"Tradition" is a Moving Target

I've often fantasized having a bumper sticker on the back of my car with the words tradition is a moving target.  People often think of traditions, or traditional people as somehow frozen, a fixed form rigidly reproduced set by authority at some unspecified time in the distant past.  Essentialized and objectified.  Such readings of "tradition" figure largely in determinations of aboriginal rights, of allowed and disallowed techniques of harvesting and using fish and animals and berries, of relationships to landscape (which has relevance both in popular discourse and in treaty negotiations and court cases).  Such notions also figure in judgements of what is "authentic" or "inauthentic" in Aboriginal arts and crafts.  I recently viewed a video on German Indian re-enactment posted on the web by a Canadian First Nations woman.... the German participants used considerable rhetoric about how Indigenous North Americans, and their knowledges, were endangered and disappearing, and how these German admirers were preserving and carrying on the traditions....somehow failing to acknowledge living Indigenous North Americans, and their agency in moving their cultures, arts and identities into the present and future.  "Preserving the knowledge of the Elders"– something that has in fact occupied a good deal of my professional life– does not negate creativity, adaptation, resilience, or changing meanings and contexts.  And I have always striven to show that people I work with are contemporary Canadians, my teachers, friends, collaborators and sometimes neighbours.  Their knowledge is not fossil knowledge of the past, but knowledge that can be brought forward for now, and for the future.
Use of new materials, for example, does not render art less "authentic"; the authenticity resides in who creates it, in its meaning, in intent and purpose, in linkage with past in which it is rooted.  Silk screen prints, for example, were not a traditional way to depict Northwest Coast crests, which were displayed on wooden screens, in woven dance blankets (gwiis halaayt or Chilkat blankets)....in making this statement we run into two difficulties: one, what is the relevant time horizon for "traditional"? and two, in what way is the new hybrid form of silk screen prints made by Indigenous artists depicting Indigenous themes not traditional?  (Even the question of production of art or craft for sale is certainly now "traditional" if we can take practices from the 18th and 18th centuries as "traditional." Certainly in terms of cuisine, for example, no one would argue that boxty, made of potatoes that originated in Peru, is not traditional Irish fare, and certainly no one would contest the traditional nature of a Thanksgiving dinner featuring turkey, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce, all introduced to European and Euro-American cuisine in the 16th and 17th centuries.)  Museums and collectors all accept these art pieces as "traditional".

Another example of "tradition" that comes to mind is the beautiful appliqued art form usually known as "button blanket" (gwiis gan mala).  (The blanket shown here is a Haida example from a Totempole raising and Longhouse dedication in June of 1978.  It's iconic to me because of the contemporary context, and the presence of the little girl, now probably 40 years old). Abalone shell was a treasured embellishment on the Northwest Coast long before the advent of European trade goods.  Crest form chiefly blankets displaying prerogative and authority displaying appliqued House, Clan or moiety crests are widespread up and down the Northwest Coast, and are certainly taught in traditional form by older knowledgeable women teaching younger ones how to cut, applique and embellish the blankets, though fulled red, navy or black woolen cloth is certainly not Pre-Contact.  Social relations in who draws the pattern, and who stitches blankets for whom continue to display ancient patterns of clan or house reciprocity and gender roles as well. Now I have learned that people use computer applications to draft complex and precise patterns for the appliqued figures.  Hybridity, and evolving tradition both. So tradition is not a reified set of practices, or products, it is a process which creates linkage between past and future through the constantly shifting moment of the present.
Iain Davidson-Hunt and Michael O'Flaherty have described cultural landscape as emergent in a similar vein.  Contesting now entrenched notions of heritage conservation as the preservation of things, of forms, they contend that preservation of cultural landscapes must instead by approached from the perspective of the set of relationships between people and land, and the customary practices (themselves evolving) that have shaped, and continue to shape the land.  The relationships are what is required to create and maintain a cultural landscape.  Many traditional peoples are deeply in relationship with their homelands, conceiving of themselves as part of the land (for example, Catherine McClellan and Council of Yukon Indians book on Yukon First Nations in the last quarter of the 20th century is entitled part of the Land, Part of the Water).  I discussed these issues in an earlier blog on the Hortobagy Salt Steppe World Heritage Site in Hungary, and I've also written of these matters in Trail of Story, Traveller's Path, Reflections on Ethnoecology and Landscape (available through Creative Commons on the AUPress Website at http://www.aupress.ca/index.php/books/120163).
The difference of perspective on what heritage conservation is speaks to conceptual separation or integration of humans the land, and the other entities that share it, that is, whether people are part of ecosystems, in webs of relationship with the biophysical environment and integral to the environments of which they form a part, or separate from them and potentially destructive of a pure and vulnerable "nature".   The crux of the matter, then, is are we part of "Nature", or separate from, and potentially destructive of it?  Are relationships with the land, with the natural world, so to speak, to be conceived of as relationships of mutually supporting entities, or will "Nature" be stripped of all of its richness, its rights, its agency to be objectified and commodified, to be bought and sold, reduced to monetary value and universal exchange? How will we deal with the rights and relationships of Indigenous peoples to homelands in our complicated pastiche of nation states, settlers, immigrants, migrants and globalization?

a Visit to the Salt Steppe in Hungary- ancient cultural landscape

The Salt Steppe (puszta) of the Hortobágy in Eastern Hungary is a wide grass dominated plain of low relief. The Tisza River meanders north and west to it. The local relief, though only a couple of meters, creates subtle and intricate gradients of moisture and salt, with the higher loess dominated areas relatively fertile and the depth to saline layers relatively large. Low lying places are dominated by marsh vegetation and standing water (reeds, bullrushes and the like). The intermediate elevations are alternately wet and dry, and hypersaline, with white salt crusts on the ground between sparse clumps of fescue. My friend and colleague Zsolt Molnár studies the herders’ knowledge of plant communities and environmental variation, matters of deep concern to them because of the subtleties of forage plant value, timing of availability to their herds, quantity and spatial distribution of forage through the year. This open area is also very rich in bird life, and tourists and nature lovers from throughout Europe come to visit this landscape. It has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and is a National Park within Hungary. This ecosystem has also been home to humans for thousands of years, and the activities of humans have shaped, and continue to shape, the landscape. The activities of pastoralists have pervasive and often subtle effects on the landscapes that are grazed. The traditional knowledge of the behaviour and needs of the flocks and herds, and the nature and response of the vegetation and landscape, are part of what makes the continuing co-existence of people and landscape possible. Heritage breeds of animals, expecially the long horned Hungarian Gray cattle, and the incongruously curly-haired Mangalitza pigs are also conserved in the Hortobágy. It is apparent that herding has been going on in this landscape for a minimum of 1200 years, and likely for far longer. The Magyars were horse riding herding people who settled in the region about 900 AD, coming from Central Asia, and continuing pastoral traditions of that region. Likely herding peoples were in this landscape already before the Magyars settled. The features of the Hortobágy, then, that led to its preservation are born of a continuing relationship of people and land. The disturbance regime, if you will, that creates and maintains this landscape is one of human and animal activity, a pastoral regime, repeated in a sustainable way through time. This interaction is supported by tacit and embodied knowledge, learned through practice and close observation. Herders, Molnár finds, are not learning their trade and practices through formal education. Their knowledge, however, is often not perceived nor valued by formally trained managers, biologists, or park personel. Molnár’s research established that herders and biologists alike recognize the same groupings of grasses, forbs and marshy graminoid plants, and see the same drivers. Their actual classifications differed somewhat, because the herders’ primary concern is forage quality and distribution, where the botanists are more concerned about predicting the distribution of vascular plant species. Maintenance of the land requires the herders, and even the Park staff and managers of the UNESCO site have recognized that traditional herding activities are the best way to maintain the character of the landscape and vegetation. The herders we visited were herding cattle. Jóska is a young herder, bicultural, if you will, in that he was traditionally trained and also formally studied nature conservation. Although there has been a drought and grass growth is much shorter than normal, when we visited, it was pouring rain. Jóska, rain poncho clad, and his two dogs were at work, watching and moving the herd of 187 cows, calves and heifers that he manages for a consortium of 5 owners. His cattle are an all purpose mix, part Hungarian Grey, but also Simmenthal and some other types, resulting in a Hungarian Coloured variety dating from the 19th century. These cattle thrive here, and produce both meat and milk. The cattle are corralled at night next to Jóska’s herder’s hut. The bull is penned separately, and services cows and heifers who come in season each morning. He is fed hay and does not range. When they leave the corral, the cattle choose they way they will go, and Jóska and dogs follow. They move within a large area that is not fenced, and herder and dogs keep the herd together, and keep them moving and feeding, I am not sure if anyone has examined the effects on plant productivity and species mix of this strategy of continuous cropping and movement. I would anticipate that it would reduce overgrazing in specific localities, maintaining high productivity and forage growth. There are seasonal aspects to where they graze too. Some areas are productive in spring, but later barren and saline (pH 9 or 10!). The wetlands are likely grazed at the end of the season when more palatable and nutritious forage is gone. In the past herds were moved from the Hortobagy into the adjacent sand hill area in winter, but owing to changes in land tenure and the policy environment, this no longer occurs, and the herd remains in the Hortobágy to be fed on hay in the winter. There are fewer herds than in the past. Formerly, there were herds of horses, cattle, sheep and swine on the Hortobágy. Herders complain that some areas are becoming overgrown by willows and scrub, especially along the river channel banks, because there is not enough grazing. I found that the way of herding cattle differed significantly from what I have observed and briefly participated in North America. Cattle were not left to roam at will in a large fenced pasture or extensive range, but instead were actively herded and constantly attended during daily bouts of feeding on the pasture. The dogs are mixed breed and highly intelligent working dogs, closely attuned to the herder with whom they work and to the behaviour of the animals. The dogs respond to visual cues from the herder, the position of the staff indicating direction dogs are to go, or that they are to return to the herder. A staff raised to the left means that the dogs go to the left, and contain cattle movement on that side of the herd. The herders may use whistling or voice command, e.g. to send a dog or to restrain an eager dog that wants to engage in a herding movement against the judgement of the herder. But a good herder often directs his dogs with very little movements of hand and barely audible sound. The dogs know how to keep the herd together, turn the herd, and cut off strays or small groups that try to move away from the mass of cattle. Jóska sent both dogs for a large movement of the herd, and only one to contain just a few animals. I'm going to include some photos so you can get a sense of the place, the experience and the way of life.

Hungarian Gray Cattle, a heritage breed. Photo by Leslie Main Johnson

The herder Jóska with his dogs, accompanied by Viktor, Leslie, Anna, and Andras. Photo by Zsolt Molnár. References: Molnár, Zsolt. Forthcoming (2012). Classification of Pasture Habitats by Hungarian Herders in a Steppe Landscape (Hungary). Journal of Ethnobiology and Ethnomedicine (available on-line) Molnár, Zs. (2012). Traditional Ecological Knowledge of Herders on the Flora and Vegetation of the Hortobágy. Hortobágy Természetvédelmi Közalapítvány, Debrecen.