By Madronna Holden
What Traditional Stories and Ceremony Can Teach us About Sustainable Technology
On April 17, 2011, the Willamette River flowed past the EWEB Plaza in Eugene, Oregon, in great swells, rolling up over its banks and swirling through wetlands of willows– full of of itself for the annual river blessing led by Siletz Takelma elder Agnes Baker Pilgrim, chair of the Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers.
For 22,000 years, Grandma Aggie told those gathered to take part in the blessing ceremony, her Takelma ancestors had lived in the Rogue River valley south of here, which they felt the Creator had shaped especially for them.
It was with “sick hearts”, a Rogue River man explained, that they moved at the hands of soldiers to the Siletz Reservation so many miles away. It was a sickness, an early reservation official wrote, that was serious indeed– since many who suffered it died as a result. One man begged that if he might just have one more look at his land, he would be satisfied. But these are the points of history I am adding here. Grandma Aggie doesn’t call attention to them.
She has no rancor over this: what is done is done, she says, and none of us were there. Now we need to go forward in love for one another—and care for the earth that sustains us all. Over a century after her people were confined on the reservation surrounded by military forts to prevent them from attempting to go home, Grandma Aggie felt the call of the land and returned to live in her people’s homeland, reviving the ancient salmon ceremony there.
Her people’s ancient story of the salmon, Grandma Aggie says. taught her the salmon were people just like us who sacrifice themselves for our well-being. It was this story that motivated her to dedicate herself to freeing the local rivers of dams and pollution. Now all the dams are removed from the Rogue and it runs free its entire length.
But there is much yet to do to care for the waters of the world yet.
Grandma Aggie is fond of saying that we are all “water babies”—and through the water that gives us life we are all connected. Thus she honors the requests of communities throughout the Northwest to bless their local rivers; bringing the message that working for the well-being of the rivers is working for our own well-being.
She warns us not to complain of the rain that settled over the Northwest this past week, but to speak well of water that is precious—and disappearing from so many parts of the world where she and the indigenous grandmothers have traveled. How we speak of the rain, she said, is how we speak to the water in ourselves.
As we circle close by the river and Grandma Aggie pours into it the waters of the other rivers of the world she has visited, I am struck by the simplicity and reverence of the traditions represented here. A man at Grandma’s side prays to be one of the men who supports the work of the grandmothers, as men everywhere should be– and he tries to teach his boys. Many who speak are choked with tears as they speak of their grief for the hurting earth and ask forgiveness of the living water for allowing its pollution.
We should treat the water as a “god”, Grandma Aggie tells us, with the reverence due that which gives us life.
Lest some of us get caught up in struggles over terms, we might use Grandma Aggie’s model of openness as she participates in the ceremonies of the other indigenous grandmothers, praying to the Creator with these words, “These ways are not my ways, but help me to gain something from them, too.”
Treating water as a “god” means listening to the natural world in a way that has pragmatic pay offs. Grandma Aggie predicted the problems with disease among hatchery salmon before modern science verified it.
The people who lived with their land for 22,000 years expressed the vital humility that allowed them to attend to the natural lives that sustained them–and thus to live in a way that supported the abundance and fertility of their lands.
“Grandfather, help us keep the rivers clean for the sake of all the swimmers”, Grandma Aggie prays, as an eagle circles overhead, swallows circle the water in droves (flitting away after the ceremony), and ducks bobble up on the bubbling water as if to learn closer to her words. At their presence, Grandma Aggie smiles the same smile she gives to children when she says she is “everybody’s Grandma”.
And for that moment, we are all part of a web of life that is whole.
Grandma Aggie’s stance exemplifies a technology of reverence: a technology that brings lives together. If technology’s purpose is to extend our reach in the world, sustainable technology should extend our sight as well. Thus the story-technology of Grandma Aggie’s people reminds us that what we do touches other lives that are like our own in value and meaning—and upon which our own lives depend.
It is a technology that extends human reach by strengthening bonds of intimacy: and thus motivating humans to act in a way that protects the precious fabric of life—a goal which Grandma Aggie specifically reminds us
Last October, the Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers were in Japan, in the precise location where the devastating earthquake was to strike—and the continuing nuclear emergency emerged. In the wake of those disasters, Grandma Aggie recalls that the Japanese peoples were the most generous and hospitable she has ever met. It is one way to understand this tragedy: to see it as happening to people with kind human faces. Grandma Aggie told me of meeting another “Aggie” in Japan. This Aggie told Grandma Aggie she had dreamt of her coming and was anxious to meet her, since she bore the same name.
There is a profound metaphor in this story Aggie shares with simple delight: an understanding that each of us has a potential namesake in the lands we conceive of as most distant– and in the lives we might think of as different from our own human ones– like the salmon. Shortly before, she reminded me again how hearing that the salmon were people who sacrificed themselves to sustain human lives impelled her to care for the river and its swimmers.
It was such traditional stories that created culture: that gave us physically puny humans the edge in adaptation. If this past teaches us anything, it is that the tools we use should bring us closer to understanding the long term and long rang results of our actions.
Blessing the river is that kind of technology: a ceremony that reminds us of our connection to one another and to the vital sources of our lives. It is about “spreading the word”, as Grandma Aggie asks us to do on leaving the ceremony—“so that everyone will know what went on here”. So that everyone can join this community, feeling the hope and purpose of caring for the water that sustains us all.
By this criterion our contemporary technology doesn’t always fare so well. Instead of making the results of our actions more visible to us, it cushions us from them. We don’t understand the vulnerability of our water when we just turn on a faucet to have it magically appear.
Shortly after the nuclear accident at Fukushima, a newscaster questioned a local man who lamented that since radiation is invisible, local people had no idea how to respond to it. This is not just the nature of radiation: it is the way in which nuclear technology has been put into practice, based on secrecy and distancing, as detailed in too many unfortunate incidents in what Arjun Makhijani, co-editor of the MIT Press publication, Nuclear Wasteland, terms the “readiness to harm”.
We express such a “readiness to harm” toward those we think less valuable than ourselves—or those who are invisible to us. If sustainable technology has made the the invisible visible, gives voice to the voiceless (in Grandma Aggie’s words), then technology that truncates our vision does the opposite: leading to the multiple crises that come as unpleasant surprises to us in the present age.
Our contemporary crises and the contrasting indigenous success challenge us to re-shape our technology to make the results of our actions transparent, to extend our reach and power in the world even as we extend our compassion and wisdom.
Filed under: Contrasting worldviews, environmental philosophy, Our Earth and Ourselves | Tagged: Agnes Baker Pilgrim, Fourth Annual Willamette River Blessing, indigenous environmental values, Japanese nuclear disaster, sustainable technology, Thirteen indigenous grandmothers |