49, 65–67, 94, 164 rifles, 152, 190

INDEX

river, 3, 16, 29, 30–33 Russia, 16, 18, 19, 30, 39, 200, 203 sacred, 12, 24, 34, 39, 40, 99, 108–11, 140, 145, 147, 193, 200, 203, 205, 208 Sayan mountains, 49 scapulimancy, 168–70 scarecrows, 86, 87 school, 18–20, 93, 113, 115, 117, 119, 120–21, 195, 199 seasonal cycles, 75–87 sedentary life, 113, 115–16 sentient ecology, 33 shamanic ritual, 37–39, 40, 142, 166–67, 172, 207 and language, 17 for sacred reindeer, 109–110 shaman song, 141–43 shamanic totem (eeren), 30, 41, 108–9, 138, 144, 207 for game luck, 166–67 sharing changes in, 183–84 demand, 187–89 game meat, 178–83 in hunting, 129–30 joy of, 184–87 with spirits, 163 sky burial, 40 smart phones, 20, 113, 115, 174 social conflict, 200 construction, 9, 72, 132 organization, 17 socialism, 18–19, 39, 123, 204 song, 141–43 South Siberia, 16, 49, 149 souvenirs, 21, 87 spirited animals, 139–41 spirited places, 31–43, 140–41 evil (azalïg ˇer), ȷ 35 hard, 33, 34 soft, 33, 35 spirits bag, 109–10 of the deceased, 41 and dogs, 156–58

223

and hunting luck, 162–65 and hunting, 128, 130–40, 143–44 and landscape, 31 offering to, 84 and reindeer, 107–8 trusting, 133–34 and wolves, 69 See also spirited places Stammler, Florian, 11, 12, 14, 50–53, 70, 72, 89, 128, 140, 145 starvation, 133–34 state herders, 19 Stepanoff, Charles, 52, 53 stinginess, 182, 188 stones, 35, 166, 171–72 stubborn (omaq) reindeer, 56–58, 64 subsistence slaughter, 72, 121, 188 taboo, 8, 34–35, 37, 40, 71, 115, 133, 135, 139, 140, 143, 150, 173–74, 193 taiga as home, 27–31, 42 names, 29 See also landscape tameness, 53, 56–57, 61, 64, 205 through salt, 62, 63 tame ( ˇaaš), ȷ 56 tea, 16, 32, 41, 47, 92, 108–10, 115, 138, 162, 191, 201, 207 technology, 115, 153 television, 20, 58, 94, 113, 119 Tengis-Shishged national park, 198 tension, 133, 183, 190 theoretical discussions, 11–16 totem, 38, 108, 207 tourism, 20, 21, 94, 118, 188 Tozhu, 16 transformation, 51, 131 transition from hunting to herding, 50, 51, 55 transition period, 17, 20, 87, 113–20 transportation, 16, 49, 50, 55, 89, 199 trap, 151–53 trusting spirits, 132–33, 165 Tsaatan, 18 Tsagaannuur Sum, 17, 122, 199, 200, 203 Turkish, 23, 24 coffee, 168

224

INDEX

Tuvan republic, 16, 17, 18, 39 Tylor, Edward, 7

Ulan Bator, 114, 118–19 university, 20, 118–19, 199 urine, 63–64 Vainstein, Sevyan, 16, 49 valleys, 27–31, 33, 38, 47, 60, 81–82, 86–87, 94, 200, 202 village, 14, 17–21, 28, 40, 59, 63, 68, 81, 85–86, 93–94, 113, 115, 117–19 violence, 128, 133, 138 Vitebsky, Piers, 42, 48–49, 54, 59, 107 Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo, 15, 131, 134

wasting, 34, 72, 140, 144, 152, 170, 202 water, 34, 36, 77, 80, 91–93, 98, 114, 139, 173–74 wealth, 181 wild areas, 27, 28 wild reindeer ( ˇerlik ȷ aŋ), 13, 49, 50, 54, 56–59, 159, 206 wilderness, 27, 189 wildernization, 13, 57–58 wolves (börü), 62, 67–70 women and gender, 17 Woodburn, J., 97, 132, 178–79, 181 World War II, 18 Yenisei area, 49 young people, 17, 20, 113–19, 150, 152, 183–86, 189, 191–92