Emscat 2984

Études mongoles et sibériennes,
centrasiatiques et tibétaines
49 | 2018
Human-environment relationships in Siberia and
Northeast China. Knowledge, rituals, mobility and
politics among the Tungus peoples, followed by
Varia
Relations humains-environnement en Sibérie et en Chine du Nord-Est. Savoirs,
rituels, mobilité et politiques chez les peuples toungouses, suivi de Varia
Electronic version
URL: https://journals.openedition.org/emscat/2984
DOI: 10.4000/emscat.2984
ISSN: 2101-0013
Publisher
Centre d'Etudes Mongoles & Sibériennes / École Pratique des Hautes Études
Electronic reference
Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018, “Human-environment
relationships in Siberia and Northeast China. Knowledge, rituals, mobility and politics among the
Tungus peoples, followed by Varia” [Online], Online since 20 December 2018, connection on 13 July
2021. URL: https://journals.openedition.org/emscat/2984; DOI: https://doi.org/10.4000/emscat.2984
This text was automatically generated on 13 July 2021.
© Tous droits réservés

1
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Human-environment relationships in Siberia and Northeast China. Knowledge,

rituals, mobility and politics among the Tungus peoples
Human-nature relationships in the Tungus societies of Siberia and Northeast China

Alexandra Lavrillier, Aurore Dumont and Donatas Brandišauskas
Ethno-historical retrospectives
The French of the Tundra. Early modern European views of the Tungus in translation
Jan Borm
Evenki migrations in early times and their relationship with rivers

Wure’ertu
The folks next door. Russian settlers and Evenki of the upper flow of the Lower Tunguska
(19th-early 21st century)
Anna A. Sirina
Indigenous knowledge, skills, mobilities and political landscapes
An emic science of climate. Reindeer Evenki environmental knowledge and the notion of an
“extreme process”
Alexandra Lavrillier and Semen Gabyshev
Visiting Memorial Tree. Micro-geopolitics of an Evenki place composed and performed

Gail Fondahl
Are the Evenki reindeer herders still nomads? The alternate use of different types of spaces
in Inner Mongolia, China
Aurore Dumont
From hunters to herders. Reflections on the “Ecological Migration” of the Chinese Evenki
reindeer herders
Yuanyuan Xie
Human and animal individuals’ personhood, ritual practices and luck
The gluttons of eastern Siberia. Spirits, poachers, and cannibals in Evenki perceptions
Donatas Brandišauskas
Tiger rituals and beliefs in shamanic Tungus-Manchu cultures

Tatiana Bulgakova
Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

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The wild at home and the magic of contact. Stories about wild animals and spirits from
Amudisy Evenki hunters and reindeer herders
Veronika V. Simonova
Varia
An exploration of a Tibetan lama’s study of the Pythagorean theorem in the

mid-18th century
Lobsang Yongdan
Comptes rendus
Barstow Geoffrey, Food of Sinful Demons. Meat, Vegetarianism and the Limits of
Buddhism in Tibet
New York, Columbia University Press, 2017, 289 pages, ISBN 9780231179966
Katia Buffetrille
Braae Christel, Among Herders of Inner Mongolia. The Haslund-Christensen

Collection at the National Museum of Denmark
Aarhus, Lancaster & Oakville (CT), The Carlsberg Foundation’s Nomad Research Project/Aarhus University Press,
2017, 617 pages, 748 illustrations, ISBN 978-87-7934-395-5
Isabelle Charleux
Teleki Krisztina, Introduction to the study of Urga’s heritage

Ulaanbaatar, Mongolian Academy of Sciences, Institute of History and Archaeology & International Association for
Mongol Studies, 2015, 496 pages, 119 illustrations, ISBN 978-99973-0-748-4
Isabelle Charleux
Balci Bayram, Renouveau de l'islam en Asie centrale et dans le Caucase

Paris, CNRS Éditions, 2017, 320 pages, préface d'Olivier Roy, ISBN 978-2-271-09340-0
Anne Ducloux
Stolpe Ines, Nordby Judith & Gonzales Ulrike (éds), Mongolian Responses to
Globalisation Processes
Berlin, EB-Verlag, 2017, 255 pages, ISBN 978-3-86893-233-1
Antoine Maire

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Résumés de thèses
Clément Jacquemoud, Diversité religieuse en République de l’Altaï : concurrences et

convergences. Enquête sur le renouveau religieux des Altaïens de la République de l’Altaï
(Fédération de Russie)
Raphaël Blanchier, Les danses mongoles en héritage : performance et transmission du bii

biêlgee et de la danse mongole scénique en Mongolie contemporaine
Hommage
Hommage à l’ethnomusicologue Henri Lecomte (1938-2018)

Émilie Maj

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Alexandra Lavrillier, Aurore Dumont and Donatas Brandišauskas (dir.)
Human-environment relationships in
Siberia and Northeast China.
Knowledge, rituals, mobility and
politics among the Tungus peoples
Relations humains-environnement en Sibérie et en Chine du Nord-Est. Savoirs, rituels, mobilité et politiques
chez les peuples toungouses

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Human-nature relationships in the

Tungus societies of Siberia and
Northeast China
Relations humains-nature chez les sociétés toungouses de Sibérie et de Chine du
Nord-Est
Alexandra Lavrillier, Aurore Dumont and Donatas Brandišauskas
1 Though the Tungus are dispersed all over Siberia and Northeast China and practice
various economic activities, such as hunting, reindeer herding, horse breeding, fishing,
and dog breeding, they can be regarded as a coherent cultural and linguistic group;
more surprisingly, in the People’s Republic of China (PRC), they are also occupied with
agriculture and Mongol pastoralism1. Thus, the Tungus, living as they do across the
borders of different provinces and states, allow us to conduct comparative ethnological
studies thanks to the differences and similarities between the regional groups. In
Siberia, they are the most scattered indigenous people. They speak different languages
of the Tungus-Manchu branch of the Altaic language family 2. Their cultures and
languages represent an exceptionally rich research field for anthropological
investigations, especially with regard to the theme of human-natural environment
relationships as manifested in human and nonhuman interactions, economic activities,
ecological knowledge and skills, adaptable mobilities, and the long history of
interrelations with dominant states. As a cradle of shamanism, hunting and reindeer
herding ritual practices, and cosmological perceptions, they provide tremendously
fruitful grounds for ethnographic research and the theoretical conceptualisation of
animism.
The Tungus and anthropology

2 The field of Tungus studies allows us to discuss many encounters on several levels,
from population movements to the history of anthropology in various strained political
contexts. It concerns the movement, separation, and then meeting again of the Tungus

6
through Sino-Russian conflicts and frontier management. The field also encompasses
the encounters and isolation of Russian, Western, and Chinese academic worlds during
the historical tensions of the Cold War. These scientific relationships consist of
collaborations, common foundations, long separations, and renewed encounters. These
factors have influenced the Tungus themselves, as well as the researchers and sciences
concerned.
3 From the 1950s, research on the Tungus people developed separately in the Soviet
Union and in the People’s Republic of China, where most of these small communities
live. Since the Tungus are spread throughout a huge territory that stretches from the
Ob valley to Sakhalin Island and from the Arctic Ocean in Siberia to the north of China
and Mongolia, the linguistic and anthropological researchers investigating them have
been correspondingly scattered across the world. The last pan-Tungus study dates back
to the 1930s and was conducted by the Russian ethnographer S. M. Shirokogoroff
(1887-1939), who emigrated to China after the Soviet takeover in Russia, where his life
ended3. Publishing mostly in English, he was often quoted by several well-known
Western anthropologists (see Shirokogoroff 1929, 1935)4. For several decades, Russian
researchers had very limited access to Shirokogoroff’s works in English because of the
lack of available copies of his voluminous oeuvre, political prohibition until the 1970s
and 1980s, and the language barrier. Only recently have they become accessible to all
Russian scholars thanks to the initiative of A. Sirina and V. Davydov from the Institute
of Ethnography and Anthropology (Russian Academy of Sciences – RAS) and the
Museum of Anthropology and Ethnography (Kunstkamera – RAS) (Sirina & Davydov
2017). With the support of two Russian grants and the contributions of A. N. Gorlin,
A. M. Pevnov, O. A. Povorozniuk, and V. V. Simonova, Shirokogoroff’s book The Social
Organization of the Northern Tungus has been translated with a commentary
(Shirokogorov 2017). D. Arzyutov and D. Anderson from Aberdeen University will soon
publish a significant contribution about Shirokogoroff’s unknown legacy, detailing his
theoretical ideas, visual techniques, and scientific biography, and providing access to
his letters, translations and research from his unpublished ethnographic accounts
(Arzyutov 2017a, 2017b, among others)
4 In China, Shirokogoroff’s famous book The Social Organization of the Northern Tungus was
translated into Chinese in 19855 ((Shi Luogo ([1929] 1979) 1985), more than thirty years
before the Russian version.
5 In Russia during the Soviet period, the Tungus were studied by remarkable
ethnographers who directly or indirectly emerged from the famous school of
anthropology founded by Sternberg and Bogoraz in 1917 at the State University of Saint
Petersburg, like G. M. Vasilevich, I. M. Suslov, A. F. Anisimov, V. A. Tugolukov 1969,
1980, I. S. Gurvich 1948, A. I. Mazin 1984, and others (see the many quotations in this
volume), all of whom produced rich monographs. Many ethnographers and linguists
who were specialists on the subject of the Evenki were arrested during Stalin’s
repressions. Nevertheless, they demonstrated an extraordinary devotion to research by
continuing to work even after their stay in the gulag (Tumarkin 2002).
6 From the beginning of Manchu rule in the 17th century, the Tungus aroused the interest
of ethnographers, geographers, and officials in charge of collecting data in the Chinese
empire’s border region. First dedicated to the topographic study of an unfamiliar
territory, the data collected regarding the Tungus people appeared in Manchu and
Chinese officials’ records. The former consist of official sources such as the “Official

7
Histories6” (Ch. Zhengshi 正史). The historical and local geographic sources, such as
local gazetteers (Ch. difangzhi 地方志) and travel records (Ch. youji 游记), introduce the
culture, history, and geography of a given area. For example, Zhang Jiafan 张家璠 and
Cheng Tingheng 程廷恒 ([1922] 2003), the authors of the local gazetteer Notes on Hulun
Buir (Ch. Hulunbei’er zhilüe 呼伦贝尔志略), offer a detailed description of the nomadic
and ritual practices of the Tungus and Mongol people living in 20 th-century Hulun Buir.
7 Shirokogoroff’s work on the Tungus of China was updated a few years later by the
Anglo-Swedish anthropologist E. J. Lindgren (1905-1988), the first Westerner to
dedicate her research to the Evenki reindeer herders, among whom she conducted
fieldwork between 1929 and 1932 together with the Norwegian photographer Oscar
Mamen. Apart from the reindeer herders, they were also interested in Russian émigrés,
the Mongols, the Orochen and the Solon living in the Hulun Buir area. Lindgren wrote
some articles (Lindgren 1930, 1938) and an unpublished PhD thesis (Lindgren 1936). In
addition, their 26,000 photographs are preserved in the Museum of Archaeology and
Anthropology in Cambridge7. While Northeast China was under Japanese occupation
(1931-1945), the Japanese officer H. Nagata studied the Evenki reindeer herders in 1939
and later published a monograph (Yong Tianzhen [1969] 1991). Born to a Russian
emigrant family in Chinese territory, A. Kaigorodov (1927-1998) grew up together with
Evenki reindeer herders and was one of the last witnesses of their way of life before the
foundation of the PRC (Kaigorodov 1968).
8 Soon after the foundation of the PRC in 1949, the “Ethnic Classification Project”
(Ch. minzu shibie 民族识别), one of the largest ethnological research expeditions in
human history, was carried out to categorise the PRC’s population. In the late 1950s,
the new ethnographic knowledge produced by the project was published under the title
“The Social Historical Research Investigation” (Ch. Shehui lishi diaocha 社会历史调查). Each
“ethnic minority” had its own ethnographic investigation, such as “Social Historical
Research Investigations on the Evenki” (Ch. Ewenke zu shehui lishi diaocha 鄂温克族社会
历史调查) (NZBZ 1986). Some of its authors, including Lü Guantian 吕光天 (1983), Zhao
Fuxing 赵复兴 (1981), Wu Shougui 吴守贵 (2003), and others, later became key scholars
in Tungus studies, especially with regard to the Evenki people. Today, many
researchers in China, including Han Chinese and members of “ethnic minorities”, are
specialists in Tungus studies in various fields of anthropology (folklore and religious
studies, historical anthropology, and recently environmental anthropology). Bailan 白
兰, an Orochen specialist on Orochen culture, and Wure’ertu 乌热尔图, an Evenki
expert on Evenki oral history, are just two such individuals (Bailan 1991, Wure’ertu
2007).
9 Until the mid-1980s, Western scholars did not study the Tungus of China due to their
inability to conduct fieldwork in areas that were then closed to ethnographic research.
In 1985, the German sinologist and ethnologist Ingo Nentwig (1960-2016) conducted
fieldwork among the Evenki reindeer herders (Nentwig 2003), followed in 1993 by the
German Georg Heyne (Heyne 1999).
10 In Europe and America, Tungus ethnography has long been of interest to general
anthropology. It appears in many famous works dedicated to shamanism, animism,
human-natural environment relationships, and social organisation (F. Boas, C. Lévi-
Strauss, E. Lot-Falck, L. Delaby, R. Hamayon and Ph. Descola 2005, among others). In
1976, the journal Études mongoles et sibériennes, founded by R. Hamayon and now
renamed Études mongoles & sibériennes, centrasiatiques & tibétaines (EMSCAT), published a

8
special issue entirely dedicated to Tungus shamans. Relying on the rich bibliography
produced by Tsarist and Soviet scholars, Delaby offered an acute analysis of the role
played by the shamans among Tungus societies (Delaby 1976). For political reasons,
Siberian field research was extremely difficult for Western scientists in the 1970s and
1980s, which meant that most of their studies provided anthropological analysis based
on the previously published works of Russian ethnographers.
11 The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 has enabled the development of academic
contacts and long-term fieldwork in Russia and China, bringing a new generation of
Western anthropologists into Siberia and Northeast China.
12 Western anthropologists were certainly influenced by Russian ethnography when it
came to adopting long-term fieldwork. From the 2000s, a new generation of Russian
scholars bridged the respective peculiarities of Russian and Western schools by
merging intensive ethnographical research with recent Western anthropological
theories. First introduced to China along with the other Western social sciences at the
beginning of the 20th century, anthropology and ethnology mainly served communist
ideology. Today, while Chinese anthropologists and ethnologists continue research
devoted to the “traditional culture” of Tungus “ethnic minorities”, they have also
brought fresh perspectives by exploring new contemporary issues that have appeared
in Tungus areas.
13 From the mid-2000s onwards, the initiatives of Tungus intelligentsia both from Russia
and China to organise cultural meetings across the newly reopened frontier have
encouraged some researchers to move towards transfrontier studies. Indeed, in Frontier
Encounters: Knowledge and Practice at the Russian, Chinese and Mongolian Border, Billé,
Delaplace, and Humphrey offer various ethnographic case studies highlighting the
dynamics of border “assemblages” in Northern Asia between Russia, Mongolia, and
China (Billé et al. 2012). Following research on border peoples in Northern Asia,
Humphrey edited a special volume with papers dedicated to the notions of loyalty and
disloyalty on the Russo-Chinese border (Humphrey 2017).
14 Furthermore, over the last decade there has been an increase in the number of Western
publications related to Tungus ethnography: we have seen several anthropological
books, PhD theses, or recueil d’articles on animism, nomadism, shamanism, childhood,
personhood, and other subjects (among others: Hamayon 2012, Grotti et al. 2012,
Ulturgasheva 2012, Kolås & Xie 2015, Brandišauskas 2017, Dumont 2014, Lavrillier &
Gabyshev 2017).
15 Forty-two years after the last special issue of Études mongoles et sibériennes, we are
continuing this journal’s tradition of hosting ethnological research devoted to the
societies of Northern Asia. The present volume is dedicated to analysing the many
forms of human-natural environment relationships among the various Tungus groups
from Russia and China by studying the skills, rituals, mobility, and politics of the
Evenki, Even, and Nanai peoples. The volume follows on the heels of the first
conference to gather international specialists on the Tungus people, which was held at
the University of Versailles, France, in January 2013: it was organised by Alexandra
Lavrillier, Donatas Brandišauskas, Aurore Dumont, Vladimir Davydov, and Veronika
Simonova8. The second conference was hosted at the University of Vilnius, Lithuania, in
May 2015.
16 This volume is the result of collaborative work between scholars based in several
countries and in various academic traditions who possess lengthy fieldwork experience

9
in both Russia and China9. Long-term fieldwork conducted in various regions of both
countries allow us to provide reliable empirical data on Tungus societies living in areas
where political, social, and economic encounters are constantly changing.
Furthermore, it enables to gather fresh data with new theoretical approaches.
17 This is the first attempt to bring together diverse topics on Tungus-speaking groups
from these two countries. We wanted to represent a variety of anthropological
methodologies, such as ethnography, ethno-history, travel literature studies, oral
literature studies, ethno-linguistics, comparative anthropology, and participatory
transdisciplinary research. The editors wished to offer an equal balance of papers from
Chinese, Russian, and Western academic schools, including Evenki scientists from both
sides of the Sino-Russian border.
18 One of the common features of the Tungus of both China and Russia that influenced
their self-identity and complicated their study, in particular their ethno-history, is the
very complex, ever-changing, and garbled administrative and ethnographic
classifications superimposed on the groups constituting this people(s), groups which
were also highly mobile (moving within and out of the countries concerned). This
mobility was enhanced by political changes.
Figure 1. Map of the repartition of the Evenki in Russia and China
Russia: 1 – Amur region, 2 – Buryatia, 3 – Chukotka, 4 – Irkutsk region, 5 – Kamchatka, 6 –

Khabarovsk region, 7 – Khanthy-Mansiisk region, 8 – Krasnoyarsk region, 9 – Magadan region, 10 –
Novosibirsk region, 11 – Omsk region, 12 – Primorskii region, 13 – Tomsk region, 14 – Tuva Republic,
15 – Tyumen region, 16 – Yakutia (Sakha Republic), 17 – Yamal region, 18 – Zabaikal region. China:
1 – Inner Mongolia, 2 – Heilongjiang.
© Michel Neyroud, Alexandra Lavrillier, Aurore Dumont

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The Tungus in Russia

19 Throughout history, the Tungus of Russia have been involved in cross-border
movements across the Sino-Russian frontier. For instance, the “Uriankai”, considered
to be the ancestors of the Tungus, were warrior groups close to Genghis Khan 10. Lipskii
and Vasilevich argue that the Tungus of Russia were employed as soldiers by the
Manchu in the 16th-17th centuries (Lipskii 1925, Vasilevich 1965, p. 141)11. In the 17th and
18th centuries, the Evenki were engaged by the Russian army to defend or survey the
border (Radlow 1893, Rybakov 1903, Vasilevich 1965, p. 139-142). The most famous
example is Gantimur in the 17th century, a Tungus chief who left the Manchu to join the
Russian army, where the service of his Tungus as auxiliary troops was so appreciated
that he was made a noble by the tsar and gained wealth in Russia. In less tense periods
during the 19th and 20th centuries, the nomads frequently crossed the border rivers (the
Ussuri and Amur) to meet each other and trade furs12. Let us note that border
demarcations changed several times during this period, including after the Treaty of
Nerchinsk (1689) put an end to a long Sino-Russian war. According to the treaty (which
lasted until 1858, when it was replaced with the Treaty of Aigun), the Amur river basin
was a Chinese commercial zone between the Chinese, Russian, and indigenous peoples
such as the Tungus, who were, along with the other local natives, left to their own
devices (Patkanov 1906, Forsyth [1992] 2000, p. 108, 204). We suggest that this led to the
Tungus representing this area as one of free movement (see the papers of Dumont, Xie,
Wure’ertu).
20 Nowadays in Russia, all the Tungus peoples have the official status of an “indigenous
minority people” (Ru. korennoi malochislennyi narod): this category was created in 1926
by the Soviet authorities and concerned an indigenous population of fewer than
50,000 individuals (Gorelikov 201013). Altogether, the Evenki number about 37,843
people and the Even 22,383 (Federal State Statistics Service 2010). The Evenki mainly
inhabit the republics of Sakha (Yakutia) (21,080 individuals) and Buryatia (2,974), but
they are also present in the following regions: Zabaikal (1,387), Krasnoyarsk (4,372),
Khabarovsk (4,101), Amur (1,481), Irkutsk (1,272), Sakhalin (209), Primorskii (130),
Tomsk (95), and Tyumen (87). The Even mainly live in the Sakha Republic (Yakutia)
(15,071 individuals) and the regions of Magadan (2,635), Kamchatka (1,872), Chukotka
(1,392), and Khabarovsk (1,128). The Nanai number 12,003 individuals and live
principally in the regions of Khabarovsk (11,009), Primorskii (383), and Sakhalin (148) 14.
The Tungus are thus spread across many different areas all over Siberia: this has led to
the existence of several scientific classification systems which vary depending on the
publication in question. For instance, some sources distinguish the Western Evenki
(who live along the Yenisei, Tunguska, Angara, and Sym rivers of the Krasnoyarsk
region) (cf. Sirina’s paper) from the Eastern Evenki (who inhabit lands near the Aldan,
Olekma, Tungir, Amur, and Shilka rivers in the regions of Irkutsk, Yakutia, Amur,
Khabarovsk, Zabaikal, and Sakhalin) (cf. papers of Fondahl, Lavrillier & Gabyshev,
Brandišauskas, Simonova; see map in Fig. 1). Others distinguish various groups
according to their position around Lake Baikal (North or South Baikal, Zabaikal,
Cisbaikal, Transbaikal, etc.)
21 The term “Tungus”, both as a scientific appellation and an administrative category, has
a history as long and as complex as that of the Tungus themselves. From the
16th century, Russians settled on the lands of the Western Tungus. It is in this period

11
that we first find the term Tungus15, but it did not enter frequent usage until the
18th century; from there, it spread throughout Europe. What struck the first travellers
to encounter the Tungus were their shamans; the very term comes from their language.
Much appreciated by explorers for their tracking skills and hospitality, the Tungus
acquired a reputation as hunters of exceptional courage and endurance. These
encounters produced numerous engravings and accounts, particularly in Europe, the
homeland of several early travellers: this gives Tungus studies a European dimension
(see Borm in this volume, Beffa & Delaby 1993-1994).
22 The Tungus were progressively subjected to taxes for fur, the Yasak (Ru. iasak), first in
the West (Ob and Yenisei rivers) in the early 17th century: from here it spread, reaching
the most remote eastern groups (Aldan sources, Northern Amur region) by the
19th century16. Later, under Catherine II, the resources provided by this tax represented
one third of the Russian Empire’s wealth. In southeastern Siberia, the fur trade started
long before the Russian colonisation; the Mongols and Chinese had intensive merchant
relations with the local Tungus. The organisation of the Yasak disrupted this trade and
provoked several conflicts between the Russians and the Tungus associated with the
Chinese (Brodnikov 2001, Forsyth [1992] 2000, pp. 38-47, Maksimov et al. 2001, Stepanov
1939). Across the centuries, the management of fur tax payers and associated
Christianisation campaigns (with the performance of mass baptisms on Evenki coming
to the fur market) helped create complex and intricate nomenclatures and
classifications, where “Tungus” designated different groups. In the fur tax registers,
“Tungus” was one of the administrative categories, along with many others Tungus
clan names (like the Kumarchen, Samagir, Birarchen, and so on): this can be
demonstrated in the 1897 Tsarist census published by Patkanov (Patkanov 1906).
23 When studying the many movements of the Tungus clans across thousands of
kilometres between the 17th and the 20 th centuries, it seems that clans, sub-clans, and
lineages offer a more coherent identity and clearer economic units than the notion of
Evenki and Even peoples. Indeed, some clans belong to two or more Tungus peoples,
and the archives show that some sub-clans belonging to one Tungus people also
sometimes joined other Tungus peoples (Lavrillier 2005, 2011). This, along with state
ignorance about their cultural features, may explain the confusion of the
administration. Superimposed on the administrative classification, the social sciences
(which matured and were institutionalised during the 18 th and 19 th centuries)
developed their own nomenclatures of Siberian peoples based on linguistic and cultural
studies, which evolved over the years.
24 Between the 16th and 18 th centuries, the word “Tungus” designated all eight Tungus-
Manchu peoples (but not the Manchu and Sibe). From the 18 th century onwards, it was
used mostly to refer to both the Evenki and the Even. Between the 18 th century and
1930, the term gradually came to indicate the Evenki alone, while the Even were called
Lamut (from the word lamu – “sea”, “big water 17”). In 1930, the Soviet government gave
each nationality a name that it could regard as its self-appellation. Most Tungus
regional groups were labelled Evenki rather than Even during the Soviet process of
ethnic categorisation: in the 1990s, some confusion still remained between the two
groups. These ethnonyms were then widely used by administrative authorities,
indigenous elites, and scientists as an official unified reference for the many scattered
groups in Siberia and the Far East. For instance, these groups may still call themselves
Orochen, Murchen, Tungus, or Khamnigan in the Zabaikal region and Orochon/Orach

12
in the Amur region, Yakutia, and Kamchatka more often than Evenki or Even (from the
fieldwork of Brandišauskas and Lavrillier, respectively). Despite the disappearance of
“Tungus” from the administrative classification, it is still often used in comparative
linguistics and anthropology18.
25 Most Evenki and Even combine reindeer herding with hunting and spring-summer
fishing; these economic practices have faced many changes brought about by Russian
policies. Even though each region in which the Tungus live has its own historical
specificities (chronology, local implementation of political measures, economic
specificities, peoples in contact, etc.), their histories share the same general outline,
presented here below. Some of these regional peculiarities and their related
consequences are detailed in the papers of this volume (see Sirina, Fondahl, Lavrillier &
Gabyshev, Brandišauskas).
26 After the Revolution of 1918, the Civil War between the Tsarist and Red armies
enflamed conflicts. The Tungus, who did not really understand the reasons for this war,
helped the Reds and the Whites as pathfinders, and so were punished by both
afterwards (Forsyth [1992] 2000, p. 251). This period led to some insurrections among
the Tungus. The most important started in Nel’kan (Okhotsk region) and involved
Tungus hunter-herders and the Tsarist General A. N. Pepeliaev; this triggered an
official declaration by the 5,000 insurrectionists of the “Tungus Republic”. This entity
was abolished by negotiations with Moscow in 1925 (Pesterev 2000) (about
insurrections among the Evenki of China, see Xie in this volume).
27 The Soviet authorities slowly established their power and control between the 1920s in
the western regions and the 1960s for the most remote eastern regions. They firstly
installed sales counters (Ru. artel’, faktoriia) as replacements for the Tsarist fur
merchants. The first creation of a soviet within a nomadic clan happened nominally in
1921 in the lower Yenisei, but was ineffective for several years after its creation
(Vasilevich 1969b, Forsyth [1992] 2000). Close to the sales counters or soviets, the
Russians built some wooden houses and primary (boarding) schools and established
state collective farms (kolkhozes), where (officially) benefits were shared between the
cooperative’s members. The Soviets led campaigns to inculcate literacy among adults
and children (Vasilevich 1930, Sirina in this volume), but met considerable resistance
from the nomads, who had the “tendency to hide from Russian officials” (Forsyth
[1992] 2000, Maksimov et al. 2001). The Soviet authorities and their political ideas were
established by using propaganda tools like settled “cultural bases” (Ru. kul’tbaza) and
nomadic “red yurta” (Ru. krasnaia iurta), which combined cultural enlightenment
(including literacy), medical services, political propaganda, and fur trading. Some of
them became indigenous regional centres (Ru. tuzemnyi raion, tuzemnyi sovet) (Forsyth
[1992] 2000, p. 253). The first alphabet for the Evenki language was created in 1928 (first
in Roman script, then in the 1930s an alphabet adapted from Cyrillic). Several
ethnographers practised a very early form of applied anthropology, like Vasilevich,
who took an active part in the creation of the standard Evenki language for schools and
manuals, or Anisimov, who in 1929 taught in “red yurta” in Stony Tunguska (Anisimov
1958). The kolkhoze attracted the poorest Tungus, while the richest fled in all
directions over thousands of kilometres, including to the Sino-Russian frontier and
Mongolia. The nationalist component of other indigenous peoples played an important
role in this process, like in the 1920s, when Buryat discrimination against the Tungus

13
pushed some of the latter to migrate to Mongolia (Forsyth [1992] 2000, p. 251) and
China (Hürelbaatar 2000, p. 74).
28 Between the 1930s and 1970s, gold mines and geological expeditions bought the
services of men and their reindeer from the state farms in order to conduct prospecting
missions in the vast forest. Most Tungus abandoned the conical tent for geological
tents, iron stoves, and expedition clothing (Forsyth [1992] 2000, p. 382) 19.
29 In 1930-1931, a vast territory in Central Siberia was declared the Evenki National
Region (along the Stony Tunguska and Lower Tunguska rivers), in addition to small
territories designated as Tungus, Evenki, or Even national districts in the ASSR 20 of
Yakutia, Buryatia, and the Okhotsk coastline region. In the following years, most of
these territories were abolished or underwent changes (Ob izmenenii 1936, Forsyth
[1992] 2000, pp. 252-53).
30 With the implementation of collectivisation between the 1930s and the 1960s
(depending on the region), the Soviet authorities confiscated reindeer herds and cattle
in order to organise new state farms, the sovkhoze: the nomads became employees of
hunting, herding, and fishing brigades. Again, the richest Tungus groups emigrated,
moving through Siberia and/or to China in order to avoid the confiscations (among
others Vasilevich 1969b, Forsyth [1992] 2000, p. 312). Hunting, fishing, reindeer
herding, and milking were then transformed into intensive profitmaking activities
(they became ten times more productive). Reindeer herding among the southeastern
Evenki (traditionally with small herds for transportation purposes) was transformed,
becoming a form of large-scale herding conducted for meat production. It was also
forbidden to eat kolkhoze or sovkhoze hunting and herding products upon pain of
imprisonment, especially during the Second World War (WW2). The Soviet authorities
sold meat, antlers, and fur products on the national and international markets in order
to sponsor economic growth and to fund the war. A terrible famine took place during
and after WW2. In addition, most of the Tungus soldiers never came home, leaving
women, youth, and elders to deal with hunting, herding, village construction, the
regional transportation of goods by reindeer, etc. In the 1950s and 1960s, the
“liquidation of villages without a future” – a policy which stated that the rural
population must be concentrated (Ru. ukrupnenie, i.e. “strengthening”) – closed many
small villages and gathered inhabitants into one place and one sovkhoze 21. Some of the
Evenki population settled in newly constructed villages, becoming workers in the new
fox, pig, and cattle farms. In the 1950s and 1960s, all Tungus villages were managed by
the administrations of the local soviets, along with the sovkhoze, shops, medical
stations, cultural centres (Ru. klub), libraries, and boarding schools. Some Tungus were
sent to Russian universities to form an indigenous intelligentsia, which plays a leading
role today (Vasilevich 1969b). Among the Tungus of southern Siberia, the construction
of the Baikal-Amur railway (BAM) at the beginning of the 1970s was considered very
traumatic because of the ecological consequences, the threat to the overworked
domestic reindeer22, and the arrival of masses of workers from Central Russia. This
allochthonous population built many new towns (nowadays administrative and
economic centres): many stayed in these areas of Siberia and now constitute the
majority of the population; they are identified as “BAM peoples” (Ru. bamovtsy).
Nevertheless, the 1970s and 1980s are mostly remembered as a golden age when the
Tungus lived well, with salaries, houses, healthy herds, sufficient supplies, and even
some leisure trips to central Russia (offered by the state to the worthiest herders) 23.

14
31 For Western readers, the Tungus are best known for the word shaman, which is widely
used today to refer to a variety of ritual specialists in Siberia and to denote worldwide
ritual practices. However, the Soviet atheisation campaigns which banned rituals,
imprisoned or shot shamans, and confiscated or destroyed ritual items almost
eradicated the religious system of this people (among many others, Archives 1924,
1925, Skachkov 1934, Suslov 1931, Forsyth [1992] 2000, pp. 288-290, 314).
32 Nonetheless, like other peoples in Siberia, the Tungus have shown a great capacity to
adapt their ritual practices. They transformed Soviet festivals into collective rituals
with shamans’ participation. Some shamans were able to avoid repression by accepting
the role of “shaman imitators”. They had to pretend to be this kind of ritual specialist
in a show while being shamed by communist propaganda as “a parasite on the
indigenous worker’s body” (Archive 1925). At the same time, shamans and ordinary
people practised other rituals secretly in the forest. Among Tungus peoples, shamans
still practised their rituals in the 1960s and even later (Maksimov et al. 2000, Forsyth
[1992] 2000, Bulgakova 2013 among others). After the fall of communism, the
intelligentsia successfully re-established the banned collective rituals as neo-rituals
(ikenipke and bakaldyn for the Evenki, and eviniek among the Even), but mostly without
shamans. While several peoples of Siberia adhere to neo-shamanist movements or have
succumbed to Orthodox, Evangelical, or Pentecostal proselytism 24, the Tungus have
multiplied the ritual expressions of their attachment to the natural environment.
Evenki and Even nomads explain: “We are not ‘believers’ [in any gods]! Instead [of
them], we have the natural environment [and the spirits inhabiting and managing it]
which feeds us”. Most Evenki and Even consider neo-shamans or urban shamans as
fakes because they are disconnected from the natural environment or because they
self-appointed themselves as shamans. “A Tungus person is more shaman than any of
these urban neo-shamans”, said the Evenki reindeer herders and villagers. They
consider it dangerous to ask an urban shaman to perform a ritual for them because the
latter might call dangerous spirits that he/she does not know how to deal with 25.
Instead, the nomads practise several small ritual gestures on a daily basis in the
expectation that the spirits will deliver game animals and births both in the herd and
in their own societies. Sedentary persons have two collective rituals annually to
transmit their “traditions” and request that the spirits of the natural environment
bring some luck to modern life. Nevertheless, from the mid-2010s, when the Evenki and
Nanai lost their last “traditional” shamans, ethnographers have observed some
consultations with neo-shamans from other peoples and the appearance of new ritual
specialists among Tungus, mostly healers and, more rarely, neo-shamans, who mix
some inherited shamanic practices with elements borrowed from New Age philosophy,
numerology and/or bioenergy movements. At the same time, Evenki still believe in
2018 that the spirits elect some individuals to become shamans, but since the
knowledge on how to become a shaman has almost disappeared, the spirits are said to
dominate the person concerned, who either get sick or commit suicide (Lavrillier 2003,
2005, 2014-2018 field notes, Bulgakova 2013, Le Berre-Semenov 2008, Sirina 2012,
Brandišauskas 2017). As we will see in several of the papers in this volume, despite the
rarefaction of shamans, ethnographers still observe a diversity of ritual practices and
healing specialists, as well as elaborate knowledge of spirits and rituals, that continue
to play important roles in contemporary Tungus societies despite several decades of
Soviet anti-religious policy.

15
33 Since the collapse of the state’s centralised system of resource redistribution at the end
of the 1990s, the Tungus rely heavily on “traditional” economies, such as reindeer
herding, fur and food hunting, and fishing. For many Evenki and Even regional groups,
wild and domestic reindeer play a crucial role as pack and riding animals and a hunting
resource. The domestic reindeer is an important source of empowerment, identity,
storytelling, and cosmological ideas.
The Tungus in China

34 On the other side of the border in the People’s Republic of China, the Tungus consist of
various groups officially labelled “ethnic minorities” (Ch. shaoshu minzu 少数民族): the
Manchu (Ch. Man zu 满族, 10,387,958), the Sibe (Ch. Xibo zu 锡伯族, 190,481), the
Evenki (Ch. Ewenke zu 鄂温克族, 30,875), the Orochen (Ch. Elunchun zu 鄂伦春族,
8,659), and the Hezhe (Ch. Hezhe zu 赫哲族, 5,354)26. Mainly scattered in the
northeastern areas of the country, in Heilongjiang province and in the Inner Mongolia
Autonomous Region27, the Tungus are not as numerous as the other “ethnic minorities”
living in these areas, such as the Mongols. The Tungus live in different environments,
which means they have diverse domestic economies. The taiga shelters Evenki reindeer
herders, Orochen horse herders, Hezhe fishermen, and Solon Evenki engaged in
agriculture and farming, while the steppe provides Solon and Khamnigan Evenki
pastoralists with pastures. The Hezhe on the one hand and the Orochen and the Evenki
on the other are also found in the Russian Federation, where they are respectively
called the “Nanai” and the “Evenki”. Over the decades, the Tungus have been known in
China under various names: in the early Qing records, the Tungus were identified
according to the localities in which they lived (Lee 1970, p. 14); later, the term Solon
referred to the present Dahur (Ch. Dawo’er zu 达斡尔族), Orochen, and some clans of
Evenki.
35 Despite their relatively small numbers, the Tungus have played a significant role in the
history of China’s northern borders. Indeed, the Jurchen, a Tungus people, founded two
dynasties that reigned over China: the Jin dynasty (Ch. Jin chao 金朝 1115-1234) and the
Manchu28 Qing dynasty (Ch. Qing chao 清朝 1644-1911). Between the 16 th and
19th centuries29, following the repeated incursions of Tsarist Russia across the northern
borders of the Qing Empire, the Manchu rulers incorporated some other Tungus groups
(today known as the Orochen, Evenki, Sibe, and Hezhe) into the Qing banner system 30.
As garrison soldiers, the Tungus were in charge of border security and had to pay a
tribute of furs (Dumont 2017, p. 518). According to the requirements of territorial
consolidation, the Manchu dispatched the Tungus all over Inner Asia. I n 1732, the
Evenki Solon, together with other Mongol groups (the Old Barga and Eleut), were
transferred from the Heilongjiang forest zone to the steppe areas of Hulun Buir, where
they eventually adopted Mongol economic and religious practices (i.e. the herding of
five species and Mongol Buddhism).
36 If some Tungus groups were subjects of the Qing Empire, other crossed the borders of
contemporary China at the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20 th centuries. This
is the case for the Evenki reindeer herders and the Khamnigan. Under Russian and
Yakut pressure and in order to find better hunting grounds, a few groups of Evenki
reindeer herders crossed the Amur River between the early 18th and mid-19th centuries
to settle in Chinese territory. In 1915, the reindeer herders were still Russian subjects,

16
paying tribute on the Russian banks of the Amur and marrying in the Orthodox Church
(Shirokogoroff [1929] 1979, pp. 67-68). The reindeer herders were also engaged in trade
with the Russian Cossack farmers settled on the Chinese side, borrowing many Russian
words that are still in use today. The Khamnigan first left Russia to settle in the western
areas of Hulun Buir after the October Revolution, but the waves of migration continued
until 1934 (Janhunen 1996, p. 52). The Khamnigan relied on horse breeding and hunting
in Transbaikalia, but, from 1880 onwards, they gradually converted to Mongol
pastoralism (NMZ 1959, p. 8).
37 At the beginning of the 20th century, the Tungus were dispersed across a large territory
and their ways of life were distinct from one another. Additionally, through contacts
with various neighbouring populations, the Tungus became acquainted with various
religions (Buddhism, Christianity, and shamanism) and economic practices (hunting,
reindeer herding, agriculture, etc.).
38 Soon after the foundation of the People’s Republic of China (1949), the central
government launched the “Ethnic Classification Project” to identify the different
ethnic groups of the nation. In the northeastern areas of China, the classification of
Tungus groups was complicated by the multiple auto-ethnonyms and exo-ethnonyms
used by and for the Tungus. Between 1954 and 1957, the Tungus were classified by the
Chinese administration into “ethnic minorities” according to their language, culture,
and territorial affinities. In 1957, the Evenki reindeer herders, the Khamnigan, and the
Solon were merged into a single “Evenki ethnic minority” and divided into three sub-
groups known respectively as the “Yakut Evenki” (Ch. Yakute Ewenke 雅库特鄂温克),
the “Tungus Evenki” (Ch. Tonggusi Ewenke 通古斯鄂温克), and the “Solon Evenki”
(Ch. Suolun Ewenke 索伦鄂温克). These three sub-groups names were used by Russian
traders living in the area in the early 20th century31. By selecting Evenki as the official
appellation for all three groups in 1957, the Chinese government split the former Solon
entity (composed of the Evenki, Dahur, and Orochen) while the Orochen became an
“ethnic minority” themselves. Nowadays, the “Evenki ethnic minority” has diversified
economies according to the milieus in which they live.
• The Evenki reindeer herders, also known as “Yakut Evenki” and “Aoluguya Evenki”
(Ch. Aoluguya Ewenke 敖鲁古雅鄂温克) after their ethnic village, represent the smallest
sub-group, numbering fewer than 300 people. They traditionally practise reindeer herding
and hunting in the forest areas of the northeastern part of the Inner Mongolia Autonomous
Region, near the Argun River. State policies of the last six decades have profoundly affected
their nomadic way of life, including the reduction of their nomadic areas, the creation of
sedentary spaces, and the development of ethnic tourism (see Dumont 2016, Xie and Dumont
in this volume).
• The Khamnigan, also known as “Tungus Evenki”, number approximately 2,000 people. They
are mainly scattered across the steppe areas of Hulun Buir in the “Evenki sum 32” (Ch. Ewenke
sumu 鄂温克苏木) of the Old Barga Banner and in the “East sum” (Ch. Dong sumu 东苏木) of
the Evenki Autonomous Banner among Barga Mongols and Buryat. Nowadays, the
Khamnigan speak Mongolian in addition to their Khamnigan language, practise Mongol
pastoralism of the five muzzles (sheep, goat, camel, horse, and cow), and use Mongol yurts
during the summer.
• The Solon, the most numerous group, are the least studied in the contemporary
ethnographic literature. They can be broadly divided between the peoples of the steppe and
the forest zones. In the steppe, the Solon live mainly in the Evenki Autonomous Banner,

17
with a large number located in the south next to the Hui River. They practise Mongol
pastoralism and use a specific nomadic dwelling called the ogo. Quite similar to the Mongol
yurt, the ogo is much bigger and is covered with willows, which gives it a specific golden
colour. The Solon speak both Mongolian and the Solon language, the latter of which is
particularly well preserved in the steppe area. Hundreds of kilometres away in the forest
area, the Solon groups are scattered in Zhalantun, Arongqi, the Dahur Autonomous Banner,
and in the northern part of Heilongjiang province, where they live in numerous “Evenki
ethnic villages”. Having abandoned hunting decades ago, the Solon are now engaged in
agriculture and farming (Fuliang Shan 2014, p. 80).
39 The Chinese communist policies launched from the 1950s deeply affected the Tungus
way of life. The main tasks of “modernisation” preached by the government were
sedentarisation, the transformation of “traditional economies” into intensive modes of
production, and the suppression of religious practices. At the same time,
industrialisation caused irreparable damage to the forest and grasslands. In the 2000s,
the Chinese government adopted environmental policies, such as the “ecological
migration” (Ch. shengtai yimin 生态移民) enacted among the Reindeer Evenki in 2003 as
part of the “Open Up the West policy” (Ch. xibu da kaifa 西部大开发).
40 Following the reforms launched by the Chinese government in the 1980s, the religious
life and ritual practices of the Tungus have been revived both by local communities and
local government. If most of the shamans have disappeared or have stopped their
activities among certain groups (notably the Orochen, the Evenki reindeer herders, the
Hezhe, and the Solon of the forest), some ritual specialists, including shamans, have
reappeared, especially in the steppe areas; today, the most powerful shamans are found
among the Solon Evenki. The most vivid component of the ritual life of the Tungus of
China is, without contest, the oboo rituals: these are organised annually by the various
Solon clans to ensure the fertility of the herds and the wellbeing of the community
(Dumont 2017). In some other areas where shamanism has long been lost, ethnic
tourism has created a new sort of professional shaman artist who works for the
entertainment of tourists.

18
Figure 2. Positions of the case studies in the present volume
© Max Planck Institute (adapted by Alexandra Lavrillier and Aurore Dumont)
Volume content
41 The articles presented here cover traditional research themes in a new light, thus
challenging some of the common stereotypes pertaining to classic Tungus ethnology.
The papers aim to present ethno-historical accounts and emic views on history, ritual
concepts, and the outcomes of state policies. The volume covers an impressive time
period: from ancient migrations (Wure’ertu) to the first Russian and foreign travellers
(Borm), from the first interethnic partnership (Sirina) to the current survival of beliefs
(Brandišauskas, Bulgakova, Simonova). It also extends over a huge geographical area,
from Katanga in the West (Sirina) to easternmost Siberia (Bulgakova), from northern
Siberia (Lavrillier & Gabyshev) to Northeastern China (Dumont, Xie, and Wure’ertu).
1. Ethno-Historical Retrospectives
42 Dedicated to ethno-historical retrospectives, the first part of the volume reviews

various representations of indigenous groups found in early reports and in oral history,
offering emic explanations on the origins of indigenous groups and their ethnonyms.
While Tungus ethnogenesis has been a major topic of interest for many generations of
Russian ethnographers (Tugolukov 1980, Vasilevich 1968, Dolgih 1960), the section
provides a unique focus by demonstrating how this topic can be approached from the
point of view of ethno-histories and the perspectives of indigenous peoples.
43 As an expert on European travel literature, Jan Borm discusses early literary
representations of the Tungus and their religion, clothing, housing, and diet. The

19
author analyses translations of Isbrand Ides’ travelogue, thanks to which the word
“shaman” became famous across the world. Specifically, he compares English, French,
and German editions of these texts, stressing how the significant differences between
these versions were intended to please their target readerships. Shamanic practice was
of particular interest to most travellers and explorers and was therefore commented on
in more detail. These texts demonstrate the long history of binary representations and
perceptions of Siberian indigenous people in Europe: on the one hand, we find the
demonisation of shamans and their practices, with some calling them “diabolical
artists”, while, on the other, there is a discourse that idealises the Tungus, describing
them as “aristocrats of Siberia”.
44 The Evenki writer from China Wure’ertu presents three legends that have been handed
down among the Evenki reindeer herders and the Solon Evenki living in the People’s
Republic of China. Based on data gathered in the 1950s as well as during his own
fieldwork, the author provides valuable ethnographic information regarding oral
history. These three legends not only offer valuable data on the Evenki’s origin and
migratory movements along the rivers of Northern Asia, but also highlight the great
significance of rivers for Evenki peoples. The author also discusses some Evenki origin
theories developed by Chinese and Evenki scholars.
45 The ethnologist Anna Sirina continues the exploration of inter-ethnic contacts by
analysing regional and local archival sources and field data about the interactions
between Evenki (Tungus) and Old Russian settlers in the upper Lower Tunguska River.
She describes the perception of Evenki among local Russians and analyses the economic
and cultural features of both groups. She shows how a two-sided process of
acculturation occurred between them, especially through hunting activities which
offered a shared space.
2. Indigenous Knowledge, Mobilities, and Political Landscapes
46 The second part of the volume, “Indigenous Knowledge, Skills, Mobilities, and Political
Landscapes”, provides five empirical and theoretical studies based on contemporary
fieldwork conducted among Evenki groups. These articles demonstrate the Evenki
knowledge system relating to climate, the observation of climate change, and spatial
practices and perceptions; it also highlights how Evenki mobility is shaped by the
current socio-political environment in Russia and China.
47 Indigenous skills are at the centre of Lavrillier (an anthropologist) and Gabyshev’s (a
reindeer herder and co-researcher) transdisciplinary paper, which, on the basis of field
materials, analyses the complex traditional environmental knowledge (TEK) as a
system through the Evenki observations of climate change and their understanding of
an extreme event. After discussing the place of TEK in the Western sciences, the paper
explains the emic science of climate and its uses. It shows that instead of perceiving an
“extreme event”, the Evenki distinguish between an “extreme weather process” (the
accumulation of climatic anomalies in the same or different domains such as
temperatures, precipitations and snow cover), an “extreme nature process”, when
climatic events are combined with external natural factors (biodiversity, predators,
etc.), and a “hybrid extreme process”, when accumulated climate and environmental
anomalies interact with external human factors (economic, political, industrial

20
development, laws). In this framework, the authors highlight the existence of emic
concepts of adaptation, resilience and vulnerability.
48 Cultural geographer Gail Fondahl explores how the establishment and use of the
“Ecological Trail”, a path leading from near the north end of Lake Baikal in Buryatia
into the taiga and eventually to the “Memorial Tree”, close to Holodnaia Village, is a
good example for understanding how the Evenki are re-making and performing places.
In particular, the case shows how the Evenki use landscapes to actively encourage a
sense of territorial belonging among their youth and communicate assertions of
territorial rights to outsiders.
49 The anthropologist Aurore Dumont analyses how Chinese state policies have, over the
last six decades, led to the transformation of the Evenki reindeer herders’ nomadic
economy. By examining Evenki annual movements between their village and camps,
the author argues that, despite the policies of the state, the herders’ mobility has
become more flexible and extensive, while herding skills remain a fundamental
component of their way of life. Thus, the constant movement of the Evenki between
these two complementary spaces reflects their strategies to adapt to ecological and
political challenges.
50 In her article, the anthropologist Xie Yuanyuan continues the analysis of the Evenki
reindeer herders of China. She shows how the herders were forced to give up their
traditional hunting life and were relocated to Aoluguya village in 2003 through the
“Ecological Migration” policy. These Evenki are now only reindeer herders, thus
challenging their established identity as “hunters”. At the same time, in order to
preserve Evenki lifestyles, the government introduced tourism to the area. In such a
context, the author raises the question of how ideas of “presenting culture” and
“preserving people” might interplay and raise conflicts.
3. Human and Animal “Individuals”, Ritual Practices, and Luck
51 Instead of focusing on the historical topic of shamanism, the final section draws
readers’ attention to notions of empowerment and rituality among Evenki groups. The
three papers outlined below aim to reveal Evenki vernacular concepts related to the
characteristics attributed to spirits, animals, humans, and their interrelationships.
52 In his paper, the anthropologist Donatas Brandišauskas explores how the socio-cultural
changes that occurred during Soviet times and current challenges are creatively
reflected and incorporated into Evenki cosmology, ritual practices, and storytelling in
Zabaikal region. Various malevolent spirits, monsters, and cannibals that existed in
cosmology for centuries are continuously encountered in daily life and depicted in
contemporary Evenki storytelling. While references to the cannibalistic features of
indigenous people were widely employed and distributed by the colonial powers, today
the Evenki link the influence of malevolent beings with past and current state policies,
tragic events, ruptures of ethical norms, and personal misbehaviour.
53 The anthropologist and specialist in oral literature Tatiana Bulgakova proposes a
comparative analysis of the rituals and representations devoted to the tiger and the
specific abilities attributed to this animal among the Amur Tungus-Manchu peoples.
These peoples treat tigers like humans and believe that extraordinary tigers have the
capacity to behave similarly to people. According to these shamanic ideas, such
behaviour should be explained by the fact that, as dangerous predators, tigers can

21
easily become spiritually charged, allowing the bodies of some tigers to serve the spirits
as temporary dwellings. The spirits which possess tigers are believed to obtain some of
the animal’s external features: long after leaving these bodies, they still maintain the
ability to become temporarily visible in tiger form.
54 The book concludes with a paper by the anthropologist Veronika Simonova. She
analyses a network of relations between human and non-human actors. Based on
research into the practice of inviting or bringing wild animals into human places as
described by the narratives of reindeer herders in Kalar region (Zabaikal region), the
author shows that this should be approached as a “magic of contact”, where the human
and animal worlds coincide: such is also present in local perednik beliefs. These beliefs
involve the sensory perception of an animal spirit that represents a significant part of
human nature. The paper places empirical data within debates about perspectivism and
mimesis, two theories which have been widely employed in scholarly interpretations of
human-animal relations in Siberia. The author argues that these theories have certain
limitations for understanding hunting cultures in Evenki contexts. The material about
wild individuals brought into human spaces and perednik beliefs demonstrates the
priority of the logic of the “magic of contact” as a substratum of human-animal
relations in the taiga.
Transversal perspectives
55 These papers raise new issues in Tungus anthropology. First of all, the volume offers
novel insights into the diversity of past and present mobilities by analysing ancient
voluntary migrations, recent forced migrations, nomadic movements, and the
contemporary movements that bridge nomadic and urban spaces (Wure’ertu, Sirina,
Xie, Dumont). The issue of accrued Tungus mobility is also expressed by ancient and
current movements and exchanges across the Sino-Russian border (Wure’ertu,
Dumont, Xie). Several papers underline the importance of rivers not only as migration
routes, but also as markers of identity and ethnic memory (Fondahl, Wure’ertu). In
addition, a strong link is forged between the biophysical environment and the
preservation of Tungus culture (Fondahl, Lavrillier & Gabyshev). Another paper
demonstrates that nomadic mobility is enabled by the sustained acquisition of complex
ecological knowledge (Lavrillier & Gabyshev). Tungus intelligentsia in Russia and China
share this focus on mobility, since both like to refer to the prestigious involvement of
the Tungus in famous cultures and empires (Genghis Khan, Xiongnu, Xianbei, Shiwei,
etc.) and border history (Wure’ertu, Dumont).
56 The matter of relationships with states is approached in various papers throughout the
volume from the perspective of the policies employed to control the nomad world (Xie,
Dumont, Fondahl), industrial development (Fondahl, Sirina, Lavrillier & Gabyshev), and
repressive communist campaigns (Dumont, Brandišauskas, Sirina).
57 Many papers consider the question of inter-ethnic relationships, noting that long
contacts gave birth to mixed local populations: this raises the notion of “local identity”
rather than ethnic identity (Sirina). These papers also inform us about Sino-Evenki or
Russo-Evenki commercial relationships (Xie, Dumont, Sirina) and inter-ethnic cross-
views in Russia between Western travellers and Tungus (Borm) and across the border
between the Tungus of China and the Tungus of Russia (Dumont, Xie).

22
58 Several papers show that, despite several decades of communist anti-religious

campaigns in China and Russia and the decline of shamans, animism and shamanic
ritual practices demonstrate a high level of vitality, be it in neo-rituals or through more
“traditional” forms in the rural world (Dumont, Brandišauskas, Bulgakova, Simonova).
59 In terms of the perception of the natural environment and ritual practices, it is
surprising to see that many different emic concepts related to worldview and the
relations between humans and animals appear among geographically proximate groups
of Evenki and among the Nanai. Many papers demonstrate that biophysical elements of
the natural environment are still considered sacred places and partners or tools for
ritual practices (Fondahl, Brandišauskas, Dumont). This is related to various
perceptions of souls (or of components attributed to human and animal individuals)
and their ability to be personal, to circulate outside the body, to enter into
relationships with other beings, and to leave marks on the environment (Bulgakova,
Simonova, Brandišauskas). Among humans and animals, thanks to a spirit “possessing”
one’s body or an individually specific “spirit charge” that leaves an “active imprint” on
everything and everybody it touches, individuals are empowered to act, perform
rituals, develop talents, and create. Apparently, each concept is very localised and does
not always exist in other regions. Nevertheless, there is sometimes a common core,
such as for instance between the Evenki and Even concept of spirit charge onnir, which
focuses on human and animal bodies as receptacles for spirits, and the Nanai oni, which
is a spiritual (imaginary) receptacle into which the shaman installs the formerly lost
soul of the treated patient. Another specificity shown is that rituals are performed with
and without shamans; furthermore, ritual practices are attributed to both humans and
animals. Both humans and animals can act ritually through simple thoughts, without
any items or gestures (Sirina 2012, pp. 153-203, Lavrillier 2012, 2013, Bulgakova 2016,
pp. 141, 307, Simonova, Brandišauskas, and Bulgakova in this volume).
60 It is also important to underline that the many spiritual representations
(Brandišauskas, Simonova, Bulgakova) and identity (Sirina, Fondahl) perceptions of the
natural environment among the Evenki do not mean that they lack science-like
elaborated knowledge, material and conceptual, about their natural environment and
its function at a biophysical level: they certainly do possess such knowledge
(Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2017).
61 Thus, this volume presents a broad spectrum of relationships and contacts between the
Evenki, other peoples (humans), and the biophysical and symbolic/spiritual faces of the
natural environment. These links, contacts, and relationships have developed over the
course of centuries, despite (or thanks to) many socio-economic, political, and natural
pressures.

23
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NOTES
1. By Tungus, we refer here not only to the Evenki and Even, but also to the Khamnigan, the
Orochen, and the peoples belonging to the group of the “Tungus of the Amur river”: the Nanai in
Russia (and the same group called Hezhe in China), the Udeghe, the Neghidal, the Solon, the Ulch,
the Orok, the Oroch. For more details about the term “Tungus”, and the different peoples it
refers to, see later in this text.
2. The peoples who speak Tungus-Manchu languages are, in addition to the Manchu and the Sibe,
the Nanai, the Udeghe, the Orok, the Oroch, and the Ulch for the southern branch. The speakers
of the northern branch are the Evenki, the Even, the Orochen, the Neghidal, the Solon, and the
Khamnigan. This represents around ten million individuals dispersed over a territory measuring
approximately 9,000 km from east to west and 3,000 km from north to south. As detailed further
in the text, the Tungus have given two dynasties to China (the Jin dynasty, 1115-1234, and the
Qing dynasty, 1644-1911). In each of the Tungus-Manchu languages, there are many dialects: in
Evenki, for instance, there are more than 50 (Bulatova & Grenoble 1999). See also further in the
text.
3. In China, Shirokogoroff is known as Shi Luguo 史禄国, which is the Chinese transliteration of
his surname.
4. For a new study of Shirokogoroff’s contribution to Tungus anthropology, see Shirokogoroff
2016.
5. Shirokogoroff’s work on the Manchus, Social Organization of the Manchus: A Study of the Manchu
Clan Organization, originally published in 1924, was also translated into Chinese in 1997 (Shi Luguo
[1924] 1997).
6. “Official Histories” refers to a genre of historical writing composed by private individuals and
officials throughout imperial times. Following the model of Sima Qian’s Shiji 史记 (Records of the
Grand Historian), they are arranged according to an “annal-biography” system: most of them are
topical monographs. Although the purpose of compiling these histories was to provide a record
of the actions and decisions of legitimate dynastic rulers, they also contain a wealth of
information on institutions, historical events, major figures, and peoples of the realm.
7. In 2015, the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, in association with MAE
(Kunstkamera), Saint Petersburg, organized the exhibition, “River Stars Reindeer. Imaging
Evenki and Orochen communities of Inner Mongolia and Siberia”. This exhibition was dedicated
to Lindgren’s and Shirokogoroff’s photographic collections.
8. From the University of Versailles (UVSQ, France), the University of Vilnius (Lithuania), the
Institute of Ethnology at Academia Sinica (Taiwan), the Museum of Anthropology and
Ethnography (Kunstkamera, Russia), and European University in Saint Petersburg (Russia),
respectively.
9. We thank the following institutions for their generous funding or support for this volume: ANR
- French National Research Agency (project BRISK-ANR 12 SENV 0005); the French Chantier
Arctique project PARCS (Pollution in the Arctic System) and CNRS (INSU).
10. The term uriankai is itself a real conundrum because it was used by many different peoples,
sometimes as a self-ethnonym, sometimes as an exo-ethnonym. Schematically, one finds this
term mentioned in Chinese sources, among the Mongols, and in Russia to designate some Mongol
groups, the Tuva people, some Tungus groups, and other groups dispersed over the huge

30
territory stretching from the Yenisei River to Korea through Manchuria (Vasilevich 1966, p. 73,
Dolgih 1960, p. 298). The ethnonym Uranhai is one of the most famous in Europe for designating
non-islamised Turkic mongolised populations (they remained shamanists or became Buddhists).
This name is also used by the non-mongolised population of Mongolia, which consider
themselves Tuva. It was also used to designate ethnic groups serving Gengis Khan (mongolised or
Mongol ones). It is also included in the name of the ancestors of the Yakut and Evenki peoples
(uraanghai sahalar and urangkai Evenki, respectively) (Tamisier 1998, p. 252, Ksenofontov 1992,
Vasilevich 1966, Lavrillier 2005, p. 53-54). See also Wure’ertu in this volume.
11. We know this from an historical oral account relating the migration of the Samagir clan along
the Amur River from its source to the lower part through the Argun (along the current Russian-
Chinese frontier), Nonni, and Sungari (within current Northern China) rivers and a list of armed
clans employed by the Manchu in the 16th century (Lipskii 1925, Vasilevich 1965, p. 141).
12. In the Russian taiga, the older nomads know several stories about these movements
(Lavrillier 2005, p. 106 et passim).
13. Nowadays 40 peoples possess this status in the Russian Federation: 37 indigenous minorities
are situated in the North, Siberia, and the Far East of the Russian Federation. Altogether, they
represent around two per cent of the Russian population (Federal State Statistics Service 2010). In
this area, there are a further eight peoples with the official status of “indigenous people” (also
created during the Soviet period). This status is assigned to native peoples with a population
upwards of 50,000 individuals. Advantages and subsides like free medical treatment, schools and
kindergartens, specific hunting and fishing quotas, free places at university, and financial
support for reindeer herding are attached to the category of indigenous minority; however, these
benefits are currently in decline in many Siberian regions (Turaev et al. 2011, Lavrillier field
notes).
14. All-Russia Population Census (in Russian) 2010. The other Tungus population groups in Russia are
the Neghidal (513 individuals), the Ulch (2,765 individuals), the Oroch (596 individuals), the Udeghe
(1,496 individuals), and the Orok (now called Uilta) (295 individuals).
15. Quoted in Popov 1869, pp. 398-464. The origin and meaning of the term “Tungus” have been
debated since the 18th century (Vasilevich 1969a, p. 10). The most frequent, but probably
erroneous, interpretation refers to the words tongus or tungus in Tatar, meaning “wild boar” or
“pig” (Georgi 1775 and 1779, II, p. 33). The word was thought to have been propagated by the
Tatars of Tobolsk (Strahlenberg 1730). Other authors hold that tongus comes from the Yakut tong
– meaning dog or frozen (in the sense of someone who does not understand (Shimanskii 1905).
Another, more recent, hypothesis suggests that the term derives from a Samoyed group, the
Nenets of the Yenisei river basin, who, according to this theory, were the first to use the word to
designate the Evenki to the Russians (Helimski & Janhunen 1990). Tungus became later a “self-
designation” for the Tungus-speaking communities raising horses and cattle in Barguzin
(Buryatia), Shilka, and Nerchinsk (Zabaikal region).
16. For more details, see Brodnikov 2001, Lavrillier 2005, pp. 83-92.
17. The term lamu is also studied by Wure’ertu in this volume.
18. For ethnonyms such as Orochen, Murchen, Evenki, Khamnigan, and another 13 ethnonyms
and related literature, see Patkanov 1906, Vasilevich 1969a, Lavrillier 2005, pp. 50-68, Sirina 2012,
pp. 43-57.
19. For more details, see Lavrillier 2005, pp. 133-134, Archive 1946.
20. Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic.
21. This Soviet policy is compared by Xie (in this volume) with current Chinese relocation
policies known as “ecological migration” directed at the Evenki reindeer herders.
22. For more information, see Forsyth [1992] 2000, pp. 383-384.
23. For more historical details on eastern Siberia, see Lavrillier 2005, pp. 102-139; for the Zabaikal
region, see Brandišauskas 2017, pp. 39-49.

31
24. For a study of conversion or neo-shamanism among other Siberian peoples, see Vaté 2009 ;
among the Yakut, see Hamayon 2007.
25. Lavrillier 2003, 2005.
26. According to the Chinese 2010 national census.
27. Except the Manchu, who are distributed throughout China with a high number in the
Heilongjiang, Jilin, and Liaoning provinces, and the Sibe, who live in the Jilin and Liaoning
provinces and in the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region.
28. For more details regarding the usage of the term “Manchu” and the history of the Qing
dynasty, refer to Elliott 2001.
29. The Russian advances led to the conclusion of a series of treaties (the Treaty of Nerchinsk in
1689, the Treaty of Aigun in 1858, and the Treaty of Beijing in 1860) and the demarcation of the
Sino-Russian boundary.
30. For a detailed analysis of the organisation of the Tungus groups into Manchu banners, see
Kim 2009. Regarding the relationship between the Solon people and the Qing frontier institutions
(Lifanyuan), see Chia Ning 2015.
31. In some cases, these exo-ethnonyms given by the Russians were adopted by the Evenki.
Lindgren noted, for instance, that when the Reindeer Evenki were speaking their own language,
they called themselves “Evenki”, but when speaking Russian they referred to themselves as
“Yakut” or “Orochen” (Lindgren 1936, p. 76).
32. A sum is a rural administrative unit used in Mongolian-speaking areas of the Inner Mongolia
Autonomous Region. In Hulun Buir, a sum is always divided into several gachaa, the smallest
administrative unit in Inner Mongolia. Under the jurisdiction of the sum, the gachaa is a
residential area with grazing pastures for pastoralists.
INDEX
Keywords: Tungus, China, Russia, ethnohistory, politics, minority-state relationship, nomadism,
landscape, hunting, reindeer herding, ritual practices, shamanism, traditional ecological
knowledge
Mots-clés: Toungouse, Chine, Russie, ethnohistoire, politique, relations minorités-État,
nomadisme, paysage, chasse, élevage de renne, pratiques rituelles, chamanisme, savoir
écologique traditionnel

32
Human-environment relationships in Siberia and Northeast China.

Knowledge, rituals, mobility and politics among the Tungus peoples
Ethno-historical retrospectives

33
The French of the Tundra. Early

modern European views of the
Tungus in translation
Les Toungouses, Français de la toundra. Quelques témoignages de l’époque
moderne en traduction
Jan Borm
EDITOR'S NOTE
Map of the repartition of the Evenki in Russia and China
click here
1 “Tous les Toungouses en general sont braves & robustes”, Louis De Jaucourt writes in his
entry on Tatars in the 15th volume of the Encyclopédie to which the French Protestant
scholar was one of the main contributors (De Jaucourt undated1); that is – “all of the
Tungusic peoples are generally brave and robust” – or should we say “courageous and
robust2”? Courage is no doubt the notion to be stressed here3. “Toungouses” is rendered
by “Tungusic peoples”, since De Jaucourt mentions four groups among the Tungus in
his article4. Whatever the case may be, it is important to stress outright, that travel
writing “shares with ethnography an interpretative view of foreign cultures and
societies, while translation refracts the act of interpretation still further”, as Alison E.
Martin and Susan Pickford observe (Martin & Pickford 2012, p. 2), no matter how
faithful (or not) a translator may have wished to remain to the text 5. Given the scarcity
of reliable information about Siberia in the early days of the Enlightenment, the first
eyewitness accounts of the Tungus and other Siberian indigenous peoples available in
European languages were quite sensational. Indeed, to Western Europeans of the late
17th century, Siberia “must have been a terra incognita, since the representations of
Herberstein, Massa, Olearus and even Witsen’s relied entirely on hearsay”, Michael
Hundt notes in his introduction to a reprint of Isbrand Ides’ and Adam Brand’s

34
narratives6. To give but one example of the kind of Tungus images that were circulating
in early modern Europe, here is a passage from Isaac Massa (1586-1643?) reprinted in
English translation in the famous travel anthology His Pilgrimes edited by Samuel
Purchas (1577?-1626): “These people were deformed with swellings under their throats,
and in their speech they thratled like Turkie-cocks. Their language seemed not much to
differ from the Samoieds, which also understood many of their words 7”.
2 No wonder, then, that Isbrand Ides’ and Brand’s narratives raised widespread attention
since their travelogues were based on first-hand observation, to witness the many
editions of their texts, including a number of translations 8. Though Isbrand Ides
(1657-1708/9?9) was the leader of the Tsar’s embassy to China in the years 1692-1695,
Adam Brand10, who accompanied Ides, managed to publish the first full-length account
of the journey11 in 1698, the English edition appearing the same year in London 12, to be
followed by the French edition in 169913 and a Dutch edition in 1707, as well as an
abridged version in Spanish in 1701. A new, significantly augmented German edition
was published in 1712, reprinted in 1723 and 1734. Long excerpts were later included in
numerous anthologies of travels. As to Isbrand Ides’s account, it was first published in
full in 1704 in Dutch14, translated into English in 170615 and into German in 1707 16.
Regarding French editions of Ides’ text, a long excerpt was included in the anthology
Voyages de Corneille Le Brun par la Moscovie, en Perse, et aux Indes orientales in 1718 17 and a
more substantial version in Jean-Frédéric Bernard’s important collection Recueil de
voyages au Nord18.
3 Such translations played a major role in disseminating (new) knowledge about foreign
cultures during the 18th century, as Brunhilde Wehinger (Wehinger 2008, p. 7) observes:
“Translations are an essential part of cultural transfer which gave the European
Enlightenment its transcultural character and openness while contributing to the
emerging of a literary public distinguished by its unfailing interest in anything new and
cultural development of other European countries”. The aim was to rapidly render
available new material and to do so in a form that would be agreeable to the target
audience, the problem being one of the potential dichotomy between faithfulness and
elegance, a subject Voltaire addressed in his reception speech to the French Academy
in 174619. Translators were expected to accommodate the taste of the audience, still
characterized in the first half of 18th century in France by the aesthetic norms of French
classicism. French translators of the first half of the 17th century were inspired by a
principle known as the “belles infidèles20”. The aim was to emulate, rather than imitate,
as Emmanuel Bury (Bury [1968] 1995, p. 49721) puts it neatly. This spirit, or attitude,
continued to characterise French translations in the first half of the 18 th century
(Wehinger 2008, p. 9) even though the “belles infidèles” – understood as a genre – were
over by 166022. Still, “the free, creative, translation style of the belles infidèles, although
not universally accepted, had nevertheless shaped approaches to translation across
Europe”, according to Alison E. Martin and Susan Pickford who observe a turn to
“literalism” during what they refer to as the “Romantic period” (Martin & Pickford
2012, pp. 9-10). Though this seems to have been the case in general terms, the liberties
translators of travelogues were prepared to take do not appear to have been mainly
due to the “belles infidèles” however, as Odile Gannier notes 23. Content would have been
considered more important than form24. Still, as we will see below, stylistic effects are
not only unavoidable, but they are an essential part of the rhetoric of travel. May one
just mention in passing the fact that explorers’ accounts of the Enlightenment tended

35
to be brushed up, not to say polished, either by professional writers or the travellers
themselves to suit the taste of the day. In the case of translations, the effort was even
more obvious as translators/editors did not hesitate at all to either abridge, augment or
comment on the original text, all in the name of the target audience’s assumed horizon
of expectations and to avoid the most fearsome of enemies: l’ennui – that is, to bore the
reader25. We are obviously far from a contemporary sense of authorship and
authenticity but this fact should not stand in our way when it comes to reading
travelogues in translation of the period. In the present context, I propose to compare
several translations of Ides’ and Brand’s texts in order to show how they may vary from
one edition to another, a phenomenon that needs to be taken into account more
systematically in order to discuss the impact of early modern travelogues and the
dissemination of foreign – in this case Tungus – images across Europe.
4 To return to Ides and Brand, Odile Gannier mentions the former as an example of
translations that had been published not only to provide valuable new information to
scholars or philosophes keen on widening their horizon and elaborating in ever more
subtle or diversified forms their philosophies of history or essays on man, but also
because they appealed to those who liked to be entertained by accounts of “exotic”
manners26. Once again, Ides’ and Brand’s travelogues promised to hold particularly
exciting treasures in store since the authors seemed in a position to affirm that they
had seen all they describe with their own eyes, no matter how prominently a
translator/editor may have manipulated the text for those reading them in translation.
5 Ides’ Embassy met with the Tungus on the Angara river27, that is Evenki and/or Even
people according to Michael Hundt. Their (proto-)ethnographic observations focus
mainly on religion, clothing, housing and food as well as other points (Hundt 1999,
p. 44). Shamanistic practice was of particular interest to them and is therefore
commented on in more detail (Hundt 1999, p. 47). Ides starts off his description of
Tungus manners with an account of meeting a shaman. Here is the English version:
Some Miles upwards from hence live several Tunguzians, amongst which is also their
famed Schaman or Diabolical Artist. The reports which passed concerning this Cheat
made me very desirous to see him. Wherefore in order to gratifie my curiosity I
went to those Parts, to visit him and his Habitation. I found him a tall old Man, that
had twelve Wives, and was not ashamed of the Art he pretended to: he shewed me
his Conjuring Habit, and other Tools which he used. First I saw his Coat, made of join-
ed Iron-Work, consisting of all manner of representations of Birds, Fishes, Ravens,
Owls, &c. besides several Beasts and Birds Claws, and Bills, Saws, Hammers, Knives,
Sabirs, and the Images of several Beasts, &c. so that all the parts of the Diabolical
Robe being fixed together by Joints, might at pleasure be taken to pieces. He has
also Iron Stockings for his Feet and Legs, suitable to his Robe, and two great Bear
Claws over his Hands. His Head was likewise adorned, with such like Images, and
fixed to his Forehead were two Iron Bucks-Horns. When he designs to Conjure he
takes a Drum made after their fashion in his Left Hand, and a flat Staff covered with
the Skins of Mountain-Mice in his Right Hand; thus equipped he jumps cross legged,
which motion shakes all these Iron Plates, and makes a great clangor; besides
which, he at the same time beats his Drum, and with Eyes distorted upwards, a
strong bearish voice makes a dismal noise. (Ides 1706, pp. 29-30)
6 Let us note several points in the text to begin with: the shaman is referred to as a
“diabolical artist”, showing no sense of shame in doing what he does, i.e. the text
introduces a paradigm reflecting a Christian worldview condemning any manifestation
of shamanism as sorcery. The shaman is polygamous up to what may have seemed quite
an astonishing degree from a European point-of-view, as issue we return to below. His

36
activities are assimilated to the art of conjuring and diabolic practice (the diabolical
robe), involving sound described as being dismal (i.e. miserable and unpleasant to hear).
Nothing very surprising here, modern scholars or ethnographers might say. More
interestingly to the latter no doubt, Ides includes quite a few details concerning dress
and performance. How do the details focused on here appear in other translations and
what does the original text say? The English, French and German translations keep the
term “shaman” Ides uses in the original, followed by the expression
“Duivelskonstenaar” (Ysbrants Ides 1704, p. 35), rendered identically in English, altered
in German to “teuffels=bechwerer” (conjurer of the devil, Yßbrant Ides 1707, p. 64) and
followed in the latter by the term “schwarzkünstler” – magician or someone practicing
black magic. The French translation of 1718 uses the terms schaman and magicien (“un
fameux Schaman ou magicien”, Wetstein & Wetstein 1718, p. 117) whereas the longer
version published by Bernard in 1727 adds more freely the following comments once
the shaman and magicien has been introduced: “Je trouvai un grand home, extrêmement
vieux, qui entretenoit pourtant douze femmes. Il avoit l’air fier, & l’étoit en effet, jusqu’à
l’insolence, à cause du credit que sa profession lui donnoit parmi ses Compatriotes” (Bernard
1727, p. 56 – “I found a tall man, extremely old who nonetheless kept twelve wives. He
looked proud and indeed, he was, even to the point of being insolent due to the esteem
in which his compatriots held him because of his profession”). All the texts mention 12
wives and his lack of shame. Here is the Dutch text that the English translation is
largely faithful to: “Hy was een lang oud man, had twaalf wyven, en was wegens zyne konst
onbeschaamt” (Ysbrants Ides 1704, p. 35) – and the first French version: “c’étoit un
grand homme, assez avancé en âge, qui avoit douze femmes, & ne rougissoit pas de sa
possession” (Wetstein & Wetstein 1718, p. 117), drawing on a periphrase that is more
ambiguous in the sense that it may be understood to link the notion of “shamelessness”
to the idea of “having twelve wives”, unless one understands “possession” to be a
rendering of the state a shaman is in when shamanising or in the sense of “possessing”
a gift, an art or a skill, whereas the German text clearly insists on the shaman’s
pretended insolence due to his art, like the French text of 1727 does (“und war wegen
seiner Kunst sehr unverschämt” (Yßbrant Ides 1707, p. 65).
7 The exotic potential of a polygamous man keeping wives by the dozen is then extended
from one individual in Ides’ text to the whole group of men encountered in Brand’s
text, a passage the English translation renders in the following terms: “How mean and
miserable soever their Condition is, they all of them have several Wives, whom they
look upon as their greatest Treasure: The richer sort have often 10 or 12, whom they
buy from their Fathers, sometimes for 10, sometimes for 15 Reen-deers a-piece” (Brand
1698b, p. 51). This is largely faithful to the German original, even if their life is
described as simply poor (“erbärmlich”, Brand 1698a, p. 81), rather than “mean and
miserable”, a neat formula the English translator evidently would not refrain from.
Similarly, the French text speaks of extreme misery and poverty (“extréme misère &
pauvreté”, Brand 1699, p. 72), then mentioning the number of wives without specifying
that this polygamous state would be considered a treasure. On the contrary, it is
condemned as an abominable habit in French (“une coûtume abominable”, Brand 1699,
p. 73), just like it is in German, but not expressly in English. Brand’s text thus varies
considerably from Ides’ in certain specific points. This may be due to a number of
reasons, such as a different comprehension or misunderstanding of what has been
observed/explained to the travellers, an aptitude to exaggerate if we are not simply
dealing with a proverbial “travel lie” for which the genre of the travelogue was still

37
notorious in the late 17th century. Whatever the case may be, in the examples given so
far, we have moved from variations in translating a specific term to adding extra words
or using circumlocution rather than a direct translation in order to show different
types of variation between the original and some translations, as well as an elaboration
on a particular scene in Brand’s text that represents quite a significant difference with
Ides’ descriptions.
8 Let us return to the figure of the shaman to look more closely at the subject of his
practice. This is how an excerpt of Ides’ description of a shamanistic séance appears in
English:
If the Tunguzians have any thing stole from them, or desire to be informed of any
thing, in the first place, he must be paid before hand: after which he plays the tricks
already related, jumps and roars till a Black-bird comes and sits on the top of his
Hutt, which is open above to let out the Smoak: As soon as he gets sight of the Bird,
he falls into a swoon, and the Bird vanishes immediately: After he hath remained
bereft of his Senses for about a quarter of an Hour, he comes to himself, and tells
the Querist who hath robb’d him, or answers his Question of what sort soever; and
they tell us, that all that he saith proves true. (Ides 1706, p. 30)
9 Among the elements to be noted, one can draw attention to the expression “playing
tricks on someone”, suggesting the “trickster” figure and the notion of “cheating”.
Let’s note the idea of losing consciousness also (“remained bereft of his Senses”) and
the addendum that the shaman is believed to correctly foretell the future. This is close
enough to the Dutch original as far as the two first points are concerned: “Zoo haast hy
dien in ‘t gezigt krygt, valt hy op de aarde in zvym, en de vogem verdwynt ook aanstonds. Nadat
hy nu als dood en buiten verstand een vierendeel uurs gelegen heest, komt hy wederom by zich
zelven, en zegt dan den vrager [...]” (Ysbrants Ides 1704, p. 36). The German version is also
similar in a number of respects, but does add some ideas while expanding on others:
“So bald als er diesen ansichtig wird/ so fällt er auf die erde in schwindel und entzückung/ und
den augenblick verschwindet der vogel wieder. Wann er nun als todt und ohne verstand etwa
eine viertel=stunde gelegen/ so kommt er wieder zu sich selbst/ und sagt alsdann dem der ihn
raths gefragt/ wer ihn bestohlen/ und was er sonsten zu wissen begehrt; und da soll dann auch
alles/ wie sie sagen/ nach dem wort des Zauberers eintreffen” (Yßbrant Ides 1707, p. 66). In
the German text, the shaman drops to the ground with his head spinning around,
feeling enchanted as soon as he notices the bird, remaining on the floor for fifteen
minutes as if he were dead and, to borrow the English phrase, “bereft of his senses”.
Once he has recovered, he answers any questions people may wish to ask him, the
latter affirming that things happen exactly like the “magician” said they would. The
first French text remains strikingly more restrained on this occasion: “Ensuite il tombe à
la renverse, comme un homme hors de soi, & l’oiseau s’envole. Il reprend ses esprits au bout d’un
quart d’heure, & declare ce qu’on veut savoir” (Wetstein & Wetstein 1718, p. 118). In the
French edition from 1727, the terms have been slightly altered, introducing a different
meaning: the shaman no longer drops down like someone out of himself but as a
“frénétique” (Bernard 1727, p. 57); the act of answering queries is rendered as “prononce
l’Oracle”. The considerable weight of his dress does not appear in the 1727 edition, a
point that Ides moves to in the original and that the other translations also insist on.
All of the texts mention his wealth, but Bernard’s edition is once again more elaborate
by adding that all of the “idolaters” in the country consult this “false prophet” on most
events in their lives and that he can charge anything he likes for his “pretended
predictions28”.

38
10 Brand’s description of the shamanistic séance resembles Ides’ text though it introduces
a pejorative term that invites comment: “Indessen fällt der Pfaffe ohne Verstand danieder/
welcher denn alsbald von ihnen als ein Heiliger geehret und gelobet wird” (Brand 1698a, p. 81).
The German term “Pfaffe”, derived from the Latin word “papa”, originally meant a
cleric, but has had a negative connotation ever since Luther used it to mock Roman-
Catholic priests29. This idea is reflected in the English translation as well: “the Priest, as
if strucken with an Epileptick fit, falls down upon the ground, and is reverenc’d by
these ignorant People as a Saint” (Brand 1698b, p. 51), and in the French text, published
in Amsterdam: “le Schaman tombe à la renverse, comme s’il avoit perdu l’esprit, & c’est alors
qu’ils lui rendent les honneurs comme à un Saint” (Brand 1699, p. 72). This is no doubt a
Protestant effort to assimilate shamanism with the worship of saints in Roman
Catholicism considered by Protestants to be a form of “idolatry”, one of the key notions
at work in Ides’ and Brand’s narratives as well. The former mentions wooden idols kept
in the huts. The rather restrained Dutch version is faithfully rendered in sober English
terms: “They have in their Hutts carved wooden Idols, about half an Ell long, with the
representation of humane Faces, which they feed as the Ostiacks do, with their best sort
Food, which runs out of their Mouths over their Bodies” (Ysbrants Ides 1706 p. 31 30). In
German, the best food is served to the idols also, but what follows is slightly more
ambiguous: “welche sie eben als wie die Ostiaken/ mit den besten Speisen beköstigen/ die sie so
essen/ daß sie aus dem munde über den ganzen leib abfliessen” (Yßbrant Ides 1707, p. 69) –
literally: “(the idols) which they feed like the Ostiak do/ with their best dishes/ which
they eat in such a way/ that the food runs out of the mouth down the whole body”,
presumably down the idol, though the grammatical ambiguity of the possessive
pronoun might also be understood as referring to the Tungus, implying barbarian
eating habits, the details of which the first French translator obviously hastened to
spare his readers: “[…] des idoles de bois […] auxquelles ils presentent à manger ce qu’ils ont
de meilleur, comme les Ostiaques, & avec aussi peu de propreté” (Wetstein & Wetstein 1718,
p. 118) – literally, “to whom they hand the best dishes, like the Ostiak do, with a like
lack of cleanliness”. In the second French text, the editor has opted for a longer, more
mocking version to bemuse his readers: “Leurs Idoles sont des pieces de bois à figure
humaine, […]: chaque Tunguse a la sienne particulière dans sa cabane, où il lui présente, tous
les jours, ce qu’il a de plus exquis à manger ; mais ces Dieux n’ont pas meilleur appetite que ceux
des Ostikakes, & laissent ruisseler comme eux, des deux côtés de leur bouche, les alimens qu’on
veut leur faire avaler” (Bernard 1727, p. 59) – “their idols are wooden figures in human
shape […] each Tungus has his own in his hut to which he presents every day the most
exquisite dishes he can offer; but these Gods are not hungrier than those of the Ostiak;
no matter what food they are served, they let it run out of their mouth”. Brand also
chose to focus on this element, specifying in German that the Tungus smear food into
the mouths of their idols, adding a rhetorical question, obviously designed to be met
with by approval: “Ist das nicht grosse Blindheit?” (Brand 1698a, p. 80) – “Isn’t that great
blindness?” The question is not raised in the English version, but dealt with in free
style, no comment being added: “[…] if they have offered up their Prayers to them, and
are deceived in their expectations, the God is thrown out of doors, till they happen to
have better luck; then they are admitted again, and have their full and best share of
what they have got abroad” (Brand 1698b, p. 50). Though the feeding of idols is
mentioned, this is quite a long way from what we find in German, the source text that
the French translator picks up to add the following moralizing remarks to guide
Francophone readers: “Peut-on voir une semblable folie, & l’aveuglement de ces Peuples, sans

39
être saisi d’étonnement ?” (Brand 1699, p. 71) – “Has anyone ever seen like madness and
blindness as in these peoples without being seized by amazement?”.
11 Food and faith are well-known vectors of trying to purvey a sense of human diversity in
travel literature, both as far as texts and images are concerned 31; so are descriptions of
looks and ideals of beauty. The Dutch, English and German texts use very similar terms
to suggest that the Tungus are tall and tough: “lange sterke menschen” in Dutch
(Ysbrants Ides 1704, p. 36); almost identically in German “lange starcke leute” (Yßbrant
Ides 1707, p. 67); “tall and strong men” in English. The first French text provides a
slightly different image: “robustes & bien faits de corps” (Wetstein & Wetstein, p. 118),
while Bernard is closer to the original: “grands & robustes”. On the subject of tattoos,
quite notable differences appear. In Dutch, Ides introduces the subject by simply
stating that the Tungus also like beauty – “Zy zyn ook liefhebbers van
schoonheit” (Ysbrants Ides 1704, p. 37), hardly altered in German, though rendered in
slightly more enthusiastic terms – “sie seyn auch grosse liebhaber der schönheit” (Yßbrant
Ides 1707, p. 67 – “but they are also great lovers of beauty”). For the English translator,
Ides’ observation obviously needed to be qualified: “These People are admirers of
Beauty, according to their notion of it” (Ysbrants Ides 1706, p. 31) – and even more
rigorously so in the first French edition: “Ils aiment la beauté, don’t ils ont cependant
une idée fort singuliere” (Wetstein & Wetstein p. 118 – “they are admirers of beauty of
which they have nonetheless a very peculiar understanding”). In the second French
version, the idea of a strong dichotomy between European and Tungus ideals of beauty
is enhanced still further by means of cultural relativism: “Les Tunguses sont grands
amateurs de la beauté du visage: mais, pour l’avoir beau selon eux, il faut l’avoir tout
déchiqueté” (Bernard 1727, p. 58) – “the Tungus are great admirers of beauty, but to
have a beautiful face, according to them, one needs to have it all jagged”. Brand also
notes a sense of beauty in the Tungus: “In ihrer Jugend lassen sie zum Zierrath (so bey
diesen Leuten aufs höchste aestimiret wird) ihre Gesichter mit von Kohlen geschwärzten Fäden
auf allerhand Art durchgraben und benehen” (Brand 1698a, p. 77) – “In their youth, they
have their faces ploughed through and sown with a thread blackened by charcoal in
diverse manner for the sake of beauty (which is held in highest esteem by these
people)”, a habit that the English translator renders by stating that “they take a
particular pride to have their Cheeks stitch’d while they are young” with black Thread
through and through” (Brand 1698b, p. 48). The fact that an author or translator does
not choose to comment or condemn outright obviously does not mean that the
observer is admiring this or that habit in a given version. Many readers of the late 17 th
and early 18th century might well have been tempted to interpret such passages as
examples of “antiphrasis”, their aesthetic ideals being possibly somewhat challenged
by the forms of radical otherness that Ides and Brand were presenting, while scholars
were increasingly interested in Siberia as “a laboratory of the Enlightenment as far as
the production of knowledge in natural history is concerned”, according to Peter
Schweitzer32.
12 At the same time, it needs to be pointed out that Brand was also struck by the capacity
of the young Tungus to endure the procedure of having their faces tattooed, rendered
in English thus: “This unaccountable piece of pride, as painful as it is, (as causing great
Swellings in their Faces) they look upon it as Badges of Honour, transmitted to them
from their Ancestors” (Brand 1698b, pp. 48-49). One will note the proto-ethnographic
interest in the origin of this custom, besides the moralizing tone of the English
translator considering tattoos to be clearly a manifestation of pride, the sin that the

40
Bible – any Protestant’s principal written reference – warns believers about repeatedly.
The French text pays homage to the courage of the Tungus: “Ils ne paroissent pas
néanmois se soucier beaucoup de ce mal, la douleur ne les afflige point, au contraire, ils la
supportent avec courage, dans la joie qu’ils-ont de se voir si magnifiquement ornez des marques
paternelles” (Brand 1699, p. 69) – “they do not appear much concerned about this
suffering; pain does not trouble them, on the contrary, they stand pain with courage,
happy as they are to see themselves so splendidly ornamented by paternal signs 33”. No
matter how idolatrous the Tungus may have appeared to early travellers, the latter
were struck by their strength and daring – their being robust and courageous, the two
attributes De Jaucourt highlights at the beginning of his entry on the Tungus for the
Encyclopédie for which he drew on the published accounts available at the time.
13 What about the Tungus’ sense of beauty? De Jaucourt did not make much of this,
insisting mainly, as mentioned above, on their tall and robust figure, a description we
can easily trace back to Ides and Brand at this stage. He added that they are generally
more active than other Siberian peoples (De Jaucourt, undated, p. 923). Johann
Eberhard Fischer (1697-1771) also considered the Tungus to be a lively, bright people
bestowed by nature with sound common sense34. Later observers focus on Tungus
nomadism understood as one of the principal reasons for their cheerfulness. Here is a
fairly faithful rendering of Ferdinand von Wrangel’s (1797-1870) account in the English
translation edited by Lieut.-Col. Edward Sabine (1788-1883), a member of several Arctic
expeditions led by John Ross and William Edward Parry and later President of the Royal
Society: “[…] I may be permitted to remark that I regard the nomade Tunguses and
Iukahirs as the happiest people in Siberia. They are not tied down to any spot, but
wander as circumstances induce, always taking with them their families and their small
possessions, and never feeling the grief of parting from a home. They scarcely seem to
have any anxiety for the future, but cheerfully enjoy the present (Wrangel [1840] 1844,
p. 208)”. Ferdinand von Wrangel was still more enthusiastic, though, in the German
version published in Berlin in 1839: “Ueberhaupt zeichnen sich die Tungusen durch ihre
Gewandheit, Beweglichkeit und ihren beständigen, munteren Frohsinn ganz besonders vor allen
hiesigen Völkerschaften aus, so dass wir sie gemeiniglich die Franzosen der Tundra zu nennen
pflegten” (Wrangel [1840] 1844, p. 220) – “More generally, the Tungus distinguish
themselves by their dexterity, nimbleness and constant cheerfulness from all the other
peoples here, so much so that we were in the habit of calling them the French of the
Tundra35”. Interestingly enough, this passage does not appear in the English translation,
nor does it in the French36. Whatever the editorial reasons for this “omission” may have
been in either language, we are clearly still in the long 18th century when it comes to
translating travel accounts, as these editorial remarks by Sabine about Wrangel’s
narrative illustrate: “In the following year, 1840, the first edition of the present volume
was published, being a translation made by Mrs. Sabine from the German of
M. Engelhardt, reduced into a somewhat smaller compass than the original, partly by
the omission of the meteorological tables, partly by the substitution of a more simple
and concise style, and partly by the occasional curtailment of repetitions which are not
infrequent in different portions of the original work37”. But the trope of Tungus
elegance was there to last. Matthias Alexander Castrén (1813-1852) called the Tungus “a
distinguished, well-dressed and elegant people one could rightly consider as the
aristocrats of Siberia38”, an opinion later echoed by Carl Hiekisch (1840-1901) in his
inaugural dissertation, speculating about the origin of the Tungus’ distinguished
nature, suggesting that their “refined, courtly manners have been inherited from their

41
ancestors at a time when the latter were still sedentary living in orderly social
conditions39” (Hiekisch 1879, p. 69) since such “refined rules could hardly be developed
over vast stretches of thinly-populated land among hunting nomads but only there
where people live in regular and intense contact40” (Hiekisch 1879, p. 69). We may no
longer be in the long 18th century at this particular point, but the influence of
Enlightenment thought is still manifest. No matter how little early travellers may have
appreciated the Tungus’ sense of elegance, it clearly becomes a trope in the
19th century. To those German-speaking travellers and ethnographers, the Tungus were
the French of the tundra, like it or not.
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chinesischen Reise. Die russische Gesandtschaft von Moskau nach Peking 1692 bis 1695 in den Darstellungen
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Kasten, E. 2013 Johann Karl Ehrenfreid Kegel: ein deutscher Agronom bezieht Stellung zur Land-
und Naturnutzung auf Kamtčatka, in E. Kasten (ed.), Reisen an den Rand des russischen Reiches. Die
wissenschaftliche Erschließung der nordpazifischen Küstengebiete im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert
(Fürstenberg/Havel, Kulturstiftung Sibirien), pp. 207-221.
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leading out of Moscouia toward the East and North-east into Siberia, Samoiedia, and Tingoesia, as
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(London, printed by William Stansby for Henrie Fetherstone), p. 525-529.
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Indes orientales. [...] On y a ajoûté la route qu’a suivie Mr. Isbrants, Ambassadeur de Moscou en traversant
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43
Journalen und Notizen bearbeitet von G. Engelhardt, Staatsrath. Herausgegeben nebst einem Vorwort von
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by Lieutenant Now Admiral Ferdinand von Wrangell, of the Russian Imperial Navy, Second Edition, With
Additions. Edited by Lieut.-Col. Edward Sabine (London, James Madden and Co.).
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NOTES
1. De Jaucourt (1704-1779). On Siberian culture in the Encyclopédie, see also Belissa 2012,
pp. 161-173.
2. NB: published translations apart and unless indicated otherwise, all translations are mine.
3. This idea is notably confirmed in the 19th century by German agronomist Johann Karl
Ehrenfried Kegel (1784-1863) in reference to the Even described as “courageous and good
marksmen” (quoted in Kasten 2013, pp. 207-221, 214, my translation).
4. De Jaucourt specifies that the Russians divide the “Tongous” Tartars or “Tunguses” into four
principal branches: “the Podkamena-Toungousi, living in between the Yenisei and Lena, north of
the Angara; the Sabatski-Toungousi, between the Lena and the back end of the gulf of
Kamtchatka, around the 60th parallel, north of the Aldan river; the Olenni-Toungousi living
towards the source of the Lena and the Aldan, north of the Amur river; and the Conni-Toungousi
who live between Lake Baikal and Nerzinskoi as well as on the Amur” (De Jaucourt p. 922, my
translation).
5. In an article on pietism and translation, Douglas H. Shantz discusses notably the work of
Gerhard Tersteegen (1697-1769) who estimates to have translated as faithfully as possible a
selection of the life of Gregory Lopez (“mit möglichster Treue”, rendered by Shantz as “with the
greatest possible faithfulness”). See Shantz 2015, p. 340.
6. Hundt 1999, pp. 64-65 (my translation). The sources Hundt refers to are: Sigmund von
Herberstein (1486-1566), Moscouia der Hauptstat in Reissen [...] (Wien, 1557); Isaac Massa,
Beschryvinghe Vander Samoyeden Landt in Tartarien [...] (Amsterdam, 1612); Adam Olearius
(1599-1671), Offt begehrte Beschreibung Der Newen Orientalischen Reise [...] (Schleswig 1647; new,
augmented edition: Schleswig, 1656) and Nicolaes Witsen (1641-1717), Noord en Oost Tartarye [...]
(Amsterdam, 1692).
7. Purchas 1625, p. 527. NB: original spelling of printed sources in Dutch, English, French and
German is preserved throughout.
8. Michael Hundt discusses at some length the complex publishing history of these two texts in
the introduction to his edition of the two travelogues (Hundt 1999, pp. 66-72).
9. For a brief account of the Dutchman’s life see Hundt’s introduction 1999, pp. 1-4.

44
10. Fewer details are known about this German merchant. See Hundt’s introduction 1999, pp. 5-8.
11. Brand 1698a.
12. Brand 1698b.
13. Brand 1699.
14. Ysbrants Ides 1704.
15. Ysbrants Ides 1706.
16. Yßbrant Ides 1707.
17. Wetstein & Wetstein 1718, pp. 100-143.
18. Bernard 1727, pp. 1-217.
19. Voltaire 1746, www.academie-francaise.fr/discours-de-reception-de-m-voltaire (accessed
9 July 2015).
20. See Zuber [1968] 1995.
21. “[…] l’imitation doit céder le pas à l’émulation”.
22. See Zuber [1968] 1995, pp. 130-161.
23. Gannier 2014, p. 723 : “Les relations de voyage n’étant généralement pas considérées comme des
textes littéraires, leur traduction offre souvent des caractéristiques propres aux textes techniques, dont
l’intérêt n’est pas avant tout stylistique. Si l’on parle de ‘belles infidèles’ pour les traductions littéraires, les
libertés éventuelles prises par les traductions de récits de voyage s’expliquent par d’autres raisons”.
24. Ibid., p. 753: “Les traductions des voyages suivent le même principe : contrairement aux textes
littéraires, la forme du texte original importe peu. Seul le contenu est visé”.
25. Ibid., pp. 745, 747.
26. Ibid., p. 725: “Une autre catégorie peut regrouper les voyages individuels à l’étranger faits par des
étrangers et traduits pour l’instruction personnelle ou le divertissement des lecteurs français par exemple
les Voyages au Nord paru chez l’éditeur Jean-Frédéric Bernard à Amsterdam en 1727, et contenant entre
autres Le Voyage de Moscou à la Chine par M. Everard Isbrants Ides, ambassadeur de Moscovie,
commencé en 1692 et traduit du hollandais ; ou la description des Mœurs et coutumes des Ostiackes et
autres Remarques curieuses sur le royaume de Sibérie, traduites de l’allemand de Jean Bernard Muller,
capitaine des Dragons au service de la Suède, pendant sa captivité en Sibérie, vers 1712). Ce type de voyage
plaît au public curieux des mœurs ‘exotiques’”.
27. Hundt provides the following dates for the embassy: departure from Moscow on March 3,
1692; arrival in Bejing November 3, 1693 where the travellers stayed until February 19, 1694.
They returned to Moscow the following year, February 1.
28. Recueil des voyages au Nord, Bernard 1727, p. 57: “Tous les Idolâtres du Pays ont recours à ce faux
Profète, dans la plupart des événemens de leur vie : &, come on lui done tout ce qu’il demande pour ses
prétendues predictions”, il a ramassé des richesses considerable, qui consistent en bestiaux”. Note the
alliterations here, as above in English, “mean and miserable”, effects that make it difficult to
affirm that authors of travelogues and their translators would not have been interested in style
(see again n. 26).
29. See “Pfaffe” in Deutsches Wörterbuch von Jacob und Wilhelm Grimm (Grimm & Grimm [1889] 1999,
pp. 1584-1585).
30. In Dutch: “In hunne hutten hebben zy Afgoden, van hout gesneden, omtrent een halve elle lang, van
menschen gedaante, die zy even eens de kost geecen als de Ostiakken, met de beste spyze die zy eaten, datze
uit den mond over het lyf loopt” (Ysbrants Ides 1704, pp. 39-40).
31. A striking example is the image showing two Tungus in front of a tent and other characters as
well as a row of tents in the background, the caption specifying the elements considered of
particular interest in terms of “otherness”. In the English version of Ides’ account, the caption of
the illustration (Ysbrants Ides 1706, between pp. 30-31) reads: “A. The Idol in his Tent. B. Dead
corps laid to rot. C. Dogs and Cats hung up being their food”. In the first French edition, the
image (Wetstein & Wetstein 1718, p. 119) is presented in slightly different terms: “A. Cabane avec

45
l’Idole. B. Corps de leurs Amis Morts. C. Chiens pendus, d’ont ils se nourissent” – the cats having been
dropped in the French text. On travel imagery, see also Borm 1999, pp. 169-182.
32. Schweitzer 2013, p. 15: “Wo bisher kaum ethnographische Neugier an Sibirien bestanden hatte, wird
Sibirien im 18. Jahrhundert zum Laboratorium der Aufklärung bezüglich naturalistischer
Wissensproduktion”.
33. On the practice and possible meaning of tattoos among the Tungus see Beffa & Delaby
1993-1994, pp. 321-322.
34. Fischer 1768, p. 110: “Die Tungusen, ein munteres, aufgewecktes, und von der natur mit einem guten
verstand begabtes volk [...]”.
35. Note that the word “Gewandtheit”, translated here by “dexterity” may also take the meaning
of “elegance”.
36. Wrangel 1843.
37. Sabine 1844 Preface, in Wrangel 1884.
38. Castrén 1856, p. 250: “Ausser Russen und Deportirten von verschiedenen Nationen trifft man auf dem
Wege von Jenisseisk nach Turchansk Tungusen, Samojeden und Jenissei-Ostjaken. Die Tungusen sind ein
feines, geputztes und elegantes Volk; man könnte sie mit Recht Sibiriens Adel nennen”.
39. Hiekisch 1879, p. 69: “So ist die feine, höfliche Umgangsweise der Tungusen eine von ihren Voreltern
übertragene, als letztere noch ein ansässiges Volk waren und unter geregelten gesellschaftlichen
Verhältnissen lebten”.
40. Hiekisch 1879, p. 69: “Feine Regeln im gesellschaftlichen Verkehre können sich nicht gut bei einem
spärlich und über weite Einöden gesäeten Jägervolke ausbilden, sondern nur wo Menschen in beständigem
und regem Verkehr mit einander leben”.
ABSTRACTS
This article discusses early modern literary representations of the Tungus. Comparing
translations of Isbrand Ides’ travelogue, chief emissary of the Tsar’s Embassy to China in the
years 1692-1695, accompanied by Adam Brand whose narrative was also rapidly translated into
several languages. English, French and German editions of these texts are compared to show
significant differences between these versions published during a period during which the
principle of the “belles infidèles” often inspired translators expected above all to please their
targeted readership. Cuts and additional remarks also characterize these translations, notable
changes which need to be taken into account by ethnohistorians as much as variants of a given
passage in translation.
Cet article est consacré à la question de la représentation littéraire des Toungouses à l’époque
moderne. Il propose l’étude de plusieurs traductions du récit de voyage d’Isbrand Ides, chef
émissaire de l’Ambassade du Tsar en Chine dans les années 1692-1695, accompagné d’Adam
Brand, auteur également d’un témoignage rapidement traduit en plusieurs langues dès sa
parution. Les éditions allemandes, anglaises et françaises de ces récits sont comparées afin de
montrer des divergences importantes entre ces versions produites à une époque où le principe
des “belles infidèles” régissait le plus souvent le travail du traducteur, censé plaire, avant tout, au
goût du lectorat ciblé. Cette approche comprenait des coupures et des commentaires,
modifications notables dont l’ethnohistoire doit tenir compte aussi bien que des choix de
traduction.

46
INDEX
Keywords: Tungus, Siberia, history, ethnohistory, travel, literature, translation, shamanism
Mots-clés: Toungouse, Sibérie, ethnohistoire, littérature, voyage, traduction, chamanisme
AUTHOR
JAN BORM
Jan Borm is Full Professor of British Literature at the University of Versailles Saint-Quentin-en-
Yvelines where he is also co-director of the international interdisciplinary Master 2 programme
“Arctic Studies” affiliated with the excellence cluster “University of Paris-Saclay”. From 2013 to
2017 he was Principal Investigator of the FP7 project POLARIS (Cultural and Natural Heritage in
Arctic and Sub-Antarctic Regions for a Cross-, Cultural and Sustainable Valorisation Process and Tourism
Development: Siberia, Lapland and Patagonia). He is currently the UVSQ team leader of the
H2020 project EDU-ARCTIC piloted by the Institute of Geophysics of the Polish Academy of
Science. Jan Borm has published numerous articles on travel literature and Arctic travel writing
including “Discovery as Cheerful Endurance: William Edward Parry’s Quest (1819-25)”, in Frédéric
Regard (ed.), Arctic Exploration in the Nineteenth Century: Discovering the Northwest Passage (London,
Pickering & Chatto, 2013, pp. 137-153); “The rhetorics of Arctic discourse. Reading Gretel
Ehrlich’s This Cold Heaven in class”, in C. Fowler, C. Forsdick & L. Kostova (eds), Travel and
Ethics. Theory and Practice (London, Routledge, 2014, pp. 216-230) and “Greenland as seen by two
contemporary British travelers: Joanna Kavenna and Gavin Francis” (Studies in Travel Writing 20
(3), 2016: “New Narratives of the Arctic”, pp. 262-271). He has co-edited ten collective volumes,
the most recent being Le froid. Adaptation, production, effets, représentations (Montréal, Presses de
l’Université du Québec, coll. “Droit au Pôle”, 2018, 365 pages), together with Daniel Chartier.
jan.borm@uvsq.fr

47
Evenki migrations in early times

and their relationship with rivers
Les migrations anciennes des Évenks et leurs relations avec les rivières
Wure’ertu
Translation : Aurore Dumont
EDITOR'S NOTE
click here
Positions of the case studies in the present volume
click here
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Translated from Chinese by Aurore Dumont.
The introduction and footnotes are by Aurore Dumont (for the Chinese side) and
Alexandra Lavrillier (for the Russian one), the words between square brackets are also
from the editors.
Introduction
1 In the following essay, the Solon Evenki writer Wure’ertu 乌热尔图 presents three
legends gathered from among various Evenki groups in the People’s Republic of China 1
(PRC) at different times. The first two legends, the “Legend of the big lake” and “A piece of
a shaman’s oration concerning worship to an ancestor”, were recorded among the Evenki
reindeer herders (Ch. Xunlu Ewenke 驯鹿鄂温克) and the Solon Evenki (Ch. Suolun
Ewenke 索伦鄂温克), respectively. The Evenki reindeer herders form a small
community of nomadic herders and hunters living in the taiga forest in the

48
northeastern part of Hulun Buir prefecture (Ch. Hulunbei’er shi 呼伦贝尔市) 2, in the
Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region. The Solon Evenki living in the Zhalantun 扎兰屯
area, in the southwestern part of Hulun Buir, were traditionally hunters but adopted
agriculture and sedentary farming in the first decade of the 20 th century.
2 The first two legends were gathered between 1956 and 1957 by the “Social History
Research Investigations on Inner Mongolia’s Ethnic Minorities” team, part of the
Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. Composed of Guo Buku 郭布库 (Evenki), Lü
Guangtian 吕光天 (Han Chinese) and Wuyundalai 乌云达赉 (Evenki), the scientific
team was sent to Evenki areas during the large ethnographic campaigns launched soon
after the creation of the People’s Republic of China (1949) in order to collect data about
the culture and customs of “ethnic minorities” across the country. The two legends
were published in the collective work “Social history research investigations on
Evenki” (NZBZ 1986). Lü Guangtian and Wuyundalai afterwards became renowned
historians whose academic works on Tungus populations had a great impact on Tungus
studies in the PRC.
3 The third legend, “The Evenki crossing the sea”, was recorded by Wure’ertu among the
Solon Evenki of the Zhalantun area in 20023. The storyteller, He Xiuzhi 何秀芝, who is
today 85 years old, was born into an influential shaman family and is known for having
a great knowledge of shamanic practices. This legend, which seems to be unknown
among other Evenki groups and clans, has been handed down from generation to
generation in He Xiuzhi’s family. All three legends were recorded among the different
Evenki groups and translated into Chinese.
4 In this essay, Wure’ertu not only describes the three legends according to former
records and his own work, but also explores some theories on Evenki history developed
by scholars in China. According to Wure’ertu, those Evenki interested in their ethnic
group’s history still know the first two legends.
Three popular legends

5 Throughout history, the ancestors of the Evenki participated in many significant
migratory movements closely tied to the origins and culture of the ethnic group. Since
the memory of this early period is lost today, only a very small number of legends and
stories have been handed down; therefore, they are very precious material. Among the
Evenki living in the People’s Republic of China, three old legends have been handed
down to the present day. They contain important information on the Evenki’s origin
and migratory movements.
First legend: the “Legend of the big lake”
6 According to the legend, there was a big lake called “Lama” (Evk. laamu 4) into which
eight big rivers flowed. In the lake, a large number of beautiful water plants grew,
while many lotuses floated on the water. When standing on the lakeside and gazing
towards it, the sun seemed to be very close, as if it were rising from the lake. There, the
weather was warm: however, as soon as one crossed the lake, it became cold. The
mountains surrounding the lake were very high: the ancestors of the Evenki people all
come from these high mountains surrounding Lama Lake.

49
7 The “Legend of the big lake” has mainly been handed down among the Evenki reindeer
herders of China; however, it is also known among other Evenki groups of horse-
breeders and hunters5. For centuries, this legend has been narrated by Evenki from one
generation to the next. Nevertheless, the geographical location of the lake remains
entirely unclear.
8 In China, two historians developed a strong interest in this legend. The first, Lü
Guangtian, wrote “A concise history of the Evenki” (Ch. Ewenke zu jianshi 鄂温克族简史 6) in
the 1960s. Relying on his personal knowledge, the Soviet archaeological material
available at the time, and the “Legend of the big lake”, Lü Guangtian suggests in his
monograph that the Evenki people have their origins in the coastal areas of Lake
Baikal.
9 While such a hypothesis obviously had a certain impact at the time, its weak spots were
revealed in the late 1980s. Indeed, numerous archaeological excavations and scholarly
research disclosed that before the Tang Dynasty [618-907] (at the latest), the peripheral
areas of Lake Baikal were Xiongnu and Turkic cultural geographical areas. As the
Evenki group belongs to the Manchu-Tungus language branch, [these areas] could not
have appeared in isolation and must be considered the result of Evenki migrations 7.
10 The second historian is an Evenki named Wuyundalai. He is a knowledgeable scholar of
historical toponyms and a linguist. In the 1990s, Wuyundalai conscientiously analyzed
the “Legend of the big lake” and published in 1998 a monograph, “The origins of the
Evenki” (Ch. Ewenke zu de qiyuan 鄂温克族的起源) (Wuyundalai 1998). Presenting a
multifaceted analysis, Wuyundalai pointed out that the so-called lake described in the
legend is probably Lake Khanka, which is located at the source of the Ussuri River
(Ch. Wusuli 乌苏里). According to the scholar, the areas surrounding Lake Khanka and
the Ussuri Basin are the place of origin of the Evenki. This is a significant scholarly
achievement and a big step forward in the study of Evenki history, which can be traced
to the 2nd century BC. Thus, the origin of the Evenki took place in Manchu-Tungus
geographical and cultural areas.

50
Figure 1. Aforementioned Evenki settlements
The yellow spots indicate the locations mentioned in the present paper in contemporary China and
Russia. Map compiled by A. Lavrillier with Google Earth.
© Google (2018)
Second legend: “A piece of a shaman’s oration concerning worship to

an ancestor”
11 This oration was narrated by a shaman living on the Yalu 雅鲁River 8 tributary
“according to the spirits’ rules”. It has been handed down orally from generation to
generation:
We come from the shady side of the siwoo-hat
Following downwards the silkir
Our roots are on the silkir
siwoo-hat has a homeland
Amur has camps
Sahalian has branches
12 This memory is very important. It was gathered at the beginning of the 1960s, but
afterwards was misread and became an argument for the theory that the Evenki
originated near Lake Baikal. At that time, some scholars translated the term silkir as
shilka, which is a tributary of the upper Amur River. In the 1990s, Wuyundalai
retranslated this oration. He found that the terms siwoo-hat may be translated as
follows: siwoo9 means “forest” while hat means “mountain” and siwoo-hat refers to the
Sihote-Alin10 mountain range between the Ussuri River and the Sea of Japan 11. In the
Evenki language, the original meaning of silkir12 is “to wash”. By adding the letter –r,
which is the plural suffix, silkir means by extension “muddy waters”. Amur is an altered
pronunciation of angi-mur, which signifies “water from the right”, and is symmetric
with jieya (meaning “the left”). Initially, amur referred only to the upper reaches of
Heilong River13, but later it came to designate the Heilongjiang River as a whole.

51
Sahalian comes from the Manchu language and refers to the middle stretches of the
Heilongjiang River (including the Songhua River and its estuaries).
13 This shaman’s oration appeared among the Evenki group which migrated to the upper
basin of the Heilongjiang River. Having set off from their ancestral homeland, the
southern Sihote-Alin mountain range, they went from south to north, following the
north side of the Sihote-Alin range. Crossing over the Heilongjiang River against the
stream, they finally arrived on the northern banks. They named this big Amur River
“the water from the right”.
Third legend: “The Evenki crossing the sea”
14 A long time ago, the Evenki started to migrate. According to the elders, our [Evenki]
ancestors went in many directions. One group of people went along the sea towards the
north. The people going north moved and hunted sable at the same time. Afterwards,
they went all along to the extremity of the continent, but could not go any further
north: thus, they had to turn towards the west. This area is a triangular seacoast: the
side resembling an arrowhead and facing forwards was called niuer by the Evenki. The
encircling seawater, resembling a bow, was named behring xiden (this area is the Bering
Strait).
15 At that time, several clans moved together. Upon arrival, people began to hesitate:
should they follow the coast towards the west or turn and go back? At this moment, a
shaman had a dream, seeing an old man with a white barb. The old man with a white
barb told him that there was a coast which looked like a bow and arrow; crossing the
sea from this point was like being an arrow shot from a bow: we would immediately
reach the other side of the sea. The opposite bank was such a good place! The name of
this place is Alaxijia (which means in the Evenki language “waiting for you 14”). This
refers to American Alaska.
16 For many days, the shaman had the same dream. He asked everyone to gather and talk
over this issue, since some people wanted to cross the sea while others wished to go
back. The Evenki are not afraid of sea water: they can swim, are able to make large
boats and can cross the sea. In the past, Evenki made big rafts to cross over large
straits.
17 Finally, the shaman put forward an idea. He said: “in the evening, those who are going
back must sleep with their heads facing in the direction back; those who wish to cross
the sea will sleep with their heads facing the sea”. The next morning, the shaman saw
that people really had slept facing the two directions. This incited in him
determination to lead the people who wanted to cross the sea. Prior to departure, the
shaman said: “Now let’s break up, afterwards we will leave very far away. So how will
our future generations know each other? Remember: those who wear a bow ring on
their thumbs are our Evenki”. Then they separated. Those Evenki crossing the sea used
circular logs for the rafts and birch bark skin as buckets for portable water: they
prepared food and went towards the opposite bank. Many years passed and there was
no news from the Evenki who crossed the sea. Those Evenki who went back
remembered that the name of the strait’s opposite side was Alaxijia, meaning “waiting
for you” in Evenki.
18 In this legend, the story about crossing the sea probably evokes a significant migration
which occurred among the Evenki’s ancestors. In any case, we do not have any way to

52
verify by textual research the years in which it took place. The storyteller is He Xiuzhi,
a female descendant of the Heye’en clan15. She was born into an influential shaman
family. This legend appears to be significant since it provides the following historical
fact: this migration of the Evenki’s ancestors started from their former place of
residence, which was located in mountain areas bordering the sea. This aspect is very
important. In his monograph “The social organization of the northern Tungus”, the Russian
anthropologist Sergei Mikhailovich Shirokogoroff has pointed out: “The former Tungus
were a continental ethnic group, whose way was blocked by the sea”. According to him,
the Tungus, who were also the ancestors of the Evenki, lived in the mountain areas
bordering the sea.
19 Regarding the former place of residence of the Evenki’s ancestors, Wuyundalai’s
research is very thorough. In his monograph “The origins of the Evenki”, he reminds us to
pay attention to the small tributary river lying on the right side of the upper Ussuri
River named tam-gu (today, according to the Russian translation, it is called the
Tamujia River). Its estuary is situated by the southeastern part of the Lesozavodsk
city16. Mineral springs are found on the left bank of this small river. In early times, this
mineral spring area belonged to the Okjeo tribal state17. Okjeo is a phonetic
transcription of olgi and was named after the mineral spring. The name olgi appears
very early in Chinese historical sources. The Evenki are the descendants of the Okjeo
people. From a linguistic approach, Wuyundalai has demonstrated that the state of
boiling water swirling and welling up in the pots used by the Evenki was named olgi,
which is why the swirling mineral spring was also called olgi. If we factor in phonetic
alteration, we may assume that the term Evenki originally comes from the word olgi and
was then transformed18. In this way, the Evenki know intuitively why their ancestors,
no matter how far they migrated or whether they lived worlds apart, all stuck to their
old Evenki appellation: it is because this appellation is linked with their ancestors’
homeland, as well as with their souls and spirits.
The Evenki clans named after rivers
20 In the early stage of the Evenki’s history, long-lasting migrations were very frequent
among their groups. Wuyudalai has summarized seven big migrations. The first one is
very important. As a result of the chaos of war, our [Evenki] ancestors had to leave
their homeland, which was the Ussuri River Basin, the Suifen 绥芬 River, the Tumen
River and the southern portion of the Sihote-Alin mountain range. Thus, they were
forced to go from east to west. At the end of the 3rd century AD, they reached the
western areas of the Second Songhua River via several migration routes.
21 The geographical location of the river basin of the Second Songhua River is in
contemporary Jilin province. The upper reaches of the Second Songhua River have a
total of five tributaries, among which are included the Huifa 辉发, Yitong 伊通 and the
Yinma 饮马 rivers. In this rich and fertile territory, the Evenki from the Ussuri basin
recovered and strengthened themselves. They gave appellations to the mountains and
rivers and then borrowed them to name their clans19. Here, the Evenki were divided
into three branches and six clans, each of them having its own appellation. Among
them, the most illustrious was the Qonggirad clan. We can say that the western areas of
the Second Songhua River were the cradle of Evenki people.

53
22 Around 590-591 AD, the Evenki from the Second Songhua River basin began to move
towards the west: they went towards the upper Tao’er River (洮儿), crossed the
watershed and entered Hulun Buir and the northeastern part of the Mongolian Plateau.
Those Evenki who migrated did not forget that the large river in their native land and
called themselves to outsiders “People from the Ussuri”. This is why in the “Old history
of the Tang”20, they are called “the Wusugu clan”. Here, we should explain that the
Evenki word for “water” is mu, which has been translated into Chinese as “gu” or
“gu21”.
23 Regarding the [Solon] Evenki living in Hulun Buir and the northeastern part of the High
Mongolian Plateau, both are recorded in the following monumental works the Jāmeʿ al-
tawāriḵ of Rashid al-Din and the Secret History of the Mongols. This made the name of the
Evenki Qonggirad clan 22 famous. The most important reason for this is that Genghis
Khan’s mother Hoelun came from the Qonggirad clan. This great mother came from the
“Olgnu” branch of the Qonggirad. The “Olgnu” clan’s name comes from a river (in fact,
a dry riverbed), situated in a seasonal brook of the Second Songhua River’s basin. In the
Secret History of the Mongols, olgnu is written Olar Güregen. In the early stages of the
Mongols’ rise, the Qonggirad performed an important act; at this time, a great number
of Evenki clans integrated into the Mongol conglomerate.
24 Around one thousand years ago, the Evenki people native to the Ussuri basin moved to
Lake Baikal’s peripheral areas. This involves explaining the historical appellation
“Tungus”. In this regard, the scholar of historical toponyms Wuyundalai has provided a
suitable explanation. According to him, the Qonggirad Evenki branch living on the
Barguzin River, on the east banks of Lake Baikal, crossed the lake towards the west and
entered Turkic areas. They used to call themselves the Tung-gu people before the
neighboring Khakas, Kyrgiz and Kety peoples. In their own language, these Turkic
groups added to the end of the word the plural suffix “s” and then called them Tun-gus,
namely Tungus. Tung-gu refers to the seasonal brook of the Second Songhua River
basin; indeed, this is the birthplace of the Tungus clans and regional groups.
Approximatively five hundred years later, in the 16th or 17 th centuries, the Russians
advanced eastwards and arrived in the place where Evenki called themselves Tung-gu.
The Russians learnt about the appellation Tungus and finally spread it to Europe.
25 Up until now, the different Evenki groups living in the People’s Republic of China have
preserved their ancient tradition of naming themselves according to the rivers and
places near where they live. Generally speaking, the history of the Evenki people is
surging forward with great momentum, and it is impossible to describe it briefly and
simply. Regarding history, the Evenki’s large-scale migrations throughout northeastern
Asia have been described as taking place in four stages by the historian Wuyundalai.
The first one was from the native land of the Evenki (the southern part of the Sihote-
Alin Mountains and the Ussuri, Suifen, Tumen and other rivers) through the northern
side of the Changbai Mountains up to the western bank of the Second Songhua River
basin. The second wave was from the western bank of the Second Songhua River basin
across the Tao’er and Khakhyn rivers up to Hulun Buir. The third wave was from Hulun
Buir across the Ingoda and Udy rivers up to the eastern bank of Lake Baikal 23. The
fourth left from Lake Baikal, following the Yenisei River until they reached its middle
and lower basins: then some people reached the eastern part of the lower basin of the
Ob River and the Arctic. During this fourth migration, after having arrived at the
bifurcation of the western coast of Lake Baikal, they followed the Lena River until the

54
Aldan River estuary and went east towards the coast of the Sea of Okhotsk: they may
also have reached here by following the shore of the Arctic Ocean. The Evenki crossed
this great passage and made it their birthplace: and the cradle of their civilization
finally spread to the whole of northern Asia.
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史 [A concise history of the Evenki] (Hohhot, Neimenggu renmin chubanshe).
Lavrillier, A. 2005 Nomadisme et adaptations sédentaires chez les Évenks de Sibérie

postsoviétique : « jouer » pour vivre avec et sans chamanes. PhD thesis (Paris, École Pratique des
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NZBZ (Neimenggu zizhiqu bianjizu 内蒙古自治区编辑组) (eds) 1986 Ewenke zu shehui lishi
diaocha 鄂温克族社会历史调查 [Social history research investigations on Evenki] (Hohhot,
Neimenggu renmin chubanshe).
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Obshchestva po otdeleniiu ètnografii).
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organization of the northern Tungus], translated from English and Japanese by Wu Yougang 吴有刚,
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Governor of Eastern Siberia], Zapiski Sibirskogo otdelenie Irkutskogo Geograficheskogo Obshchestva III,
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(Paris, Larousse).
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ethnonyms of “Asia” and the names of the Evenki clans], Sovietskaia Ètnografiia 4, pp. 34-49.
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Inostrannyh i natsional’nyh iazykov Slovarei).
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NOTES
1. The present text is concerned only with the Evenki reindeer herders and the Solon. For more
details about the Chinese classification of the Evenki, see the introduction to the present volume.
2. Proper names, including toponyms or other geographical areas situated within the
contemporary boundaries of the PRC, are also given in Chinese characters.
3. The first version of this legend was published in the Chinese journal “Evenki
studies” (Ch. Ewenke yanjiu 鄂温克研究), 1, 2004.
4. Among the Russian Evenki of southeastern Siberia, the Evenki term lamu means either “sea” or
“Lake Baikal” depending on the regional dialect (Vasilevich 1958, p. 233).
5. This refers to the Solon Evenki living in the Zhalantun area, in the south of Hulun Buir
prefecture, Inner Mongolia. Their lifestyle is mainly dependent on agriculture.
6. Lü Guangtian was one of the major contributors and editors of this work. In the bibliography,
the authors appear under the label Ewenke zu jianshi bianxie zubian 鄂温克族简史编写组编 1983.
7. Many Russian archaeologists and ethnographers have investigated the question of the kin
relationship between the Xiongnu, Xianbei and Shiwei and the ancestors of the Evenki (Tungus).
Half of them support this theory, while others, like Shirokogoroff and Zaldkin reject it
(Shirokogoroff [1929] 1966, p. 146, Zaldkin 1937). For more details about the Russian analysis of
this issue, see Lavrillier 2005, pp. 68-73.
8. The Yalu River (also called the Ya’er River) begins in the eastern parts of the Khingan range
and flows through the Zhalantun area in the Hulun Buir prefecture (see Fig. 1).
9. Among the Evenki of eastern Siberia, the term sehi means “deep forest” (Lavrillier & Gabyshev
2017, p. 132).
10. Nowadays, this area is inhabited by the Nanai, an indigenous Tungus people of Russia. The
same people lives in the Heilongjiang province of China, where they are known under the name
of Hezhe 赫哲.
11. In Khabarovsk region.
12. The same meaning is found in the southeastern Siberian Evenki language.

56
13. The Amur river is known as “Amur” (probably from Dahur or some Evenki dialects, “river”,
“big river”) in Russian, as “Heilong River” (Heilongjiang 黑龙江 which means “black dragon
river”) in Chinese, as “black waters” or “black river” (Sahaliian Ula) in Manchu, and as “big river”
(Mangbo) in Nanai. In the past, it was called shilkar or silkar by some local Evenki (Sverbeev 1857,
p. 30).
14. When there is no explicit mention otherwise, the translations relating to the legends are
provided by Wure’ertu according to his own records.
15. Heye’en clan refers to the descendants of one Solon group which has been scattered in the
Yalu river basin since the mid Qing dynasty (1644-1911).
16. In the Primorskii region.
17. Okjeo was a tribal state situated in contemporary North Korea and the Tumen river areas
between approximately the 2nd century BC and the 5th century AD.
18. This is one of the many theories about the origin of the term tungus: there are many other
interpretations in the Russian scholarly literature (Lavrillier 2005, pp. 68-73).
19. Regarding the relationship between Russian Evenki kinship and the river system, see
Vasilevich 1946, 1959, 1963, and Lavrillier 2005-2006.
20. “The old history of the Tang” (Ch. Jiu tang shu 旧唐书) is the first official dynastic history of the
Tang dynasty (618-907). Its compilation is officially attributed to chief editor Liu Xu 刘昫 of Later
Jin (936-946), who submitted in 945 a final draft based on the compilation of the history by his
predecessor Zhang Zhaoyuan 张昭远 (Liu Xu 1997).
21. In this context, the Chinese characters may be written gu 固 or gu 古 with the same
pronunciation but a different written form.
22. According to Wuyundalai, the contemporary Solon Evenki are the descendants of the
Qonggirad clan.
23. The Russian sources also mention the involvement of Tungus peoples in armies on both sides
of the Sino-Russian frontier or in cross-frontier movements. For instance, “the Uriankai,
considered to be the ancestors of the Tungus, were also warriors groups close to Genghis Khan”
(Tamisier 1998, p. 252). Furthermore, according to Patkanov, some Tungus of China, as well as the
Dahur and the Manegir, were employed as soldiers in the Manchu army during the 19 th and
20th centuries (Patkanov 1906, II, p. 25-26). According to Radlow, the Evenki of the clan Samagir
were employed as warriors by the Manchu in the 16th century (Radlow 1893). Later, on both sides
of the Sino-Russian frontier, the Evenki were engaged by armies for defending or surveying the
frontier in the 17th and 18th centuries (Radlow 1893, Rybakov 1903). From the 1990s, the Russian
Evenki intelligentsia has reinvestigated such information by highlighting the glorious past of the
Evenki in their various narratives (Lavrillier 2005, p. 54, 57, 66, 82, 430).
ABSTRACTS
In this essay, the Evenki writer Wure’ertu presents three legends that have been handed down
until today among Evenki groups living in the People’s Republic of China. The two first legends
were gathered among the Evenki reindeer herders and the Solon Evenki in 1956-1957 as part of
the Chinese national ethnographic campaigns launched in the late 1950s. The third legend was
recorded by Wure’ertu in 2002 among the Solon Evenki. These three legends propose valuable
data on the Evenki’s origin and migratory movements along Northern Asia’s rivers throughout

57
centuries. Wure’ertu also explores some theories developed by scholars of the PRC on the history
of the Evenki.
Dans cet essai, l’écrivain évenk Wure’ertu présente trois légendes transmises jusqu’à aujourd’hui
chez des groupes évenks vivant en République populaire de Chine. Les deux premières légendes
ont été collectées chez les Évenks du renne et les Évenks solon en 1956-1957 dans le cadre des
campagnes ethnographiques nationales chinoises lancées à la fin des années 1950. La troisième
légende a été recueillie par Wure’ertu auprès des Évenk solon. Ces trois légendes proposent de
précieuses données sur l’origine des Évenks et leurs mouvements migratoires le long des fleuves
d’Asie du Nord au cours des siècles passés. Wure’ertu explore également certaines des théories
développées sur l’histoire des Évenk par les chercheurs de RPC.
INDEX
Keywords: Evenki, China, narrative, migration, history, rivers, shamanism
Mots-clés: Évenk, Chine, récit, migration, histoire, rivière, chamanisme
AUTHORS
WURE’ERTU
Wure’ertu 乌热尔图 is a Solon Evenki writer born in 1952 in the People’s Republic of China. He
spent his childhood on the banks of the Nenjiang River, in the Molidawa Banner, in Inner
Mongolia Autonomous Region. In 1968, after graduating from high school, he went to the
Khingan areas where he lived among the Evenki reindeer herders for ten years. In the early
1980s, his short stories won the national prize for outstanding literature for three consecutive
years. In 1985, he was elected secretary of the China Writers Association. In 1990, he had the
personal wish to return to Hulun Buir grassland where he read and composed works of literature.
He is currently the head of the Evenki Research Association of Inner Mongolia Autonomous
Region.
Wure’ertu’s literature works include short stories such as The Male Deer with Seven Antlers (Qicha
jijiao de gonglu 七叉犄角的公鹿), You Make me Drift down the River (Ni rang wo shunshui piaoliu 你让
我顺水漂流), Shamans, our Shamans (Saman, women de saman 萨满，我们的萨满), and books on
literature and history such as Narrating the Evenki (Shushuo ewenke 述说鄂温克), Historical
Expressions of Evenki (Ewenke zu lishi ciyu 鄂温克族历史词), A Draft History of the Evenki (Ewenke
shigao 鄂温克史稿) and The Mongols’ Homeland (Menggu zudi 蒙古祖地).
wure2012@163.com

58
The folks next door. Russian settlers

and Evenki of the upper flow of the
Lower Tunguska (19th-early
21st century)
Les gens d’à côté. Les colons russes et les Évenks du cours supérieur de la
Toungouska Inférieure (XIXe-début XXIe siècle)
Anna A. Sirina
Translation : J. M. Sutton
EDITOR'S NOTE
click here
click here
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Translated from Russian by J. M. Sutton.
1 The study of the interrelations of Russian settlers with Asiatic peoples is amongst the
problematic questions concerning the colonisation of Siberia (since the beginning of
the 17th century). The opinion has been expressed in the literature that Russians
consider the Northern peoples radically distinct from themselves (Slezkin 2008, p. 438).
Is the history of interrelations between ordinary Russians and Evenki a history of
alienation? Literature on this question, especially in relation to South Siberia, has

59
appeared in recent years (Buraeva 2005, Gemuev & Sagalaev 1986, Marhinin 1993,
Gemuev & Badmaev 2002, Karih 2004).
2 Contacts between Russian settlers and Evenki in the upper reaches of the large Siberian
rivers and their tributaries, the Yenisei, Lower and Stony Tunguska, the river Lena and
Upper Angara have been rather poorly studied. This is not surprising as the lands
settled by the first Russians in the Yenisei-Angara region have been destroyed by the
construction of hydropower stations along the river Angara at Irkutsk (1959), Bratsk
(1967), Ust’-Ilimsk (1979), and Boguchansk (2014).
3 In this paper, based on fieldwork, archive, statistical materials and the literature, I
study the interrelations of Evenki (until the end of the 1920s known as Tungus) and
Russian settlers in the upper reaches of the river Lower Tunguska (the present day
Katangskii district; Irkutsk region, Ru. oblast’) in the period 19 th to early 21st centuries.
4 I have spent many years doing fieldwork along the Lower Tunguska, the Evenki being
the main focus of my attention. This group of Evenki are peculiar for their high level of
assimilation as a result of historical contacts with Russian settlers and the Yakut
population1. Processes of inter-ethnic interaction were also not without considerable
reverse influence on both Russian settlers and Yakut. Relatively stable in numbers,
these three ethnic groups made up the permanent population of the region where,
until the mid-20th century, there was practically no influx from outside2. As a result, a
unique ethno-cultural environment formed in the upper reaches of the Lower
Tunguska. The following biographies of people of Russian self-identification who live in
the district might be of great interest from the point of view of deep-set memory. Put
briefly, they show the complex nature of local Russian ethnicity, based upon long-
established inter-ethnical marriages and cultural relations between Russians, Evenki
and other nationalities.
Raida Evseevna Ineshina, b. 1915. Her grandfather on her father’s side, Semën
Aaronovich Rolbent, a Jew, was a political exile in Bodaibo, where he had his family.
Jewish merchants of Bodaibo “recruited” him as their salesclerk to Lower Tunguska
for the exchange of goods for furs for which they were in “hot pursuit” in those
days. Semën Rolbent married here for the second time to Natalia (or Daria)
Sychegir, a metis from Teteia whose father was Russian (according to family legend,
some kind of merchant), and mother an Evenki. They had three sons: Evsei (future
father of Raida and five other children), Mihail and Egor. Egor was brought up by
childless Evenki, the Boiarshins, relatives of the Sychegir. Raida Evseevna Rolbent
married a Russian settler, Alexei Denisovich Inеshin (1913-1986) from Nepa. They
got to know one another in the Evenki settlement of Diavdiavdiak where Alexei
Ineshin came to eradicate illiteracy.
Vladimir Gavrilovich (family left unknown, officially Russian), b. 1944, of
Preobrazhenskoe settlement relates: “I was left an orphan of an Evenki mother at
the age of two. My father was Russian: it seems he begot me of my mother. I was
brought up by my grandpa, Nikolai Petrovich, he was closer than my mother. This
grandfather lived in the forest and had up to 40 head of reindeer, and when the
collective farms were formed, he had up to 30 kolkhoz deer. Grandpa married a
second time, and my stepmother, Anisia Ivanovna, was half-Yakut. I lived with
them till the seventh year at school: Grandpa didn’t let me go to boarding school in
Erbogachën. I went to a four-year school in the village of Iur’eva. At that time I
lived in a Russian log cabin with Russian acquaintances, man and wife, who went off
for the winter to hunt in the forest on reindeer together with grandpa. I grew up
and worked in the geological expeditions; I work as a stoker now, also in the
geological expeditions. My wife, Zoia Innokent’evna, is Russian. We have seven
children”. (fieldnotes 1988, 2008)

60
Ethnic composition, population size and settlement

pattern over the period 19th-beginning 20th century
5 The first outsiders of the first half of the 17th century to penetrate the taiga of Central
Siberia from the river Yenisei were service people after the fur tax (yasak; Ru. iasak)
that they collected from the indigenous peoples of the area, the Tungus (Evenki)
(Dolgih 1960, pp. 167-171). In 1911, old locals explained to the hydrologist V. Ia.
Shishkov: “It was the Tunguska that opened up the Lena. It’s older than the Lena.
Cossacks came for ‘yasak’ from the Yenisei, not from the Lena” (Shishkov 1985, p. 399).
Settlement occurred along the large Siberian rivers and their tributaries and portages:
the shortest overland route from one river system to another. Over the first half of the
17th century there were armed clashes between the Tungus and Russian fur traders
inundating the taiga in search of valuable sable (Brodnikov 2006). The Russian
administration in Siberia introduced a yasak collection system by taking the “best”
Tungus into hostage. In order to do this a number of yasak log cabins were built in the
upper and middle reaches of the river Lower Tunguska.
Figure 1. The geographical position of the Katanga district (raion) of Irkutsk province (oblast’)
© A. Sirina and Ts. Dashpilov

61
Figure 2. Population composition of the Katanga region
© A. Sirina and Ts. Dashpilov
The Tungus (Evenki)
6 The Tungus (Evenki) of the upper reaches of the Lower Tunguska were registered in the
Kureisk and Kondogirsk non-Russian administrative councils set up in accordance with
Speranskii’s reforms in 1822 for governing proposes. Administratively they belonged to
Preobrazhenskii portage in the Kirensk district (Ru. uezd) of Irkutsk Province, as did
Russian peasants.
7 The Kureisk non-Russian administrative council, with its centre in the Russian village
of Iurieva, incorporated the Tungus of the most upper reaches of the Lower Tunguska
and its tributaries; some of the Tungus of this council migrated along the tributaries of
the river Vitim. Their neighbours in the south and south-west were Russian settlers of
the Lower Tunguska and Lena, and also a group of Kirensk Tungus, in the north – the
Kondogirsk Tungus, in the north-east – Yakut, in the east and south-east – the
Bodaibinsk Tungus and Yakut (see Fig. 2). The Kondogirsk council incorporated the
Tungus that migrated to the north of Preobrazhenskoe right up to the mouth of the
river Ilimpeia (i.e. to the beginning of the midstream of the Lower Tunguska). Their
neighbours in the south and south-east were Kureisk Tungus, in the east – Viliuisk
Tungus (assimilated into the Yakut to a high degree) and Yakut, and in the west –
Kezhemsk Tungus of the Yeniseisk county (Ru. okrug). In 1837, there were 752 Tungus
in both administrative councils, in 1880 – 785, and in 1897 – 596 (ISRA 729/1/1, 729/1/5,
pp. 1, 12, Patkanov 1906). Most Evenki kept their clan names, but had Russian surnames
given at baptism (Sirina 2006).

62
Russian settlers
8 Russian settlement of the Lower Tunguska took shape over the 17 th and 18 th centuries
and consisted mainly of Cossacks and monastery peasants from Russia’s northern
provinces (Aleksandrov 1964, Bunak & Zolotareva 1973). The peasants of upper Lower
Tunguska were attached to the Turuhansk Trinity monastery that they supplied with
grain (RGSSA 55(Б)/1/62, pp. 70-72). At the end of the 19 th-first quarter of the
20th century, peasant penetration to upper Lower Tunguska expanded from the river
Lena that was already overpopulated from the point of view of the fur trade (Kopylov
et al. 2009).
9 At the end of the 19th century, there were approximately 1,600 Russians in
Preobrazhenskaia district of Kirenskii county in Irkutsk Province with its centre in the
settlement of Preobrazhenskoe. Some 300 persons should be added to the numbers in
Table 1. These are people living in the villages of Bur (Kuzakovy and Hromovy), and
Tokma (Gordeevy) on the river Nepa, in the settlement of Podvoloshino (Piniginy) and
villages of Upper- and Lower- Korelino (Koreliny) on the Lower Tunguska.
Table 1. The distribution, population and family size of Russian settlers along the upper course of
the Lower Tunguska River, 1880
Population
Number of
Village Total Surnames
households
Male Female
Preobrazhenka 17 57 53 110 Zyrianov, Iuriev
Iurieva 18 53 54 107 Iuriev
Nizhnekalinina 13 39 34 73 Verhoturov
Verhnekalinina 22 62 73 135 Verhoturov, Permiakov
Bokovikova 12 36 30 66 Bokovikov
Martynova 6 24 22 46 Ineshins, Diadkin
Danilova 7 22 16 38 Diadkin, Novoseltsev
Potemina 2 7 6 13 Permiakov, Bokovikov
Nepa 26 88 102 190 Ineshin, Verhoturov
Gazhenka 6 16 20 36 Zarukin
Logashino 2 5 4 9 Ineshin, Vlasov
Sosnina 4 16 18 34 Safiannikov, Iuriev
Moga 13 50 53 103 Safiannikov

63
Zhdanov, Iuriev, Balakshin,

Zhdanova 11 35 39 74
Permiakov
Erioma 10 27 34 61 Farkov, Mungalov
Luzhki 3 17 17 34 Farkov
Oskino 13 48 44 92 Farkov, Iuriev, Kladovikov
Ankula 4 7 11 18 Kolesnikov
Erbogachën 5 18 20 38 Farkov, Mungalov
Total 194 627 650 1277
The table is composed on the basis of the archival data: ISRA R50/9/106.
© A. Sirina
10 In the 1880s, on average, nine-ten persons made up a household; by the end of the
1920s this had declined to six-seven persons (Bunak & Zolotareva 1973, Kopylov et al.
2009). Marital ties went beyond the borders of Preobrazhenskaia volost’ and even
outside ethnic groups as marriages were contracted with Tungus, Yakut and
representatives of other ethnic groups3. A continuous network of kinship and relations
formed in the villages along the Lower Tunguska, Lena, Nepa and Kuta. This social
landscape was one of the most important results of the settlement of this part of
Siberia.
11 Yakut came to Lower Tunguska from the rivers Viliui, Chona, and Olenëk (Suntaro-
Olekminsk alien administration) where at the end of the 19 th century their population
amounted to 2,613 persons (Patkanov 1912, p. 528). By 1926-1927, 80 Yakut were living
along the Lower Tunguska. Nominally they were christened and had Russian surnames.
Their kinship can be traced to the Yakut and Tungus of the rivers Chona and Viliui, to
the Kondogirsk Tungus and in part to Russian settlers (Sirina 2006, pp. 36-37).
Ethnic and cultural contacts

12 As Lindgren noticed in Manchuria in the 1930s, contacts between Reindeer Evenki and
Cossacks were established mainly along kindred, economic and religious channels
(Lindgren 1938, see also Dumont, Wure’ertu and Xie in the volume).
Mixed marriages
13 The specificities of settlement and social and cultural connections meant that Russo-
Evenki marriages were contracted in the upper reaches of the Lower Tunguska, while
Evenki-Yakut marriages took place further to the north. During the first stage, Cossack
settlers married Tungus and Yakut women. However, in the first half of the 19 th century
most peasant marriages were within their own communities.
In 1839, the marriage of the newly christened (see more about religion below)
Tungus of Kondogirsk council, P. A. Farkov, and Fevronia Ivanova, daughter of a
peasant of the village of Erioma, Ivan Ivanovich Farkov was contracted

64
(ISRA 50/3/537:, p. 11). In 1840, the peasant V. O. Ineshin of the village of

Martynova married Evfrosinia of Nizhnekalinina, daughter of the Russian orthodox
Yakut, Farkov. At the same time, the yasak Tungus, Tihon Petrov Iuriev, of the
Russian orthodox faith, married Agrippina Ivanova, daughter of the peasant, Ivan
Terent’evich Kladovikov (ISRA 50/3/544, pp. 254 rev., 255 rev.). In January 1856, a
peasant of the village of Fëdorova, Ivan Fëdorov Verhoturov, member of the
Orthodox Church, 20 years of age, contracted his first marriage with 20-year-old
Alexandra, daughter of the yasak Tungus Kiprian Kaplin. A deportee of the village of
Nizhnekalinina, E.P. Dolgih and a peasant of the same village, Verhoturov were
guarantors. (ISRA 50/1/779)
14 It seems that mixed marriages were contracted in the environment of the least well-off
population and/or non-complete families. The descendants of the third or fourth
generation of mixed Evenki-Russian marriages usually integrated into the Russian
culture and took on its value system, so one can speak of the transition of the process
of assimilation. Thus, on the river Ilim, Evenki virtually “dissolved” in the Russian
peasant population, some, by the beginning of the 20th century, only kept the
designation “yasak” (Hodukin 1924). Similar processes occurred along the river Chuna
in Yeniseisk Province where groups of Russian settlers came into contact with Tungus.
In 1914 there remained ten half-Russified Tungus families some of which had settled
and some had continued a nomadic way of life (see more about the economic activity
below) along the river Karabula (a tributary of the river Angara). Old-timers born in the
1840s still remembered their Tungus grandfathers, but they considered themselves
Russian, though of the Tungus type; they lived a settled way of life, and practised arable
farming, hunting and fishing (Chekaninskii 1914). In Argun banks of Northeast China,
the historically short contact between Russian Cossacks, who had started to settle in
the Three Rivers Area (Ru. Trëhrech’e) of China in the second part of the 19 th century
and had emigrated after the 1917 Revolution into China, and Tungus did not lead to
assimilation (Lindgren 1938, Kaigorodov 1970). Processes of interethnic mixing
occurred slowly up into the mid-20th century.
15 Old timers along the Lower Tunguska sometimes know exactly, but more often suppose,
the Evenki part in their “kinship”, and that in the most “unscientific” way: by
appearance.
“We are like the Evenki, while those (forefathers, A. S.) were even more like them”.
(fieldnotes 2008)
Guardianship
16 The custom of taking orphaned children into family guardianship was practised along
the Lower Tunguska.
Judging by records of families living is a specific parish 4, in 1880, “the Tungus
orphans taken into guardianship”, Leontii Petrov Salatkin (22 years of age) and
Georgii Petrov Salatkin (14 years) lived in the families of two Russian brothers of
the village of Martynova: the former, in the family of the widower, Vasilii Iosifovich
Ineshin (58 years of age), and the latter in the family of Georgii Iosifovich Ineshin
(53 years). At the same time, in the family of the widower Alexei Kiriakovich Farkov
(47 years), in the village of Oskinska, there were six persons: the married son
(25 years) with children and Tungus, 17 year-old Moisei Gerasimov, in
guardianship. (ISRA 50/9/106, p. 368)
17 More rarely did Russians give up their children, or Tungus take Russian orphans into
guardianship. Thus, the Turuhanskii priest, M. Suslov, gave his son Mihail to Tungus to

65
be brought up, having established closer relations with them (Anderson & Orekhova
2002, p. 89). Children were brought up in the cultural traditions of the “adopting” side,
but they also had knowledge of their “blood” culture.
Economic relations
18 The historically formed areas of interethnic contacts, as a rule, fulfilled the economic
requirements of several ethnic groups. Evenki lived traditionally by hunting and
reindeer herding, and primarily led a nomadic life in the taiga, frequently going beyond
the limits of watersheds. Lasting one and a half to two and a half winter months,
squirrel hunting enabled them to have an income and to trade with merchants on the
strength of the products of future hunting. Local inhabitants lived in such a way.
19 Russian peasants, having settled along rivers, lived by mixed farming. Hunting served
as a significant part of household economy. V. Ia. Shishkov even noted that Lower
Tunguska “lived not by bread, but by hunting […] Each household had five-seven-ten
hunting dogs, seven-ten guns, deerskin and elk skin mats on the cabin floor, chests
covered in furs, and a bear spear or Tungus spear-knife somewhere in the corner”
(Shishkov 1985). Hunting brought different ethnic groups closer together. Recognizing
their superior hunting skills, many Russian men hunted together with Evenki. By
establishing friendly or family relations with the Evenki, they legitimized their access
to hunting grounds. Mutual adaptation took place, borrowing ways, means and
weapons, with the Russians learning from the Evenki in this field (Kuzakov 1985).
20 Where farmers and hunters lived adjacent to each other, connections were established
on the basis of personal relations. The institution of “partnerships” (Ru. druzhki) was
practised along the Lower Tunguska, resembling andaki relations (from the Tungus
anda, “friend” or “comrade”), that was noted by E. J. Lindgren and A. M. Kaigorodov
amongst the Evenki and Russians of Manchuria and I. Santha and T. Safonova amongst
Transbaikal Evenki; “visiting” was widespread (Lindgren 1938, Kaigorodov 1968, 1970,
Safonova & Santha 2013a, 2013b). Evenki exchanged furs for flour and tobacco with
Russian peasants and merchants; Russians, like Evenki, purchased tea, sugar, alcohol
and other goods from merchants. Exchanges were not without swindling; unfair
exchanges occurring especially in the case of furs for alcohol.
21 About a quarter of the Evenki households along the Lower Tunguska had horses and
permanent wooden houses built with the help of Russian peasants and exiles where
they lived for a number of months each year. They gathered hay and were hired for
logging (Kopylov et al. 2009).
22 The adoption of items occurred not only by way of gifts, purchases or exchange, but
also by taking on manufacturing ways. In the main, adoption by Russians of Evenki
know-how took place in the field of hunting. This was multi-functional implements: a
large knife sharpened on one side on a long pole (up to a metre long) handle (Evk. koto,
Ru. palma) – and a diamond-shaped spear (Evk. gida); Evenki clothes and fur shoes;
means of transport – skin-skis, and birch-bark boats and tableware. Characteristically,
in areas of contact, Russians tried to obtain items that the Evenki made for themselves
(Alekseenko 1986, pp. 86-87). A diet of uncooked plants (especially during the hunting
season) was widespread; the skills of making unleavened bread in the ashes of a camp
fire, the practice of eating ground fish with berries etc. arose (Strakach 1962).

66
23 Items of Russian culture, both handmade and manufactured, became widespread

amongst Evenki. Crushing traps and firearms began to be used widely for hunting.
Manufactured fabrics and clothes coexisted alongside traditional Evenki clothing
(deerskin), gradually replacing it. Evenki women used steel needles, thimbles, beads for
embroidery and manufactured tableware. Flour, tea, salt and sugar appeared in their
diet, and alcohol and tobacco consumed. Even clocks, portable gramophones, silver
jewellery and knick-knacks came to the taiga.
Language, literacy, bilingualism
24 In their own environment, people spoke their native language. Two languages were
used during trade and hunting: Russian and Evenki. Some Evenki words relating to
hunting and fishing came to be used amongst Russians, for example “puppy”
(Evk. kachekanka5): “we were still kachekanki (i.e. little ones)” an 80 year-old woman
from the settlement of Preobrazhenskoe said when speaking of her childhood.
25 The majority of people were illiterate. The rudiments of literacy could be gained at
church-parish schools, and also by hiring exiles as teachers. Evenki literacy was higher
in places where there were Russian neighbours. G. M. Vasilievich found ten literate
members of the Tokminsk group of Evenki in 1926 (Vasilevich 1930, n.d.). Evenki of the
southern district were the mainstay of the Soviet regime in carrying out various
activities. The Evenki intelligentsia arose from their midst: the poet and writer Alitet
Nemtushkin, people’s deputy of the USSR Supreme Soviet M. I. Mongo and others.
Two-way influence of religions

26 By the end of the 19th century, the majority of Evenki were Russian orthodox, although
they did not give up their traditional beliefs of animism and shamanism. The Tungus
honoured especially the Translation of the Relics of St Nicholas from Myra to Bari,
22nd May, Petrov Den’ (St Peter’s Day), 12th July, and Nikolin Den’ (the Day of St Nikolas the
miracle-worker), 19th December, when they came out of the taiga to Russian villages for
the exchange of furs and purchase of provisions. At this time they went to church
where the sacraments of marriage, christening and funerals were performed.
27 M. I. Mungalova from the village of Preobrazhenskoe said that Evenki came from Stony
Tunguska to the settlement for Petrov Den’ and camped down on the high banks of the
river in their portable “chums” (bark tents). Once, two Tungus women came on their
knees for some two kilometres to Preobrazhenskoe church, and children, amongst
whom was M. I. Mungalova, full of curiosity, ran after them and showed them where
the way was shorter. Later they left “furs and shawls at the altar. By this they made
vows” (fieldnotes 1989).
28 Religious syncretism was characteristic of Evenki of this region. They were respectful of
objects of Christian symbolism. Icons were transported on special “initiated” white
reindeer and transported shamanic ritual items that were not used for household
service. In their homes they were placed in a sacral place. Evenki folklore was extended
with notions of heaven and hell, which became associated with their traditional
concepts of upper and lower worlds (Vasilevich 1969, p. 212, Sirina 1993, p. 188).
Funeral rituals were also impacted with the transition from over-ground to

67
underground burials with a cross on the grave. At the same time, Evenki killed a
sacrificial reindeer and carried out their own rites. However, in small settlements with
a mixed ethnic population, graveyards were arranged according to ethnic principles
(Sirina 2006, p. 165).
Popular Orthodoxy of local Russians
29 The Nizhnetungusk Preobrazhenskaia church was situated in the settlement of

Preobrazhenskoe, and the church of St Nikolas in Erbogachën. However, at the
beginning of the 20th century, V. Ia. Shishkov noted a lack of piety amongst the
Russians of Lower Tunguska by comparison with central regions of Russia: “The people
are superstitious: believe in evil spirit (Ru. susedka), and ride round their houses on
crutches before the New Year (men!)” (Shishkov 1985, p. 401). Animistic elements in
the world-view of Russians most likely revived thanks to life in the back of beyond and
contacts with Evenki. Russian hunters knew prohibitions connected with hunting,
behaviour in an Evenki home and the handling of fire. They would leave “sacrifices” –
powder, percussion caps and matches in the same places as Tungus did in order to
have luck in the hunt. “Believe or don’t believe, but you must leave these things”, a
Russian hunter explained his actions to me. And this was so in all areas where there
was contact. In eastern Pribaikal region, in the Barguzin district, there are old Evenki
campsites where Russian hunters always bring gifts for the spirit-master of the place,
considering it to be Evenki (Basharov 2005, p. 96). Peasants looked on shamanism and
the various hunting rituals with religious tolerance, curiosity and at the same time
apprehension. This feature was characteristic everywhere in areas of Russo-Tungus
contacts: on the river Chuna, and the Argun region in the north-west of Manchuria:
“Cossack hunters sometimes witness performances when they stay at Tungus camps,
and often take the opportunity of asking the shaman’s advice” (Lindgren 1938, p. 619).
I. Chekaninskii noted that, at the same time, “If sometimes a Siberian-peasant goes to a
shaman with a request for him to use his shamanist art to solve a mystery of a lost
horse or cow, to forecast the results of a hunt or fate of a persistent illness, then the
role of the peasant in the ritual can be quite inactive” (Chekaninskii 1914, p. 75).
Legendary tales about shamans are told today amongst the inhabitants of Lower
Tunguska.
Bonds through baptism
30 Bonds through baptism were dominant in the 19th century by comparison with inter-
ethnic marriage or guardianship. They imposed mutual commitments concerning
different kinds of mutual assistance, exchange of goods or provisions and combined
hunting on both sides.
A story has been recorded relating to Lower Tunguska about a shaman, N. Y.
Boiarshin, the godparent [sic] of a Russian settler, N. I. Utkin of the village of
Verhnekalinina, Katangskii district, Irkutsk region. They hunted together.
Boiarshin said to Utkin: “While I’m alive, fear no one. Wherever you go, wherever
you wander, only remember me. Later, I will die, but no one will harm you in the
forest. I can see you, see where you go”. (Afanas’eva-Medvedeva 2007, pp. 122-123)
31 Not infrequently Russian peasants and exiles became the godparents of Tungus. The
Registers of Birth in the Preobrazhenskaia church on the Lower Tunguska, and to a

68
lesser extent in the churches of Voskresenskaia in Chechuisk, Nikolaevskaia in

Podkamenskoe, Spasskaia on the Vitim (all of which part of the Kirensk church
administration) kept such records.
In 1858, seven-year-old Leontii, son of Petr Egorov Salatkin, “the christened Tungus
of Kondogirsk non-Russian council”. The peasant Verhoturov and his wife Ineshina
of the village Verhnekalinina were the godparents. The godparents of Akulina,
daughter of the Tungus Prokopii Petrov Salatkin of Kureisk non-Russian council,
were “the peasant I. F. Bokovikov and his wife D. I. Diadkina of Bokovikova village”.
The godfather of the two-year-old son of the Tungus Kaplin, Evgraf, was a Kirensk
“petit bourgeois” (Ru. meshchanin), D. A. Akulov (ISRA 50/3/802, p. 409 rev.). In
1862, the christenings of nine “non-Russians” whose godparents were peasants
from the settlements of Nepa, Nizhnekalinina, Erbogachën, Ankula and Iurievo
were registered. (ISRA 50/3/837, pp. 154, 159, 160, 162)
32 It is noteworthy that the godparents of Tungus of the southern parts of what is now
Katangskii district (formerly Kureiskii district, Ru. Kureiskaia uprava ) were often
peasants of Petropavlovsk parish, i.e. from the villages of Mutina, Ichëra, and others
situated along the river Lena (ISRA 50/3/693, 730, 779, 802). The Tungus were given
Russian names, while their own names also remained.
Russian view of Evenki

33 According to my field data, distinctive features of the relations between Russian
settlers and Evenki in the sparse population around the Lower Tunguska were mutual
tolerance, respect and cultural adoption. Russian settlers knew the culture and mode of
life of their neighbours and some were able to use the spoken language. Here are some
reminiscences of Russians born in the 1930s about Evenki:
“Evenki came to the village on reindeer and in summer in a birch-bark boat. They
were made welcome and respected in every village, people like us – they were given
tea. They would put up their chums near the village, drink tea and chat. Anna and
Lëva would come to us and we would run over to them. They baked bread on the
ashes of a camp fire. They were clean, the Evenki. They treated us to reindeer milk”.
(E. M. Iurieva, fieldnotes 2008)
“I remember one Evenki: Afonia-muzhichok. That’s what they called him. With his
wife. They used to come to us and stayed in our house with us. His wife was very
skillful with her hands. And every time they came, they would bring dried meat,
jerky meat, and fresh in abundance, and all sorts of reindeer skins. So, she would
settle down at our place. The old man, of course, would wander around the village.
But she would make herself comfortable, reindeer skins all around, deer skins, and
she would make small decorative mats (Evk. kumalan), and all sorts of footwear. She
made doeskins from deerskins. They called them sary, summer shoes 6; also
decorated with beads; she often made me these sary and high deerskin winter boots.
She dressed me. She made them very well. Grandmother, Mother’s mother, used to
live with us. Once I came running in these sary; I’d been caught in the rain and
they’d got wet. Grandma scolded me: “Look what you’ve done to them!” But I took
them off, we washed them, rinsed them out and hung them up to dry. In the
morning I took them and rumpled them up a bit and they became just as they had
been. My word, she really made them well!”. (V. A. Verhoturov, fieldnotes 2008)
“We were on friendly terms with the Evenki; they were very hard-working. They
used to come to Iurievo to buy flour and provisions. All their clothes were of their
own making; they made everything from skins. They processed shoes from the
reindeer’s leg-skin (Ru. kamus), and skins; the summer footwear (Evk. sary), were
made from chamois leather (Ru. rovduga) (from deer or elk skin); they made slippers

69
(Evk. gurumy) (winter footwear with long shanks, A. S.) and winter anoraks from
deerskins. Russians would buy reindeer skin boots (Evk. torbasa); footwear sold well,
and fur gauntlets and fur hats, the men would buy them; Ru. bitki ( birch bark
container) or basket for collecting berries, (Evk. guiavun, A. S.), and fur mat
(Evk. kumalan) (widely known among local Russians, A. S.). Their unleavened bread
(Evk. koloboie) made with deer milk without eggs, was very popular: the dough was
kneaded and put in campfire ashes; later (when ready, A. S.) you blow off the ashes.
They would stop not far from the village and treat us to all sorts: they hunted for a
lot of elk and knew how to preserve and dry it: if the meat was fatty, it’s taste was
good. They used to fish, but they didn’t keep cattle. They lived in chums covered in
fur and birch bark. There was flooring and a campfire in the centre of the chum
where they would prepare food and warm themselves. We were good neighbors
then. (A. S. and E. F. Permiakovs, fieldnotes 2008)
34 In the first half of the 20th century, as a result of the long history of living as neighbours
and mutual contact, the population of the upper reaches of the Lower Tunguska grew
close anthropologically and economically, as well as culturally. Awareness of
themselves to a certain degree as a regionally single population developed. At the same
time each of the ethnic groups kept the peculiarities of their own culture, stereotypes
of behaviour and perception that are evidence of the stability of ethnic features.
Peculiarities of interethnic contacts in the Soviet

period
35 The Soviet government carried out a social experiment in national, economic, cultural
and religious spheres of life, intervening in people’s everyday life.
36 Soviet national policy explained the difficult socio-economic and cultural state of the
indigenous peoples of the North by the negative influence of the Russians and the
former national policy; for this reason a course of political paternalism and national
and cultural autonomy in relation to the former “non-Russian” peoples was taken since
1920s’.
In 1927, Katangskii district was declared to be Evenki national although the
majority of the population within it was Russian. The Polar census of 1926-1927
registered 1,280 Evenki (651 Kureisk Evenki and 629 Kondogirsk Evenki),
2,500-3,000 Russians and 80 Yakut (Gurvich & Dolgih (eds) 1970, pp. 442-443). The
centre of the national district was moved from Preobrazhenskoe further to the
north, to Erbogachën.
37 One of the first matters of the Committee for the North, set up in 1927 within the
Kirensk district executive committee as a branch of the Central Committee, was the
organisation of land-surveying with the aim of settling controversial land use questions
between Russians and Evenki. Having worked in the southern part of the district, the
surveyors noted the impossibility of transferring the practice of conventional
surveying to northern conditions, and they also underlined the “historically formed
traditions of land use, which it was impossible not to take into account” (Kopylov et al.
2009, pp. 20-21).
Сommissioners for the Committee for the North, going out to “localities” and
acquainting themselves with the situation with land use at first hand, evaluated it
as “untroubled”. It was reported from the neighbouring district of Ust’-Kut about
the inhabitants on the river Taiura that “[…] the attitude of non-Russians towards
Russians and of Russians towards non-Russians is comradely […] no exploitation of
the Tungus by Russians has been noted […] there is friendly and shared use of

70
hunting grounds, but there is dissatisfaction regarding fishing grounds”.

(ISRA 528/1/25, p. 17)
And from Katangskii district, Verhnekatangskii non-Russian council it was reported
that “It is particularly gratifying… [that] at the ‘suglan’ [Evenki assembly] non-
Russians and Russians discussed non-Russian questions together and no particular
national discord was noted though there were complaints about the grabbing of
hunting grounds by Russians; however, it was discussed without malignance”.
(ISRA R-538/1/223, p. 60 rev.)
38 With the aim of eliminating exploitation and developing self-government in the
district, two kinds of council were set up: rural and national (at first, they were called
ancestral and non-Russian):
• the national councils: Ilimpeiskii, Nakannovskii, Kondogirskii, Tokminskii, Homokashevskii
and Verhnechonskii were for the most part Evenki and Evenki-Yakut producers’ councils;
• the rural councils: Ikskii, Nepskii, Preobrazhenskii, Erbogachonskii and Oskinskii were
mainly Russian and farmer-producers’ councils.
39 This differentiation was somewhat nominal: both Russians and Evenki lived in the areas
of the newly set up rural councils, and there were considerable numbers of Russians
living in the areas covered by the national councils.
Peasants lived along the river Nepa in the settlements of Korotkovo, Volokon, Ust’-
Shurinda, Bulzak, Iuktukon and Tokma, numbering 352 persons in 48 households
(Kopylov et al. 2009). In 1939, up to 5,000 Russian settlers lived in four settlements,
20 villages and 14 new villages, most in the southern parts of the district.
(KDA 12/1/9)
40 Economic policy included the liquidation of private land ownership and dispossession
of kulaks, i.e. the liquidation of strong peasant households and the setting up of
collective economic units. Collectivisation in the district began over the years
1926-1928. By 1936-1939 there were 21 kolkhozes with a population of 2,921 persons;
some 50% of households had been collectivised (KDA 12/1/25). In the southern part of
the district, on the strength of established traditions, the Evenki supported the setting
up of mixed Russo-Evenki communes and artels (ISRA P-528/1/49, p. 10). By 1942 only
three artels of the eight existing were Evenki (in the settlements of Teteia, Ust’-Chaika
and Hodolkit), the remainder had mixed membership: Evenki-Yakut in the northern,
and Russo-Evenki in the southern parts of the district (KDA 12/1/25).
41 For nomadic Evenki, collectivisation meant the requirement of transition to a settled
way of life. According to the reminiscences of V. A. Verhoturov:
“Formerly, when I lived in Verhnekalinino until 1948, we had a lot of Evenki. I can
remember Nikolai Amosovich; he had a lot of reindeer and a large family. One of his
sons was two years older than me, but I caught up with him in the second class;
that’s where he remained, in the second class. That is, when school began, he would
always tear off to the forest. His name was Mitrii, Dmitrii. I’m not sure, but I think
his surname was Salatkin. So much time has passed. I’m 77 now. Well, this Nikolai
Amosovich had a good herd of reindeer, and he was driven into the kolkhoz, like a
lot of Evenki, but he didn’t want to go there. Of course he didn’t want that; he had
such a herd. And I went there (to him, A. S.) twice, I was sent deliberately, so to
speak, by the chairman of the kolkhoz. He always stopped up near the village. There
was a small river there, the Kuria; and he would set up his summer camp by it. As
soon as he came out of the taiga for the summer, they would send a messenger to
him to present himself before the kolkhoz management board. But he didn’t want
to. And apart from them, a lot of other Evenki also […] they wanted to get them all
into the kolkhoz also. But in my opinion, they shouldn’t have done that”.
(fieldnotes 2008)

71
42 In 1953, the agglomeration of settlements began which was not welcomed by either
Russians or Evenki and led to migration beyond the limits of the district. By the 1960s
and 1970s the number of settlements in Katangskii district had decreased from 34 to 18.
This is how elderly people recollect that time when they were 20-25 years of age:
“There was Georgii Mosiagin then (secretary of the district Communist party, A.S.);
he’d say some nonsense like “let’s combine the kolkhozes”. But they didn’t
combine, but sailed off to Tura. And the people fled off in all directions. They made
rafts of their houses and sailed off. Everything collapsed in the village, though they
had lived and lived there. And they took a dislike to holding down two jobs at a
time. Young men were taken into the army instead of hanging around the village.
Those that didn’t go to the kolkhoz were sent off to open up new land: “we’ll go to
till the earth, just as the old-timers did”. (E. G. Iurieva, fieldnotes 2008)
“They lived very well; grew grain. But later they decided to amalgamate the
kolkhozes; so Verhnekalinina was combined with Bokovikova, resettled everyone
from Nizhnekalinina and some sort of enmity arose and people went their own
way. So now in this Nizhnekalinina, it was also known as Fëdorovo, it’s all empty,
and Bokovinkova is also empty; and very few people have remained in Kalinina.
People went their own way: some to Tura, others live in Angarsk or Irkutsk. They
live along the river Lena in Yakutsk, and in Mirnyi; everywhere people went their
own way. I think they were wrong to start that agglomeration. Somehow people
started to fall out with each other. I could see this happening before I went into the
army. This amalgamation of the kolkhozes began in the ‘50s in our area, and oh,
people began to live badly, though before that the kolkhozes were friendly places”.
(V. A. Verhoturov, fieldnotes 2008)
43 Evenki settled down in Russian villages or new settlements and the area of the taiga
that they had used decreased. Some Evenki, not wanting to settle down and enter
kolkhoz, went off to the Evenki Autonomous County (Ru. okrug) (now, the Evenki’s
municipal district in the Krasnoyarsk region boarders) under the leadership of their
elders and shamans to continue a nomadic life. Katangskii district became the first of
the regions from which Evenki arrived in Evenkia (63.8% of all migrants) (Boiko &
Kostyuk 1992, p. 38).
44 In the 1960s, after the reorganization of the kolkhozes into hunting enterprises,
traditional farming went into decline and at the same time the number of hunters of
different nationalities increased. The taiga was officially divided into hunting areas.
Expensive sable furs brought in 96% of the income of Katangskii’s, and 94% of
Preobrazhenskii’s hunting enterprises in the 1980s (KDA 12/1/31, p. 46).
45 As in other spheres, the fundamentals of ethical interrelations between different ethnic
groups remained in the sphere of sharing hunting grounds, products and goods.
Because of increasing competition in the hunting trade, conflict often arose concerning
the best sites, however, in actual fact, the traditional system of distribution on the basis
of long-standing use and the support of fellow villagers has remained.
46 In the early 2000s, men earning a living in hunting, first and foremost the descendants
of the early Russian settlers, raised the question of equalizing their status with those of
minority Indigenous Peoples of the North on the basis that their historical roots are in
the north and, like the indigenous peoples, they are dependent on the natural
resources of their environment (Sirina 2006). In accordance with federal law from 30
July 2000: “On general principles on clan communities (Ru. rodovaia obshchina) of
indigenous peoples of the North, Siberia and the Far East of Russian Federation
organization”, Evenki and Russians began to set up “clan communities”, but the legal

72
question of territories of traditional land use has still not been settled (Novikova &
Iakel’ 2006, Sirina 2009, pp. 153-158).
47 Even today it is characteristic of the Evenki to give up ownership of property to aliens.
Young wildlife management students who were sent to work in the district in the 1980s
tried to spend their first hunting season together with Evenki and learnt skills from
them. During the second season they usually hunted by themselves, often on Evenki
hunting grounds (fieldnotes). The agreement between them on the allotment of the
land during the hunting season was confidential. Russians, Evenki and Ket did the same
on the river Sym.
48 I have seen the hunting dogs of amateur hunters at Evenki camps, kept according to
unwritten agreement between their owners and the Evenki. People in settlements ask
Evenki seamstresses to make them deerskin boots and hats. One or two Evenki families,
when coming out of the taiga into a settlement where they have no accommodation,
stay with their Russian acquaintances.
49 Both the locals and the newcomers come into contact easily if they can see mutual
benefit from it. I happened to be an observer of such symbiotic mutually beneficial
relations between geologists and Evenki and it was always on the basis of a common
interest and love of hunting and everything connected with it. At the same time,
alliances between Evenki-hunters and hunters of other nationalities were rarely long-
lived because of their differing attitudes to the trade.
50 Geological surveying had an impact on the numbers, structure, movements and
contacts of the local population. At the end of the 1940s there was surveying for
diamonds on the Lower Tunguska and Evenki worked as guides and reindeer-team
drivers in the geological expeditions (see also Davydov 2013). In the 1970s and 1980s,
geological expeditions based themselves in the settlements of Nadezhdinsk,
Erbogachën, and Nakanno; numbers in the population increased from 6,000 in 1979 to
9,500 in 1989. Its composition changed, having become multiethnic. The number of
mixed marriages between Evenki and incoming Russians, Belorussians, Ukrainians,
Latvians and others increased. The children of one and the same mixed marriage can
have different self-consciousness and assign themselves to different cultures.
Marriages between the descendants of Russian settlers and newcomers of different
nationalities became more frequent (Sirina 2006, pp. 56-57).
51 After the socio-economic crisis of the 1990s, the population of the district decreased by
half: in 2008 there were 4,349 people living in Katangskii district of whom 2,246 lived in
its centre. However, it was with the geology of the region that its future was linked. At
the beginning of this century Verhnechonskii Oil and Gas Company, a daughter
company of TNK-BP, and the Irkutsk Oil Company (INK) began work on the
development of mineral deposits that had been prospected in Soviet times. Of the local
inhabitants, a quota of 43 persons is involved in work at the extraction sites.
Conclusion
52 Each area of contact has its own specifics depending on the numbers, composition, and
cultural peculiarities of the contact groups, influence of state policy and other factors.
This question is of great interest to research, but, as noted by E. J. Lindgren, it is still
very understudied. Groups of Sym, Ilim, Chuna, and Verhneangarsk Evenki underwent

73
to differing degrees the process of acculturation and were assimilated by the Russian
population as a result of historical contacts with Russian settlers. The same process
occurred along the Lower Tunguska. It is important to note that the process of
assimilation, from the historical and cultural point of view, is not one-sided and has
formed a peculiar regional population. The population in places of similar contacts is
mobile, has a great passion for hunting and has other characteristic peculiarities. The
deep social transformations of soviet and post-soviet periods were not able to
obliterate that which unites the local population: deep-set memory, the historical past
and hunting as an occupation and way of life. The concept of deep-set memory should
be further developed and used as a methodological tool rather than the ethnicity as
such in the studies of the regions settled by a multinational population with a long-
term mutual history.
53 However, the Evenki and the entire local community have proved to be open and
defenceless in the face of the new economic order in the region: oil and gas extraction
that has already taken its toll on the biological diversity of Katangskii district (so far
limited to its southern part). Evenki and the local population, dependent on the
products of hunting and fishing, are very vulnerable in the newly established situation;
they do not have an effective mechanism for the defense of their interests. The
personnel of the oil extraction industry work according to a shift system and the
majority of shift workers are Russians from different parts of Irkutsk Oblast’ and other
regions of Russia. So the question of living side by side has taken on a new
configuration: now it is life next door to oil rigs, shift workers and other newcomers.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Abbreviations
ISRA – Irkutsk State Regional Archive. Located in Irkutsk.
KDA – Katanga District’s Archive. Located in the village of Erbogachën, Katanskii raion, Irkutsk
Oblast’.
RGSSA – Russian Geographical Society Scientific Archive.
IEA RAS – Institute of Ethnology and Anthropology of Russian Academy of Sciences.
NGU – Novosibirskii Gosudarstvennyi Universitet [Novosibirsk State University].
IG SB RAS – Institute of Geography, Siberian Branch, Russian Academy of Sciences.
BNTz SO RAN – Buriatskii Nauchnyi Tsentr Sibirskogo Otdelenia Rossiiskoi Academii Nauk
[Buryat Scientific Center, Siberian Branch, Russian Academy of Sciences].
Izd-vo IAE SO RAN – Izdatel’stvo Instituta Arheologii i Ètnografii Sibirskogo Otdeleniia Rossiiskoi
Academii Nauk [Publishing House of the Institute of Archaeology and Ethnography, Siberian
Branch, Russian Academy of Sciences].

74
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NOTES
1. They are known as “Katangskii” Evenki after the name of the district in Irkutsk Oblast’ where
the Nizhniaia (Lower) Tunguska is situated.
2. According to the archival data, in 1887, there were 55 deportees of only Russian Orthodox
faith, with an average age of 35 years, in Preobrazhenskaia district (Ru. volost’) in Kirenskii
county (Ru. okrug) (ISRA 50/1/176, p. 35).
3. By the end of the 19th century some 60 deportees – Jews, Russians, Ukrainians, Poles etc. – were
living along the river Lower Tunguska.
4. List of families residing in a specific parish with information about communion.
5. This is a hybrid word since the Evenki word kachikan means puppy, to which was added a
Russian diminutive suffix –ka (singular), or –ki (plurial) [note from editor Lavrillier].
6. This word is used by both the Evenki and Old Russians. It comes probably from the Yakut word
saryy – chamois leather. In Evenk sari means also long elk leather shoes (in the Yakut fashion)
(Vasilevich 1958, p. 345).

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ABSTRACTS
This article explores ethno-cultural contacts between Evenki (Tungus) and Old Russian settlers in
the upper flow of the river Lower Tunguska. The article is based on the rich regional and local
archival sources, as well as on the author’s field data. The author gives a brief history of
colonisation of the region, restores the number of groups in contact and their composition,
investigates the economic and cultural features of both groups and interactions between them,
shows the perception of Evenki by local Russians. The main channel for contacts between these
two ethnic groups was hunting. The process of acculturation was not one-sided and has formed a
peculiar regional population. The deep social transformations of Soviet and post-Soviet periods
were not able to obliterate what unifies the local population: the deep-set memory of their
historical past and hunting as an occupation and way of life.
Cet article étudie les contacts culturels entre les Évenks (Toungouses) et les Russes anciennement
installés sur le cours supérieur de la rivière Toungouska Inférieure. Fondé sur les matériaux
nombreux et riches des archives régionales et locales, ainsi que sur les données de terrain de
l’auteur, il propose une brève histoire de la colonisation de la région, et reconstitue les
compositions des groupes en contact ainsi que leur nombre. L’article examine par ailleurs les
caractéristiques économiques et culturelles des différents groupes russes et évenks, ainsi que
leurs interactions essentiellement autour de la chasse. Cet article étudie également la perception
qu’ont les Russes locaux des Évenks. Le processus d’acculturation n’a pas fonctionné à sens
unique et a généré l’apparition d’une population locale assez particulière. L’auteur montre que
les profondes transformations sociales apportées pendant et après la période soviétique ne sont
pas venues à bout de deux éléments importants qui assurent la cohésion de la population locale, à
savoir d’une part, la mémoire profondément ancrée d’une histoire commune et, d’autre part, la
chasse comme activité et mode de vie.
INDEX
Mots-clés: ethnohistoire, relations inter-ethniques, Sibérie, Évenk, Russe, colonisation,
perception, chasse, métis
Keywords: ethnohistory, interethnic relationship, Siberia, Evenki, Russian, colonisation,
perception, hunting, metis
AUTHORS
ANNA A. SIRINA
Anna A. Sirina received her Dr Sc. (Habilit. and PhD) in Ethnology and Anthropology from the
Institute of Ethnology and Anthropology at the Russian Academy of Sciences (2011). She works as
a leading research fellow at the Department of Northern and Siberian Studies, Institute of
Ethnology and Anthropology (Russian Academy of Sciences). She has been conducting frequent
fieldworks in Siberia since 1981. She is the author and the editor of numerous books, book
chapters, and peer-reviewed articles on history of anthropology and on various aspects of
cultures of indigenous peoples and Old Russian settlers of Siberia, including Evenki in the
20th century (2006) and Evenki i èveny v sovremennom mire [Evenki and Eveny in the modern world.

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Identity, nature use and world view] (2012, in Russian).

annas@iea.ras.ru

79

Indigenous knowledge, skills,

mobilities and political landscapes

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An emic science of climate. Reindeer

Evenki environmental knowledge
and the notion of an “extreme
process”
Une science émique du climat. Le savoir environnemental des Évenks et la notion
de « processus extrême »
Alexandra Lavrillier and Semen Gabyshev
EDITOR'S NOTE
click here
click here
1 This paper is one of the results of a transdisciplinary research project bridging social
anthropology, indigenous knowledge, and climatology on global changes in several
Arctic societies, including the Evenki reindeer herders. After discussing the place of
traditional environmental knowledge (TEK) in the framework of science, we present
our innovative methodology, which offers some results from a co-production between
social anthropology and indigenous knowledge. This paper argues that the Evenki
possess an environmental knowledge similar to a science: this knowledge is vast,
difficult to acquire, and indispensable not only for adaptation to their environment
(considered extreme by the West), but also for understanding frequent and increasing
contemporary climate and environmental changes. In the second part, the paper
analyses emic perceptions of “extreme events”: here we develop the notion of an
“extreme process”.

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2 Indeed, an extreme event is a broadly-used concept in studies of climate change in both

the social and environmental sciences, notably in the Arctic. Some anthropological
studies claim that Arctic indigenous peoples do not possess a notion of “extreme” or
“extreme event” because they are used to constantly adapting to their harsh
environment. But is this the case for the Evenki, especially given the abrupt rise of
changes observed in Siberia from 2005? Based on long-term field-studies and co-
production in the vernacular language, we found that this indigenous people has an
emic and detailed understanding of “norms” (e.g. their harsh environment in its
normal state, including variations), diverse types of “anomalies” (Evk. dikte) they can
deal with, and various “degrees of extreme event” that they relate to the extent of their
adaptive capacities. Their scale moves gradually between two points, from a set of rare
conditions with significant consequences to which Evenki society strives to adapt (“out
of sync”, Evk. manak) to the most complex “extreme process”, designating conditions to
which society can no longer adapt (Evk. davdavse). This proves the existence of a
complex indigenous cognitive system regarding the interelations between humans, the
environment, and climate; this system contains also notions of social limitations (see
below).
To be or not to be a science
3 First of all, we use the word “science” to denote a system of knowledge 1. Our starting
postulate was to consider traditional ecological knowledge as a science that can
collaborate, complement, enrich, and be merged with the social and environmental
sciences.
4 There are numerous definitions of TEK, beginning with the one provided by Berkes:
“TEK is defined as a cumulative body of knowledge, practices and beliefs about the
dynamic relationship of living beings with one another, and with their environment,
which has evolved by adaptive processes, and has been handed down from generation
to generation” (Berkes 1999, p. 8).
5 Huntington defines it as “a system of experiential knowledge gained by continual
observation and transmitted among members of a community. It is set in a framework
that encompasses both ecology and the interactions of humans and their environment
on physical and spiritual planes” (Huntington 1998, Burgess 1999).
6 “Experiential knowledge”, “practical knowledge”, and “knowledge in practice” are
expressions often used as synonyms for TEK (Helander-Renwall 2005, p. 4, et passim), as
is “way of life” (as many publications stress, like Nadasdy 1999, p. 4, Berkes 1999, p. 8).
7 Thus, TEK is often seen as being exclusively “practical”, supremely concrete,
collectively inherited, and very different from Western sciences in terms of the
production of knowledge. For instance, Nadasdy writes, “in contrast to TEK, which is
assumed to be qualitative, intuitive, holistic, and oral, science is seen as quantitative,
analytical, reductionist, and literate” (Nadasdy 1999, p. 2).
8 According to our research, Evenki TEK is not just a block of information and practices
transmitted from generation to generation. Nor is it intuitive: it is as conceptual (that is
to say, it contains many concepts), theoretical, and analytical as a science 2 (Lavrillier &
Gabyshev 2017).

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9 The recognition of TEK as a science also implies epistemological and ethical issues at
the scientific and political international levels, as stressed, for instance, by the recent
definition of TEK improved and agreed upon by the different Arctic peoples involved in
the Indigenous Secretariat of the Arctic Council. This states that “Traditional
Knowledge is a systematic way of thinking and knowing that is elaborated and applied
to phenomena across biological, physical, cultural and linguistic systems. Traditional
Knowledge is owned by the holders of that knowledge, often collectively, and is
uniquely expressed and transmitted through indigenous languages. It is a body of
knowledge generated through cultural practices, lived experiences including extensive
and multigenerational observations, lessons and skills. It has been developed and
verified over millennia and is still developing in a living process, including knowledge
acquired today and in the future, and it is passed on from generation to generation”.
Then it identifies 13 principles that must be attached to TEK, including its political
significance, the notion of authorship, and rules of collaboration with sciences (Retter
2015).
10 While providing a definition of an “indigenous knowledge system” may be superfluous
for specialists in ethno-biology and ethno-science and most anthropologists, we will
nonetheless provide one here: “The system of thought analogous to scientific
understanding within traditional cultures. The notion implies that such knowledge is
indeed systematic in a similar way to modern science” (Barnard & Spencer 2005,
p. 911).
11 The value of TEK “has been widely recognized in fields such as agroforestry, traditional
medicine, biodiversity conservation, customary resource management, applied
anthropology, impact assessment and natural disaster preparedness and
response” (Nakashima et al. 2012, p. 27).
12 Despite all of this, the unequal hierarchical positions of the environmental sciences and
TEK remain one of the hindrances to indigenous knowledge taking a more prominent
position in climate change research and policy. Indeed, worldwide indigenous leaders,
including some Arctic ones like the Inuit S. Watt-Cloutier, are still struggling to receive
general and official recognition of their climate change observations and knowledge as
being of scientific value. Thus, TEK is still not officially recognised as a science despite
several dozen years of efforts from international organisations (UNESCO, UNEP, special
task forces within UNFCCC, IPCC, and IPBES3): it has not been systematically integrated
into environmental change research and has not really been voiced in climate
negotiations4.
13 The fact that TEK is not officially recognised as a science could perhaps be linked to
some specificities of the West, where the current sciences were institutionalised. For
instance, Said stated that Western researchers have reproduced stereotypes about the
Western world as the cradle of progress, rationality, and science, while stereotypes of
irrationality and myth are attached to the rest of the world (Said [1978] 2006). The
perception of TEK as irrational is also argued by Obeyesekere (Obeyesekere 1992). With
regards to the relationship between social organisation and science, we could refer to
Bourdieu, who describes academic knowledge as a “political resource” to keep away
from the masses that allots a “symbolic power” and should be kept away from the
masses (Bourdieu 1984). These topics are further developed by anthropologists of
science like Nader and Scott (Nader 1996), who examine Western science in the context
of and in contrast to traditional knowledge by considering power dimensions, the

83
“ethnocentricity” or the “cultural ascendants of science”. They also contradict “the

omnipresent image of Western science as ‘pure’ and ‘independent from politics’, like
for instance in the chapter ‘Science for the West, Myth for the Rest’”. The authors of
the present paper think that this could also be because the transmission and validation
of the acquisition of TEK (through orality and experimentation) is, according to the
Western worldview, too different from or not valid in comparison to the transmission
and validation of the sciences (in writing and through the institutionalised attribution
of diplomas and hierarchised academic positions). In addition, as the authors could
note for Evenki TEK, there is a lack of in-depth documentation for many TEK systems.
Such documentation could help calibrate TEK with science, an idea shared by the IPCC
(IPCC 2014b, p. 844). The authors will develop these issues in another paper.
14 Instead of being truly recognised as scientific input, TEK occupies a different place in
international climate and environmental assessments and negotiations. It is described
in the Assessment Reports (AR4, AR5) of the IPCC 2007 and 2010 as “an invaluable basis
for developing adaptation and natural resource management strategies in response to
environmental and other forms of change”: thus, it is treated as a separate topic within
the chapter on human security (Nakashima et al. 2012). Similarly, the international
Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD), which entered into force in 1993, only
demands that the signatory countries respect and maintain TEK and indigenous
practices. A turning point came in 2015 with article 7 of the Paris Agreement, with the
COP 21 of the IPCC stating that “adaptation action should be […] guided […] by the best
available science and, as appropriate, traditional knowledge systems” (UNFCCC 2015,
p. 11). However, this has largely not been implemented in practice and seems to have
been ignored by the powerful states.
15 According to the first author’s analysis of the IPCC’s last report (IPCC 2014a, b, c), TEK is
very rarely mentioned in both synthetic and mitigation reports; if it is, it is described as
being embedded in belief systems, often damaged by climate change, but sometimes
still able to reduce uncertainty for human adaptation (IPCC 2014a, c). A section of
17 lines devoted to TEK, quoting Nakashima et al. 2012, says that it “is often
marginalised in decision making and unable to participate adequately in local […] and
international climate change mechanisms”. TEK appears much more frequently in the
adaptation and vulnerability report (IPCC 2014b). TEK is recognised by the vast
majority as a “‘non-scientific’ source of information and observations that has a great
value for indigenous peoples adaptation” (including some climate services) that must
be taken into account in climate policies.
16 Thanks to scientists who have already developed collaborations between TEK and
sciences, such as Crate (Crate 2008), Forbes (Forbes et al. 2009), Ford (Ford et al. 2006),
Huntington (Huntington et al. 2004), etc., the report very occasionally states that TEK
can enrich research on the impact of climate change and improve indigenous adaptive
strategies. It is said to be a “valued knowledge system that can, together with or
independently of natural sciences, produce useful knowledge for climate change
detection and adaptation” (IPCC 2014b, p. 1001). Nevertheless, TEK-science
collaboration is seen as challenging for both cultural and epistemological reasons (ibid.,
p. 766) and because it is said to be valuable only locally. Furthermore, TEK is now often
presented as less reliable because of changing environmental conditions or new
extreme events (ibid., p. 766, Ford et al. 2006)

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17 Successful stories of collaboration or co-production between TEK and the sciences,

including calibration of respective scales, are mentioned extremely seldom. We found
only two mentions that recognise TEK as motivating scientists to study new issues
relating to climate change impact, despite the fact that TEK has inspired numerous
academic research. We did not find any discussions of the notion that TEK can provide
some strictly scientific input or findings, including on a theoretical level: nor are there
any suggestions that it should be recognised as a science.
18 In scientific research, interest in TEK experienced an impressive surge during the
1980s, with numerous conferences, seminars, and workshops dedicated to it (Berkes
1999, Nadasdy 1999). Around 15 years later, it reached some parts of the Arctic (Canada,
Alaska, and Greenland). By the end of the 1990s, “an emphasis on local and traditional
knowledge and participatory research has helped create a paradigm shift: scientific
studies can no longer take place in the Canadian Arctic without some communication
and consultation with a local community” (Gearheard & Shirley 2007, p. 63). In
contrast, this research theme and approach were relatively novel in Far Eastern Siberia
(except for Crate 2008, Bogoslovskaia et al. 2008 and later publications); equally,
collaborative research with indigenous peoples is still not the scientific approach
generally chosen in Russia (see below).
Raising new transdisciplinary and participative

methods and research
19 Our project took place in Southern Yakutia (Aldan) and the Northern Amur region.
18,232 Evenki live in Yakutia and 1,501 in the Amur region: around 70% live in remote
villages5. Approximately only 30% of the entire Russian Evenki population in Russia still
lead continuous nomadic lifestyles. Some members of the intelligentsia live in towns.
For the majority of these populations, however, the main source of subsistence, as well
as other resources, is the natural environment (game and fur hunting, reindeer
herding, fishing, and gathering berries and mushrooms). In the regions with which the
paper is concerned, a higher percentage of nomads are attached to villages where the
Evenki language has been well conserved6. Their native language is not only a mean of
communication, but also a vehicle of knowledge (including TEK).
20 The present study comes from BRISK’s7 Evenki Community-Based Transdisciplinary
Observatories (Evenki C-B observatory). The study was conceived and carried out by
A. Lavrillier (an anthropologist), S. Gabyshev (a Evenki reindeer herder and hunter),
and L. Egorova (a Evenki weather forecaster) from January 2013. The project’s co-
productions were also completed by the heavily involved herder-hunters Vasilii
Gabyshev, Albert Kolesov, Oleg Iakovlev, and the herders who gave interviews and
more occasional information (e.g. around 20 families8).
21 So, in addition to a previous monodisciplinary anthropological study, the present study
is based on data for the period from winter 2011 to winter 2018: this information was
gathered in accordance with socio-anthropological and transdisciplinary methods
(TEK, weather forecasting, and anthropology).
22 This idea for such an approach came to the first author in 2011 after five years of
studying perceptions of climate change and adaptive practices among the Evenki
(Yakutia and the Amur region) and Even (Yakutia and Kamchatka) reindeer herders

85
and hunters via the classical methodologies of social anthropology (Lavrillier 2011b,
2013). While it was only through these methods (see below) that it was possible to
analyse the socio-economic impact of climate change on society and adaptation, they
gave a superficial understanding of the knowledge the Evenki had of this subject.
Indeed, while the anthropologist was the recipient of a significant number of
observations regarding the climatic and biophysical states of the environment, she did
not really understand them (despite her knowledge of Evenki language and society) and
did not know what to do with them: they were too distant from the themes of classical
anthropology.
23 Starting from the point that herders and hunters are frontline witnesses of profound
global change in their environment, our project was to organise a community-based
observatory with the herders that would attempt to merge the methods of nomads,
social anthropologists, and environmental scientists. Thus, the second author quickly
became the most involved reindeer herder thanks to his taste for the intellectual
exercise of transdisciplinary observations and analysis and his capacity for innovation.
Since she possesses the same interests and skills (and also because she combines both
types of knowledge – some TEK from her reindeer-herding family and scientific
knowledge from her background as a weather forecaster), L. Egorova became the
second main indigenous developer of this observatory.
24 Our methodology consisted of daily observations performed by the nomads, collective
documentation of TEK by nomads and the anthropologist, anthropological fieldwork
twice a year for collective observation and documentation, and an anthropological
study of the perception of changes, the ways they are faced, adaptive strategies, and
potential vulnerabilities. In addition, Gabyshev, as the main observer and co-designer
of the project, went to Paris several times to work with climatologists, geographers,
anthropologists, and Sami reindeer herders in meetings, collective analysis of
materials, the transcription and translation of numerous interviews, and co-writing
sessions.
25 More precisely, from 2013 to 2018, thanks to the co-production methods (daily
observations and collective expeditions) that we developed with herders in the Evenki
C-B observatory, we co-produced the following data and analyses:
• Transdisciplinary meteorological data monitoring: 1) Western meteorological measurements
with mobile thermometers and fixed thermo-buttons of temperature, humidity,
precipitation (including snow cover measurements), and wind variations, which were made
daily by the nomads; 2) measurements made according to the traditional nomadic
meteorological system (monitoring the emic physics of snow and ice and the evolution and
behaviours of flora, fauna, and domestic reindeer for 56 months). This monitoring is still
ongoing within our new project, BRISK’s OBS ENV.
• Co-analysis of abnormal winters and summers (including events considered “extreme” by
the nomads). The analysis was conducted with reference to both TEK and social
anthropology. It demonstrated frequent anomalies in the evolution of the snow and ice
cover and significant variations over different topographies. In addition, these anomalies
seem to cause considerable changes in the vegetal cover. A very small section of this data is
used in this paper; another section was used in a collective analysis by the climatologists
M. Rojo and C. Claud and the authors. An important section is published in our book
(Lavrillier et al. 2014, Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2017, pp. 243-383, 370-450).

86
• Evenki TEK documentation: the authors (with other herders) developed TEK co-productions
about environmental changes and land use by mapping and measuring the many nomadic
roads, camps, and sacred places of this huge area. Some of these maps were used in and
merged with remote sensing analysis by S. Gadal, M. Dal Mollin, S. Gabyshev, and
A. Lavrillier.
• The socio-economic effects of these changes were studied in detail (sometimes collectively
with herders). Nomads adapt by modifying some herding/hunting practices. These adaptive
practices are today threatened by the local development of extractive industries, as we will
see in this paper.
26 One of the greatest difficulties was to adapt methods of measurement and other
requirements from the environmental scientists to the nomadic world and to create a
real dialogue between herders and environmental scientists: this was for both
epistemological and hierarchical reasons (see above and below). In this, the role of
social anthropologist was central, a point also noted by Crate in her own
transdisciplinary research (Crate & Fedorov 2013, p. 339).
Social anthropology versus knowledge co-production
27 Thus, we have tested two methods for studying climate change among reindeer
herders. The first was classical social anthropology, with participant observation, semi-
structured interviews, and a research perspective oriented on Evenki society. One of
the first results of this approach shows that climate change is faced and perceived
together with other global changes (ecological, geopolitical, economical, and juridical)
that threaten reindeer herding. In this framework of abrupt combined changes, the
unpredictability of the weather and climate is a source of anxiety and requires constant
adaptations: these are allowed by TEK.
28 The second method we tested offers a completely different perspective by studying and
documenting climate and environmental changes with Evenki herders as “co-
researchers”. The herder-hunters permanently involved in the scientific process had
the status of “co-researcher9”. As with projects involving participatory research (also
called “citizen science”, where non-scientists take part in scientific observation), this
caused an important change in the research process, since indigenous peoples are no
longer considered to be the “observed”. We refer here to the “great divide” in
anthropology, the asymmetrical distinction between “us” (e.g. Westerners, the
“observers”) and “them” (e.g. indigenous peoples, the “observed”), a distinction
inherited from the colonial period that influenced the social sciences over the course of
several decades (Fabian [1983] 2014, Lenclud 1996, among others). Equally, one might
mention the propensity identified in the traditions of the Western sciences to maintain
total control over the subject of study (Latour [1991] 1993). In the Evenki part of the
project, herder-hunters are “co-observers” of the natural environment and its
inhabitants (humans and animals). The status of “co-researchers” was accepted by our
institutions (OVSQ, UVSQ, ANR, UNESCO, French Embassy’s Office for Scientific
collaboration, etc.10). S. Gabyshev was officially recognised as a CEARC laboratory fellow
in 2013, took part in laboratory meetings and research workshops, and offered
seminars for UVSQ students. In 2018, he was nominated for the French academic award
Chevalier dans l’Ordre national des Palmes Académiques for his active participation in
research.

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29 During our project, we endeavoured to implement the highest possible level of

participation and decision-making from the herders, from the design of the project
through the definition of methodologies to analysis and writing. All oral and textual
productions from the Evenki C-B observatory officially mention the heavy involvement
of indigenous co-researcher(s) as co-author(s). This required, as far as possible,
introspection and regular critical self-analysis, the management of tensions, collective
discussions in the field and during Paris-based working sessions, and the withdrawal or
acceptance of some topics and methods. The first author used anthropological methods
to analyse the difficulties of achieving mutual understanding between the social and
environmental sciences and TEK. For instance, depending on the science concerned and
the relationship between the sciences and TEK, the status and ownership of
information and the status of data can be very different: this is because of the specific
features and dispositions of the sciences and the societies where they were developed.
It takes a long time to reach mutual understanding11.
30 The second method gave much richer results. Let us stress that, despite the almost
eight years of nomadic fieldwork that Lavrillier spent studying Evenki society,
language, and perception of the environment, she discovered in 2013 that in reality she
knew almost nothing about their TEK. It was as if she had spent many years passing by
this unseen realm of knowledge: now, with the help of the herders, she could open the
door and see a vast treasure beyond it.
31 Nonetheless, she would not have been able to work efficiently with this participative
and transdisciplinary method had she not previously spent many years applying the
methodology of classical anthropology (see above), which is indispensable for studying
changes in society, economic activities, social organisations, language, and basic
environmental knowledge. It gave her crucial clues as starting points for collective
documentation and analysis of TEK. Another important remark regarding methodology
is that, by focusing our research with herders on the observation of the natural
environment, Lavrillier learnt a lot about Evenki society itself.
32 From the point of view of Gabyshev and the other herders involved in this
transdisciplinary project, their participation in co-research and daily observations have
deepened their knowledge and their ability to forecast changes in the weather and the
environment. Firstly, they were agreeably surprised by the interest from
environmental scientists in their TEK and appreciated the exchanges of knowledge
during workshops, seminars, conferences, and co-writing sessions. It was extremely
important for them to see their involvement and input officially recognised by
awarding them the status of co-researcher and placing their names in the copyright
labels for conferences, papers, and books. Sometimes they were surprised that
scientists have no knowledge of phenomenon obvious to nomads and how scientists
can sometimes write about subjects of which they know little. It was also very
important for the herders to finally have their concerns about the worrisome changes
in their environment heard.
An emic science of climate

33 Very rapidly, it became clear that it was impossible to go further in our
transdisciplinary observation without studying in greater depth Evenki TEK as a
system. During the installation of the C-B observatory, the first author came to

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understand that Evenki TEK is a vast and sophisticated system of knowledge attached
to complex processes of cognition. It became apparent that this knowledge is not only a
set of practical “knowledge packs”, but also a real theoretical system, containing a lot
of “know how”, hypothesising, and predictions. Indeed, some cognitive operations can
be compared to “modelling” (Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2017, pp. 438-449, 456-457). This
knowledge, just like the Western sciences, is not only based on the transmission of
knowledge between generations: it also questions existing knowledge, performs
experiments, produces new knowledge, takes measurements, forms theoretical
constructions, and uses specialised terminologies shared by only part of the community
(ibid.) (see the definition of science at the beginning of the paper). So, like in science,
the notion of the authorship of innovation exists in Evenki TEK. In addition, it is not
only a science of weather, but also of climate, since nomads produce hypotheses several
years in advance12.
34 However, in contrast with the Western sciences, emic environmental knowledge (or
science) is highly systemic. It is not only interested in one single element: rather, it is
focused on the many interactions between numerous elements in the natural
environment (see further).
35 Thus, it is very difficult to access this knowledge. First, it is encapsulated in the Evenki
language and is often very difficult or impossible to translate. Second, this knowledge is
so vast that not every nomad possesses it in its entirety: villagers, townspeople, and
even linguistic specialists remain ignorant of it. Third, herders and hunters are not
very talkative. Fourth, the memory of this knowledge has some temporality; for
instance, the Evenki can easily remember the terms for the state of the natural
elements in a given season, but sometimes temporarily forget the terms used during
other seasons. Fifth, TEK is often sporadically delivered piece by piece by the nomads:
initially, they often provide a very laconic explanation from which the Westerner
understands little or nothing. It takes hours or even days of further explanation,
misunderstanding, clarification, and diagrams to create a co-production accessible to
Westerners. To obtain knowledge, it is often necessary to wait for nomads to meet some
specific kinds of snow, ice, and species or to catch a new word or phrase from their
spontaneous daily discussions.
36 In order to increase the speed with which the knowledge was being delivered, the first
author discovered a new method. When alone in the forest, she took pictures of
everything; when back in the tent during the evening, she showed the nomads her
pictures and asked for explanations. We then developed the method of imposing colour
drawings and diagrams onto the pictures in order to explain and express indigenous
knowledge. With time, the herder-observers themselves started to propose pictures,
drawings, diagrams, and other pieces of knowledge. Among the nomads, some
individuals got caught up in the game of scientific investigation and proposed their
own research ideas, concepts, and hypotheses: they also enthusiastically engaged in co-
writing. Thanks to these methods, we were able to identify several TEK typologies (see
below).
37 It is impossible to expose all this knowledge, demonstrate the full complexity of this
emic climate science, or show all our findings in this paper: indeed, we could not fit it
into the almost 500 pages of our book (Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2017). Nonetheless, we will
try to briefly summarise some specificities by focusing on climate and emphasising how

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this knowledge allows the Evenki to manage their environment, deal with variations,
and face anomalies.
38 After one year of intensive research and observations with herders, it became clear
that Evenki emic science is based on what we call “typologies”. Thus, such a typology is
a set of term-concepts (e.g. types) designating the specific state of an element or
different elements of one emic realm. Herders articulate it in order to analyse norms
and anomalies of past or present processes or in the production of predictions and
hypotheses for the future (see below). The cognitive operations that come with these
analyses are crucial tools for successful adaptive strategies. For instance, mastery of
landscape and snow/ice typologies (and of the interactions between snow types and
landscape types) allows a herder to adapt by predicting where he/she will find a good
snow cover. There are typologies of topography, vegetal cover and fauna, and what we
call “the human-made landscape”. There are also some concepts that reveal specific
interactions between the elements of the environment and their human and animal
inhabitants, like arbun solgu/ arbun edighu. This concept allows people to determine
(according to a position in reference to the main winds, the circulation of sun, and river
flow) the peculiarities of a place in terms of snow and vegetal covers, pastures, animal
presence, the rapidity with which the snow melts, and its quality as a nomadic camp
(ibid., pp. 116-118).
39 The emic science of climate includes several typologies. There is a complex typology of
warm and cold air and deep knowledge about air circulation (ibid., pp. 217-242). The
latter is thought to be determined by, among other things, the specificities of
topography, vegetal cover, and sky-ground interactions (Fig. 1). According to the
Evenki, this is one of the factors that establishes the microclimates they use as a part of
the logic of organising nomadic travel (Lavrillier 2005-2006). This typology also has an
emic system of temperature measurements.
Figure 1. One of ten diagrams explaining the emic term-concept idia (one of the types of cold air)
© S. Gabyshev and L. Lavrillier, 2014 (published in Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2017, p. 233)

90
40 In addition, there is a typology of wind that includes some seasonal winds and a
compass rose that identifies regular changes in the wind and the consequences for
precipitation and the weather. For instance, first, a wind from the south
(Evk. namuscheren) brings warmth; second, a wind from the east brings clouds and light
wind; third, a northern wind brings snow. Then the wind changes and comes from the
west, bringing clear weather; and so on. In the summer, with the exception of
namuscheren, which brings warmth and rain, the same winds bring other events: the
wind from the north brings enduring rain, while the wind from the west brings, most of
the time, thunder clouds (Fig. 2).
Figure 2. Regular changes of wind types and their consequences
© S. Gabyshev and L. Lavrillier, 2014 (published in Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2017, p. 224)
41 There are also typologies of clouds and precipitations that consist of around
20 elements, some of which are supposed to have relationships with the life cycle of
insects.
42 Finally, there is an extremely rich and complex typology of snow and ice. We identified
eight ice types and 25 snow types, with an understanding of the norm for chronological
appearance (admitting variation in the date of arrival). We also documented the
complex emic physics of snow and ice (based on this typology), which conceptualises
very precisely the required conditions for each physical transformation from one snow
type to another (temperature, humidity, wind, etc.) (Fig. 3). It also conceptualises the
influence of snow and ice types on vegetal cover and, in some cases, vice versa (ibid.,
pp. 434-443). Evenki nomads regularly analyse the surrounding snow covers and have
their own methodologies of analysis and measurement (ibid., pp. 279-345, 389, 398,
401-43313).

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Figure 3. The Evenki emic typologies which allow them to analyse norms and anomalies in the
snow cover.
This is a table demonstrating Evenki snow physics

© L. Lavrillier and S. Gabyshev 2016 (published inLavrillier & Gabyshev 2017, p. 283)
43 Many elements in these typologies are thought to interplay with each other. These
interactions are often conceived within very complicated concepts. To describe and
explain only part of these emic climatologic typologies and concepts, we needed almost
three hundred pages. As with many other indigenous peoples in the world, the Evenki
observe the entirety of the environment’s behaviour and changes in order to forecast
weather and climate: from the sky to the ground, from animal behaviour to changes in
the vegetal cover, from elements of the topography to human behaviour and feelings.
For example, if the moon has a halo or if the coals being burnt are large, a harsh cold
will arrive; if the bushes curve downwards, it will get much colder; if the branches of
pinus pumila (Evk. bolgikte) raise, it will warm up; if the birds fly low, it is a sign of rain
or snow; if the river makes noise upstream or if a human group has an abnormal desire
to sleep, it is a sign of rain in the near future; etc. (ibid., pp. 178-193, 201-202).
44 In addition, Evenki climatology includes a set of concepts about the seasonal shifts with
detailed inter-seasonal steps: they also have a chronological chain that admits
variability in the arrival of expected seasonal or inter-seasonal events (ibid.,
pp. 164-175).
45 According to our study of the daily observations, the subdivision of time into months
seems to be much less significant in the traditional Evenki calendar than its subdivision
into large seasons and inter-seasonal periods. The conceptualisation of these periods,
highlighted by a specific terminology, engages all the typologies quoted above, thus
constituting a complex cognitive system. For instance, the spring without snow
(approximately between May and mid-June depending on the micro-climates) is

92
divided into 4 sub-seasons determined by the behaviours of young leaves, mosquitoes,

flowers, insects, and fish (ibid., pp. 161-174).
46 So, we worked in parallel on two paths of study: one centred on a systematic study of
the TEK system and the other on monitoring changes. We simultaneously examined
normal processes and anomalies (see examples below). We could understand Evenki
anomalies and norms only thanks to knowledge about emic “typologies”.
47 Evenki climate science defines norms that admit variability. However, this system
sometimes no longer works: events occur beyond the admissible limits of variability
and beyond known anomalies. In other words, TEK sometimes fails to analyse or
understand weather or climate “over-variability” (see below).
48 According to our analysis, Evenki herders make the following differentiation. First,
there are emic norms that include a set of variations (see below). Second, there are
known anomalies (already observed from year to year, information of which is
transmitted from generation to generation). Third, there are unprecedented anomalies
(never observed before according to collective memory) that cause great anxiety
(Fig. 4). We noted several of these phenomenon between 2011-2017, including some
emic “extreme events”. In our analysis, we noted that both kinds of “anomalies” do not
necessarily mean an “extreme event” or catastrophe for the nomads if they do not
endanger life or the economy (see below). However, there is a difference between
“known anomalies” and “unprecedented anomalies”, since the latter create anxiety or,
occasionally, panic among people, even if the event does not threaten them. Indeed,
they face an unknown reaction from the natural environment that they cannot
understand. This angst is expressed in exclamations in Evenki like “nature is broken”
(Bugha ukchapcha) (ibid., pp. 253-254) (see below).
Figure 4. Norms and types of anomalies according to Evenki TEK
© A. Lavrillier 2016 (published in Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2017, p. 253)
49 It is largely recognised by international Arctic research that climate change heavily

affects circumpolar Arctic communities and is jeopardising their traditional economic
activities (IPCC 2014b, pp. 718, 765, 1014, et passim). A few researchers argue, for various
reasons, that climate change is not extreme for Arctic indigenous peoples. M. Therrien,
for instance, states that climate change “is not extreme for the Inuit” because they
have always lived in what the West describes as an extreme and changing environment;
similarly, Nuttal describes Arctic peoples as being prepared for change (Therrien 2007,
Nuttal 2009, p. 298). Golovnev shows how Nenets reindeer herders were able to recover

93
(twice) from the loss of several thousand reindeer after the 2013-2014 ice-covered
tundra episode prevented the reindeer from accessing pastures and the 2016 anthrax
outbreak (Golovnev 2017, pp. 41-47). However, as we will see, situations can vary
greatly in the Arctic; equally, climate change has reached a crescendo in Siberia from
2005, as observed by both nomads and climatology. While we noted high adaptability
among the Evenki, they also expressed the existence of various “extreme events” and
that their adaptation capacity has reached its limit in the course of their encounter
with “extreme processes” (see below).
50 Before analysing the Evenki emic notion of an “extreme event”, let us briefly analyse
the understandings attributed to their vernacular words for “weather” and “climate”
and to the Russian for “climate”.
51 When Evenki want to ask about the weather, they use the vernacular word bugha, such
as in sentences meaning “What is the weather?” or “How has the weather changed?”
(Ekudy bugha?, On bugha ocha?). As explained below, the word bugha is also used for
designating climate when talking about climate change.
52 Bugha has multiple meanings in the Evenki language and the dialects of the co-
researchers: it designates, depending on the context, the entirety of the biophysical
natural environment, the spirits inhabiting it, the main spiritual entity in control of the
natural environment, the sky, and native land (Cincius 1975). The use of this unique
word for “weather”, “climate”, “sky”, and the “entire biophysical environment”
confirms the holistic and systemic perception of the nomads.
53 In addition to this, Evenki have a specific understanding of the Russian term klimat
(basically, the equivalent of the English “climate”). Their understanding includes many
elements. For instance, nomads and villagers see a relationship between climate and
industrial development:
The climate entirely changed. There is probably now a lot of radiation because
humans “opened” the earth everywhere to extract titanium, gold, coal, and
diamonds; they also opened a new spaceport and so on. Radiation came out of the
ground. This is why our reindeer became fragile or ill14.
54 We can see here that nothing is said about the weather when explaining climate
change. This Evenki understanding of the word klimat is so holistic and systemic that it
includes the entire natural environment and human activities (indigenous and non-
native, local and global). It thereby focuses on the interplay between the elements of
the environment (including climate) and human factors.
55 Nevertheless, as we have seen above, this holistic perception does not contradict the
existence of an emic science clearly centred on what Western sciences call “weather”
and “climate”.
56 We will see now that these understandings have a common logic with the Evenki notion
of an “extreme event15”.
From “extreme events” to the notion of an “extreme

process”
57 To understand the Evenki concept of an “extreme event”, it is important to briefly
introduce the socio-cultural, economic, and political context. This is because the Evenki

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perceive some of these events to be the accumulation of anomalies and additional

external pressures.
58 During the Soviet period, the nomads were partly settled in purpose-built villages. The
collectivisation of herding and hunting was completed during the 1960s in this region,
transforming the Evenki economy. They became employees of state farms (Ru. sovhoze)
while their reindeer were turned into the property of these institutions. Fur and food
hunting were intensified, as well as reindeer herding, to allow for greater levels of meat
and fur production. After the collapse of the Soviet Union and the concomitant
economic crisis, the closure of state farms meant that the hunter-herders stopped
receiving salaries. From the beginning of this crisis in the early 1990s, many Evenki in
the region concerned returned to their former nomadic lifestyles and recovered
traditional forms of reindeer herding and sustainable hunting, thus restoring the
subsistence economy: they also reorganised their pastures and nomadic roads
(Lavrillier 2005).
59 Nowadays, the highly mobile nomadic Evenki live in the taiga and practise a
“traditional” type of reindeer herding specific to this biome: they are highly dependent
on hunting for food and furs and use small herds of reindeer for transportation. This
implies a dual economy and a dual logic of subsistence between hunting and herding,
with seasonal interplay between the two. Hunting is carefully planned so that every
species can breed successfully (among others Lavrillier 2005, 2011a). The reindeer are
owned by “stock companies” (former state farms) that pay salaries for pastoral work,
“clan communities” (indigenous mini-companies recognised by the Russian
government) that receive a fee for each living reindeer, or “private herders” who lack
administrative structures, official recognition, and regular incomes.
60 Another very important point is that the Evenki, like all Siberian peoples, have no
property rights to their ancestral lands. In the Russian Federation, only land surface
can be owned by an individual or organisation: the rest is the exclusive property of the
state. Thus, if there are natural resources present in the subsoil, the property is not
protected against extractive industry activity. The reindeer-herding stock companies
and clan communities can be allotted a piece of land (around 200-500 ha/herd) for free
(or for rent according to the 2009 land law) for between five to 25 years: they cannot
block the establishment of extractive industries. In contrast, private herders have no
rights at all to the lands where they have nomadised for several generations.
61 The Southeastern Evenki have been in contact with extractive industries (gold and coal
mines) since the end of the 19th century; however, recent developments directly linked
to the worldwide interest in Arctic and Subarctic natural resources have seen the
substantial growth of industrial projects (pipelines, dams, roads, and railways) either
directly on nomadic areas or close to them. In 2017, from the six villages and their
nomadic zones in the region under study, only one is more or less entirely preserved
from industrial invasion, while three of them are surrounded by, or even entirely
embedded within, highly industrialised and polluted mining sites.
62 In this context, climate change brings additional pressures to bear, such as various
anomalies and “extreme weather events”. For several decades, the Evenki have been
noticing climate and environmental changes (see below); however, these changes have
been increasing more rapidly over the last six to 11 years (according to a socio-
anthropological study of climate and environmental changes led between 2006 and
2012). Indeed, while in 2006 a single word in Evenki summed up the main trend of

95
weather change in indigenous narratives (okollen, meaning “it is getting hotter”, not
only “warmer”), from 2013 the vernacular expressions reveal an increasing anxiety (see
below16).
63 In the framework of global climate change, what kind of extreme events do the Evenki
observe and what is their concept of an “extreme event”?
What is the Evenki perception of an “extreme event”?
64 For this question, one must pay attention from which angle the term “extreme” is
viewed. For instance, it is recurrently written that Siberian peoples live in an “extreme
environment” and experience “extreme weather”, but this is from the point of view of
Western societies/science. For Siberian peoples, their climate, considered “extreme” by
the West, is a norm (e.g. non-extreme). But this does not mean that indigenous peoples
do not have their own understanding of “extreme weather”, or “extreme event”: they
certainly do. (see below the expressions like Evk. davdavse).
65 Thus, what is generally considered as an extreme weather event by the Western
sciences is often not seen as such by the Evenki nomads and what the nomads consider
“extreme” is not seen as such by scientists. For instance, forest fires are not often an
extreme event for nomads, since (in contrast to villagers) they can avoid them by
moving away. Thanks to their mobility, herders can also manage flooding easily. In
contrast, while the hot and dry summer of 2015 was easily borne by villagers, it was an
extreme event for nomads: almost all of the calves born in 2015 perished because the
vegetal cover dried up. The torrential rain and cold of the summer of 2016 was a truly
“extreme event” for the villagers because houses and vegetable gardens were flooded
and the harvest was frozen. The nomads were not affected: the calves survived this cold
summer well. The fact that there were fewer insects meant that they spent more time
grazing than standing in the camp close to the smoke fires made to protect them
against mosquitoes and horseflies. In the same way, earthquakes are not a problem for
the nomads because they lack large buildings. Other events that would usually be
considered extreme, such as snow in the middle of the summer, have no specific
consequences for the nomads. It is remembered as a rare and interesting event, but not
as “extreme”. This shows that the perception of an extreme event varies according to
lifestyles and economic activities, even within a single people and a single region.
66 Emic “extreme events” are determined as such according to a vernacular
understanding of norms and anomalies and their impacts on society. From daily
observations made according to their indigenous knowledge and cognition, the Evenki
identify normal and abnormal modifications occurring in their environment and
climate. As we will see, their observations and analysis of change are very systemic,
focusing not only on one single element of the natural environment, but also on the
interactions between many elements (for instance, between temperatures, snow cover,
vegetal cover, rivers, etc.). As we have seen, the Evenki have their own system of
weather/climate observation and prediction. This system consists of “norms” which, to
a certain extent, are flexible when it comes to annual variations. Such flexibility is
concerned with the date of the appearance of a seasonal event, admitting a difference
of around two weeks for the snow cover to completely melt, to give one example. It also
refers to expected temperatures (with the admissible variation ranging from a
difference of 15°C to one of 20°C) or the quantity of a precipitation (in days of rain/

96
snow, in snow/river depth). In cases where the variations are too significant or too
regular, they are considered “anomalies” (Fig. 4). For example, if the cold winter is
delayed by two weeks over the course of three years, it is considered an “anomaly”, but
if this anomaly is continually repeated or if the delay goes over this limit, it is
considered “extreme weather” (Lavrillier et al. 2016, pp. 113, 119) (Fig. 5) 17.
67 As we will see, the Evenki have noticed different sets of anomalies (be it the yearly
repetition of the same anomalies, an anomaly which lasts too long, or the accumulation
of anomalies of different types, etc.) that they consider the equivalent of an “extreme
weather event” in the usual Western meaning of the term.
Extreme weather event: weather conditions and weather-related events that are
rare at a particular location and time or can cause significant impacts. (Morss et al.
2011)
68 Thus, the Evenki perception of an “extreme weather event” (mostly combined or
repeated anomalies) seems to contrast with the perception of the western sciences,
which generally consider an extreme event to be a one-off thing, like flooding, a
hurricane, etc. (Fig. 5).
Figure 5. Western and emic understandings of an “extreme weather event”
© A. Lavrillier, S. Gabyshev and L. Egorova, 2018
69 Additionally, the effect of this accumulation or repetition of weather anomalies is

sometimes strengthened by different factors, such as other disruptions in the natural
environment and/or the economic and political situation.
70 So, for the Evenki we argue that it would be more appropriate to use the expression
“extreme process”. Our analysis reveals the distinction within the Evenki perception of
three sorts of extreme events: the “extreme weather process”, the “extreme nature
process” and the “hybrid extreme process” (see below).

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An emic classification: from anomalies to a “broken environment”
71 As shown by Gabyshev and Lavrillier’s analysis of interviews gathered between 2011

and 2018, the Evenki (nomads and settled) use the following vernacular expressions to
discuss the degrees of distinction between “anomalies” and different “extreme
processes”. They are related to the degree of adaptability or vulnerability of society as
it is perceived by the nomads.
72 Thusly, to talk about anomalies occurring in a single year, the Evenki use the word
“strangely”, “abnormally” (Evk. dikte) and a relevant verb. Take, for example, dikte
imannadieren – “the snow period is abnormal” (i.e. it has exceeded the variations set by
vernacular norms).
73 It is said that humans “adapt” (Evk. tatyvkil). This comes from tatta-da, meaning both
“to get used to” and “to learn intellectual and practical knowledge 18”. In the present
form, it means “they are able to find a way to act in the face of new pressure, of doing
that can become a habit”.
74 To discuss repeated anomalies over the course of several years, accumulated anomalies,
or overly intensive anomalies that lead to social difficulties (i.e. “extreme weather
process”), they use the vernacular word manak (“any old how”, “out of sync”) and a
verb. Consider, for instance, the expression manak imannadieren – “the snow period is
out of sync”.
75 It is said that then that humans “are making a perennial effort to adapt” or “they are
constantly endeavouring to find a way to face new pressures” (Evk. tatchediere).
76 To express the repetition and accumulation of anomalies at a higher level of intensity
in different domains of the natural environment (i.e. the so-called “extreme natural
process”), they say: “the natural environment is broken” (Evk. Bugha ukchapcha) or “the
natural environment has gone astray” (Evk. Bugha kaicha). The latter infers that it has
become difficult, if not impossible, to survive. The emic criteria “extreme”, in addition
to an accumulation of anomalies or a considerable anomaly, is connected to the
intensity of the impact on economic life and society’s survival.
77 In this case (and also in face of what we call an “hybrid extreme process”, see below),
the Evenki concerned use vernacular expressions referring to vulnerability that derive
from the verb dab-da meaning “to give up”, “to lose”, “to be defeated” (Vasilevich 1958,
p. 101). In the dialects we worked with in the field, there are several variants related to
degrees of vulnerability and the degree of the “extremeness” of the conditions: “it is
impossible to act” (dabdy), “completely impossible to act” (soma dabdy), “I/we feel now
like giving up” (dabdymo!), and, finally, “the context forces me/us to give up/to feel
defeated” (davdavse!), e.g. “the context forces me/us to stop fighting for survival/stop
maintaining a life style”. The latter expresses the very emic criteria “extreme”, in the
sense of a final limit to possible continuation (see below, and Fig. 9). It is thus not
surprising that most of the interviews gathered from 2016 spontaneously start with
“Our life style and culture will end soon, everything leads to this”.
78 Before further analysing the Evenki concept of an “extreme event”, let us now describe
what the nomads notice. They have observed that the coldest part of the winter is now
around two months shorter than it was 30 years ago: it is also warmer than it was then,
which means the snowy season is getting much shorter. They also complain that the
summer no longer consists of a good balance between rainy and sunny days, since it is

98
mainly “extreme”: it is either too hot and dry (like in 2015), which causes widespread
and prolonged forest fires, or too rainy and cold, which may lead to flooding (like in
2016). In addition, the Evenki link the warming to a general increase in forest fires
(Lavrillier 2013, Lavrillier et al. 2016, p. 115).
79 The following illustrates well what the Evenki mean by “the natural environment is
broken”. They relate shifts in the climate with changes observed in the flora and wild
fauna. They have noted the extinction of some plant and animal species and the
appearance of new birds and insects. The Evenki are particularly worried about a
considerable increase in predator populations and a decrease in the number of wild
reindeer and elk: the extent of the latter may mean there are no longer enough of them
to feed the nomadic population. They have also noticed that the annual migration
patterns of wild reindeers have changed. The Evenki link the accumulation of
anomalies to major unexplained changes affecting their domestic reindeer: new insects
(causing infection in the antlers and, from 2012, an increase of the tick-borne
encephalitis virus), sudden death, and unknown parasitic illnesses (Lavrillier 2013)
(Fig. 6).
Figure 6. Accumulated anomalies in local biodiversity observed by the Evenki, 2012-2016
© S. Gabyshev and A. Lavrillier, 2016
80 As a result of our co-production methods, we have identified several changes in local

biodiversity. Herders distinguish between species through the terms “the disappearing
ones”, “the decreasing ones”, “the appearing ones”, and “the increasing ones” (Fig. 6).
81 Let us now present some events that are mostly left unnoticed by scientific weather
specialists, such as significant temperature jumps, which are perceived by the Evenki
nomads as “extreme processes”. Since the snow period constitutes the longest part of

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the year (seven-ten months), the anomalies the Evenki are most worried about are
disruptions to the snow cover, which we will now focus on.
Some “extreme weather processes”: accumulated disruptions of the snow cover
82 The Evenki have noticed an accumulation of anomalies in the snow cover. Gabyshev
and Lavrillier have identified a “disruption of the snow cover” that threatens, among
other activities, sable hunting and thus the subsistence and wellbeing of society.
Several types of anomalies make up this disruption: 1) the delayed installation of the
snow cover; 2) different types of snow do not arrive when they are expected; and 3)
there are extremely frequent anomalies in the depth of the snow cover. This disruption
of the snow cover triggers many challenges that threaten economic activities (hunting
and herding), protection against predators, and freedom of movement; in other words,
they pose a threat to the very subsistence of this nomadic society (Lavrillier et al. 2016).
Among the Nenets in Western Siberia, frequent disruptions of the snow cover are also
recognised as a serious threat to reindeer-herding communities (Bartsch et al. 2010).
83 As stressed by the Evenki nomads, the consequences of the accumulation of frequent
anomalies force them to adapt continually. With respect to the concepts of
“adaptation”, “resilience”, and “vulnerability” that are omnipresent in the studies on
Arctic climate change (Berkes & Jolly 2001, Ford et al. 2006, Oskal et al. 2009, among
many others), Evenki narratives and rituals offer contradictory perspectives that range
from optimistic beliefs to millenarian predictions or pessimistic expressions (see
above). Nonetheless, their economic practices demonstrate that the Evenki are highly
adaptable; as the Evenki themselves repeat, “for ages we have been adapting and
coping, and we will continue to do so as long as possible” (cited in Lavrillier 2013). As
shown by our study, the key elements essential for adaptation are landscape, reindeer,
and TEK: “As long as we have reindeer, the landscape, and knowledge, we can adapt 19”.
Nevertheless, the interviews gathered in the winter and summer between 2016 and
2018 contain complaints about the increased frequency and unpredictability of
anomalies of varying intensity, thereby revealing fragility in this generally resilient
people (see below).
84 An important element for further analysis is that the Evenki mainly employ their
mobility to face these anomalies: they can entirely modify their annual nomadic routes
and move them 150-300 km away (as they did in the 1990s and in 2018). This high level
of mobility is made possible by the following facts. Even if some territories are allotted
to reindeer husbandry stock companies and clan communities, and even if private
herders have no land rights, traditional nomadic rules of land use are still active,
thereby allowing (when still possible) for the almost entirely free circulation of
nomadic groups. Space is not considered by the Evenki to be private property: herding
and hunting spaces are shared, although this arrangement usually follows a prior
agreement made annually20.
85 The delayed installation of the snow cover triggers challenges to hunting and herding.
The consequence of this change is that Evenki hunters lose an entire month of hunting
and thus a considerable amount of sable furs and income. The loss of a month
represents a substantial decline in purchasing power. They adapt by changing their
hunting techniques. Sometimes, the combined effects of a shortened winter and snow
cover disruptions on hunting patterns threaten reindeer herding. The short hunting
period forces the hunters to spend almost all their time tracking sable rather than

100
surveying the reindeer herd: equally, the very thin layer of snow allows the reindeer to
move considerable distances in various directions. These two consequences increase
the risk that the herd might be lost (for more details, see Lavrillier et al. 2016,
pp. 115-119). The delayed installation of the snow cover is also disturbing mating and
calving schedules.
86 One of the most important anomalies in the creation of an “extreme process” is the
disruption of the evolution of the snow cover: different types of snow do not arrive
when they are anticipated. According to our study, Evenki terminology includes
25 types of snow that must appear according to a chronological norm (although this
norm does admit variations). Each of these snow types can either enable or threaten
the economic activities of the Evenki (Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2015, 2017, pp. 243-253,
Lavrillier et al. 2016). They can change one seasonal state into another (Lavrillier &
Gabyshev 2017, pp. 255-278), and in a different pattern than in the past. The disruption
of the snow cover can have severe and dramatic consequences. Here are some examples
from the many observed strong anomalies.
87 For instance, the snow type chegha is normally expected in the spring, but it
abnormally appeared at the beginning of the snow period in 2015-2016. The installed
snow was humid because of the warm temperature. Temperature jumps and freezing
transformed this wet snow into chegha, i.e. a layer of asphalt-like snow cover. As a
result, it threatened the yearly income of the nomads: the sable were able to run away
very quickly from the hunters on the hard surface, while the hunters and their
reindeer moved very slowly and with difficulty through the hard and heavy snow. The
Evenki adapted by changing their hunting techniques (Lavrillier et al. 2016). The same
phenomenon also challenged the herd’s access to lichen, so the Evenki moved to lands
where they could find the snow types expected in this period.
88 Another example is the snow type sy – a layer of “snow ice” attached to the ground
within which the vegetal cover is embedded. This type of snow, considered an anomaly
if it still exists during the winter (like in 2014-2015), results from a thin initial layer of
snow that then melts during warm days: rapid and abnormal freezing transforms this
into ice that embraces the vegetal cover, thereby limiting the extent to which domestic
and wild animals can access it. This abnormal type of snow can trigger massive loss of
reindeer (Lavrillier et al. 2016). Herders can avoid catastrophe by moving to places
without sy.
89 A third example occurred in January 2014-2015, one which created many problems with
transportation. Be it by sledge, snowmobile, or skis, all transport became almost
impossible and extremely dangerous, with an average temperature of -25/-50°C. Many
herders/hunters frequently got stuck in the middle of their trips, risking their lives:
they had to spend hours digging reindeer sledges or snowmobiles out of the humid,
porridge-like snow. A trip usually made in three hours was taking around 15-20 hours.
This occurred because of the lack of strong cold (-45/-55°C), which usually transforms
the dry and soft snow (Evk. duiukun) into icy, seed-like flakes (Evk. buldo). This snow
type provides the necessary firmness for the establishment of snow roads. In addition,
an abnormally warm snowstorm deposited an excessively deep layer of fluffy and
rather wet snow (Evk. debdeme – a snow type usually found in the late spring).
90 As in the winter of 2014-2015, the lack of strong cold and the abnormal warming (even
at night) meant the Evenki were blocked into their camps because they could not create
snow roads: the strong cold at night normally freezes the snow on the surface of the

101
roads, creating a hard layer of snow that allows the nomads to move for hunting and
herding.
91 Finally, during the winter of 2015, low temperatures of <-50°C were followed by abrupt
warming: this weakened the ice on the rivers, making them susceptible to breaking
under reindeer sledges or snowmobiles (Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2015).
92 During the last eight-ten years, there have been very frequent strong anomalies in the
depth of the snow cover. This seriously challenges the economic activities and survival
of the Evenki nomads.
93 The Evenki have their own system for measuring snow depth: “up to the knee”
(Evk. elekin) is the ideal depth for herding and hunting activities; “up to the ankle”
(Evk. suaban) is an anomaly in the winter; “up to the calf” (Evk. arban) and “up to the
thigh” (Evk. sungta) are considered manageable; while “up to the torso”
(Evk. sugntakun) is considered too deep for hunting and herding activities.
94 The snow depth is a crucial factor for the access of the reindeer to grazing grounds. The
Evenki lead their herds to places where there are bearable snow conditions. Here again
being mobile is the most important tool for adapting. The Evenki use the different snow
depths. Thin layers of snow (Evk. suaban and arban) are used in the autumn for sable
hunting with dogs. In contrast, deep snow, sungta, is used to keep reindeer gathered in
one area and ensure that predators are kept at a distance: wolves cannot cross areas
where the snow is deep.
95 Anomalies in the snow depth can have harsh consequences. A snow cover which is too
deep threatens sable hunting, transportation, and thus household purchasing power
(Lavrillier et al. 2016).
96 The presence of a very thin layer of snow (arban or suaban) throughout the winter, like
in 2011, leads to an “extreme process” in different domains. In this year, it was very
cold and the reindeer moved very far in various directions, weakening as they did so.
Thus, herders had problems with keeping the herd together and predators found it
easy to attack it.
97 Sometimes, the Evenki see both the direct and indirect negative consequences of snow
depth on the development of vegetal cover and the presence of fur and food game 21.
“Extreme nature processes”: weather, vegetal cover, and predators
98 As another example of the systemic perception of extreme processes, the following case
shows how the accumulation of anomalies and external pressures interact. The depth
of the snow is also important indirectly because, according to the nomads, it has
consequences for the vegetal cover and, later, the behaviour of predators. Thus,
anomalous excessively deep snow covers, which have occurred since 2013, can lead to
an overgrowth of the vegetal cover that in turn opens the way for wolf attacks on the
herd. The Evenki know that the snow protects the vegetal cover and that deep snow
irrigates the vegetation by melting slowly: this boosts the growth of vegetation. In
contrast, a thin layer of snow melts quicker, which lets the frost destroy seeds. So,
anomalies of increasing snow depth will generate a dense and bushy vegetal cover, a
landscape in which wolves can hunt easily. This enhances the threat of predator attacks
on reindeer.

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99 Let us note that, in terms of indigenous cognition, we have here science-like emic
hypotheses that allow for predictions to be made several years in advance (similar to
modelling). We also demonstrated the existence of TEK hypotheses that model past and
present transformations of the landscape via climate change over several dozen years
(Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2017, pp. 438-444). These hypotheses focus on the interactions
between elements that the Western sciences usually study separately.
100 An accumulation of weather anomalies, when combined with external pressures from
the environment, creates “extreme nature processes”. During our field studies from
2006-2012 and from 2013-2018, the theme of predators reached a crescendo in
interviews and narratives. In all the interviews gathered from 2016 in the six villages
under study, the growth in wolf and bear populations was recurrently declared to be
“the number one problem exterminating reindeer herding in the region, [a problem] in
the face of which it is very difficult to adapt”. As we will see, despite the huge damage
inflicted by the development of extractive industries, predators are still seen as the
most important problem for reindeer herding.
101 From 2006, several herds entirely disappeared because of wolf and bear attacks. Other
herds have lost from between a quarter to two thirds of their reindeer; furthermore,
these losses are increasing annually. Bear and wolf attacks on humans are becoming
more frequent each year in nomadic areas, villages, and towns. Sometimes these
attacks have reached such an extent that the nomads decided to modify their ritual
gestures in order to avoid leaving meat and bone offerings in their encampments
(Lavrillier 2008). The nomads have noticed that the behaviour of predators has
changed, as was expressed in the following typical statement:
Before we had a kind of agreement with predators: humans leave them some
territories for hunting and predators leave people and their reindeer in peace and
almost don’t touch them. Now predators have really become too numerous, and
they are often sick and hungry. They are now behaving in a completely different
manner than in the past: they have become insolent, aggressive. They are walking
directly onto the roads and into camps of humans, they are not afraid of humans
anymore. They do not have enough wild game to hunt, so they attack the reindeer
herds. We cannot do anything against them: they are too intelligent, it is almost
impossible to hunt them22.
102 In the past, the Soviet state regulated wolf populations by hunting from helicopters,
but this has not been done since the 1990s in the Amur region and very rarely in
Yakutia (although there have been some improvements during recent years). Before
the mid-2000s, the Evenki placed poison within the carcasses of attacked domestic
reindeer to reduce the predator populations. This was forbidden by international
ecological organisations. According to the Evenki worldview still active in the minds of
these nomads, predators (Evk. beingal) are the ancestors of humans and are deeply
respected; however, predators today do not allow reindeer herds to develop or be
maintained. In the winters of 2015 and 2017, several massive attacks occurred: no more
than two or three wolves killed 15 to 30 reindeer within two days (Fig. 7). Those whose
herd was the victim of such an attack say:
How can we continue to live in such conditions? We cannot face it! How can we
maintain reindeer herding? The wolves are the worst because they tear out the
reindeers’ throats and leave their prey dying, they do not even eat them! – Our
reindeer die for nothing!

103
Figure 7. Reindeer killed by wolves from the 30 killed over two consecutive nights
The herder owner of these reindeer was so shocked that he took some pictures with his smartphone.
© M. S. S., herder in southern Yakutia, April 2016
The “hybrid extreme process” of accumulated weather anomalies, predator

populations, and industrial development
103 As we have seen above, the anomalies incurred by climate change are related to
problems caused by predators; for instance, when a thin snow cover or dense
vegetation linked to repeated instances of an abnormally deep snow cover allow for
wolves to easily hunt the heard. Similarly, late installations of the winter snow and
abnormally early springs shorten the snow period and thus give the wolves longer to
hunt.
104 In addition, climate change is linked to an increase in the number of fires, which
reduces the amount of pasture available for domestic reindeer and endangers their
health. The fires reduce the natural space available for predators, which forces them to
migrate into other areas (often the same lands occupied by the nomads): this triggers
an increase in the number of predators on herding lands and the killing of domestic
reindeer (Lavrillier 2013, p. 263).
105 Sometimes, climate change anomalies and issues with predators combine with the
invasion of extractive industries. This again causes an “extreme process” to occur, but
it has a hybrid character, since it includes pressures caused not by the natural
environment but by human activity; we call this a “hybrid extreme process”.
106 For further analysing the “hybrid extreme process”, let us briefly describe a crucial
element. We have seen that the Evenki can adapt thanks to mobility, but this mobility is
threatened by the development of extractive industries on the reindeer pastures. As

104
shown in Gabyshev’s diagram (Fig. 8), many hunting lands and pastures have been
invaded by extractive industries, which poison and churn up the ground. This leads to
almost irreversible environmental damage, a considerable reduction in nomad mobility
(one of the main tools for adaptation), and negative consequences for Evenki society
and culture23.
Figure 8. An Extreme Process: Ecosystem Services Threatened by Extractive Industries
© S. Gabyshev 2016b
107 In addition to these destructive effects, during the very hot and dry summer of 2015, an
abnormal increase in the wolf population during the preceding winter meant that the
reindeer herders needed to keep the herds close to villages and towns. They were thus
positioned close to industrial mining zones, where poor and polluted grazing lands that
had already been dried up by the heat wave threated the reindeers’ health. This
resulted in the death of most calves from that year (Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2015). In the
summers 2016 and 2018, the interviewed herders complained that the wolves were
moving into their herds even when they were located close to villages and towns. The
latter is a perfect example of a “hybrid extreme process”. In these conditions, it is
impossible to develop or even maintain the reindeer herd, which seriously threatens
this nomadic society.
Conclusion
108 When you ask a Evenki to define the most typical “extreme event”, they immediately
designate two issues: the disruptions of the snow cover and predator population
growth. The massive loss of reindeer due to predators exceeds the numbers of
anomalies that the nomads can manage. In addition to the accumulation of climate

105
change anomalies, economic crisis, industrial development (which also reduces

nomadic space), and the absence of land rights (which complicates access to ancestral
lands), the disaster provoked by predators reveals vulnerability. In the gathered
interviews, herders repeatedly said:
We can adapt to climate anomalies, industrial development, new illnesses, and
economic crisis, but how can we protect our herd against predators?
109 With regards to the emic science of climate, Evenki emic climatology and TEK are rich,
containing as they do elaborate typologies and theories, which produce hypotheses
focusing on the many interactions between the climate, landscape, flora, and fauna.
110 The Evenki notion of an “extreme process” proves the systemic character of the emic
understanding of climate change. Its scope is further extended by the inclusion of
industrial development. We can compare this with the most recent results from
Western climatology and atmospheric physics, which prove that anthropic activities
(including industrial development) are the main factors that trigger local and global
climate changes (IPCC 2014a, p. 46).
111 Thanks to its systemic approach, the Evenki perception of an “extreme process”,
complements the IPCC’s conclusion quoted above, since it stresses the interactions of
accumulated anomalies in the same or different domains of the climate and the
entirety of the natural environment, as well as human factors. When the negative
consequences provoked by external non-natural factors (those which do not emerge
from the natural environment) are added to this, it becomes a “hybrid extreme
process”. The latter not only poses challenges but also seriously questions the
resilience of this nomadic society: thus it is not surprising that vulnerability is now
being revealed and that from 2016-2018, the Evenki themselves often refer to the emic
notion of “vulnerability” or “extremeness” (Evk. davdavsy) (see above), meaning
literally “the context forces me/us to give up, to feel defeated”, e.g. “it forces me/us to
stop fighting for survival”, thus expressing the idea of being close to a final limit.
112 As such, this study reveals the existence of an emic characteristic of the “extreme”: this
does not have a singular meaning but is rather spread along a spectrum (detailed
above) between two main points. First, manak (e.g. “out of sync”) designates a set of
conditions that causes significant consequences for Evenki society, to which it then
endeavours to adapt; second, at the extreme end of the spectrum is davdavse (the
“hybrid extreme process”), which designates conditions that push society towards a
breaking point at which it can no longer adapt. The criteria determining such degrees
are, for the Evenki, the intensity of the impacts and the capacity of their society to
further adapt.
113 We gathered in the diagram below (Fig. 9) different elements of the emic notions of
“extreme process”, TEK, adaptation, and vulnerability.

106
Figure 9. Articulation between norms (known and unprecedented), anomalies, extreme processes,
engaged knowledge, and emic notions of adaptation and vulnerability
© A. Lavrillier and S. Gabyshev, 2018
114 This analysis of an emic understanding of “norms”, “anomalies”, and “extreme events”
could help us to understand the significance of TEK for the climate sciences and policy.
115 TEK, or, in other words, the “emic science of climate”, provides valuable input for
climate studies in different ways. It proves the importance of studying climate change
on smaller scales, since even those anomalies considered small by environmental
scientists (and which are thus neglected) seriously affect local communities
(Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2017, pp. 39-40). Some TEK typologies are more detailed and
elaborate than those used in the environmental sciences (regarding snow and ice in
particular24).
116 TEK focuses on significant interactions between climate and the entire environment,
some of which are apparently ignored by the sciences. This research, as well as similar
research quoted in this paper, proves the richness of data and analysis co-produced in
community-based observatories and the importance of unbroken observation by/with
indigenous peoples. Furthermore, TEK and the social sciences are complementary,
since their combination allows us to focus on the socio-economic impacts and cultural
costs of all climate/environmental anomalies and “extreme processes”, most of which
remain unidentified on an international level (like the predator issues for instance).
117 TEK can contribute to climate change and/or environmental policy. At our humble
level, this Evenki community-based observatory was selected to publish in the report of
the Indigenous and Local Knowledge Task Force for the IPBES report for Europe and
Central Asia (UNESCO, UNEP, UNDP, FAO) (Lavrillier et al. 2016). However, despite the
international conventions on environment and climate mentioned in this paper, the
question about officially recognising TEK as a science and indigenous observers as
negotiation interlocutors remains open.
118 All of this justifies engaging TEK in the climate and environmental sciences. However,
as we experienced, for a successful collaboration between the Western and emic

107
sciences it is first necessary to document TEK in depth as a system (if it is such a thing)
in order to highlight its typologies, concepts, and theoretical dimensions: this takes
many years of effort and patience. Emic science can complement several Western
environmental and social sciences. Indeed, we have seen that an emic science
conceptualises not only the natural environment in its normal state, but also
“anomalies”, “extreme events”, and the degrees of vulnerability faced by society.
Therefore, Evenki emic science encourages the Western sciences to revisit the notion of
“extreme” more generally and according to the viewpoints of various cultures and
lifestyles.
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NOTES
1. The word comes from the Latin scientia, meaning “knowledge”, itself from scire – “to know”.
Science has been defined thus: “the systematic study of the nature and behaviour of the material
and physical universe, based on observation, experiment, and measurement, and the formulation
of laws to describe these facts in general terms”, or “any body of knowledge organized in a
systematic manner” (Collins 2016).
2. The Evenki emic scientific approach is similar to the Western definition of “the scientific
method”: “principles and procedures for the systematic pursuit of knowledge involving the
recognition and formulation of a problem, the collection of data through observation and
experiment, and the formulation and testing of hypotheses” (Merriam-Webster dictionary 2018).
3. UNEP (United Nations Environmental Program), UNFCCC (United Nations Framework
Convention on Climate Change), IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change), IPBES
(Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services).
4. From observations by the first author during conferences related to these topics.
5. Census of the Russian Federation, see Federal State Statistics Service2010.
6. In several villages of this region, the population mostly speaks Yakut and Russian.
7. The BRISK project (Bridging Indigenous and Scientific Knowledge about Global Changes in the Arctic:
Adaptations and Vulnerabilities of Environment and Societies) prepares transdisciplinary studies of
global changes (climatic, environmental, socioeconomic, etc.). The BRISK project allows us to
make comparisons at several levels: it examines, in different socio-political contexts, human-
natural environment relationships by comparing different types of reindeer herding in Eurasia

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and it considers the notion of “extreme meteorological events” from the differing perspectives of
climate scientists and indigenous peoples. This project has brought together indigenous peoples,
social anthropologists, climatologists, ecologists, geographers, and UNESCO. The authors of the
project are: A. Lavrillier, D. Nakashima, M. Roué, and C. Claud. It is funded by the ANR (2013-2016)
and the IPEV project BRISK’s OBS (ENV) (2014-2018) (www.arcticbrisk.org, http://www.cearc.fr/
content/brisk): it is also partly funded by the French Chantier Arctique project PARCS (Pollution in the
Arctic System) and CNRS (INSU). In this paper, the word “Arctic” designates both Arctic (from the
66° N) and Subarctic regions, i.e. according to criteria relating to climate, the permafrost, and the
presence of various reindeer herding peoples.
8. These families belong to the following kinship groups: the Kolesovs, the Pavlovs, the Egorovs,
the Safronovs, the Iakovlevs, the Gabyshevs, the Vasilevs, the Savins, the Nikolaevs, the
Urkanovs, the Andreevs, the Abramovs, the Kurbaltunovs, the Isakovs, the Rostolovs, the
Trenkins, the Kirillovs, the Maksimovs, and the Neustroevs.
9. Related positions can be found in projects among the Yakut, where informants are considered
“research partners” (Crate 2008, Crate & Federov 2013), among the Nenets by involving reindeer
herder observations in research (Forbes et al. 2009), among the Inuit peoples with pioneering
work integrating indigenous TEK from the Siku (Krupnik et al. 2010) or Siku-Inuit-Hila projects
(Gearheard et al. 2013), and among the Sami reindeer herders who ordered the research project
Ealat (Oskal et al. 2009).
10. E.g. Observatory for Sciences of the Universe of Versailles Saint-Quentin en Yvelines (OVSQ),
University of Versailles Saint-Quentin en Yvelines (UVSQ), and the French National Research
Agency (ANR).
11. For a developed analysis of our methodologies, the issues we faced, the status of data in the
sciences and TEK, and our research results, see Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2017, pp. 11-59, 451-458.
12. For analysed examples of such theories and modelling, see Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2017 (in
particular pp. 370-458).
13. Similar types of knowledge of snow and sea ice were documented among other Arctic peoples
(cf. for instance, Oskal et al. 2009, Krupnik et al. 2010, Gearheard et al. 2013).
14. This citation is a compilation of phrases that were repeatedly uttered in interviews between
2013 and 2018.
15. This part of the paper is a first step in our transdisciplinary discussion (anthropology, bio-
ethnology, indigenous knowledge, climatology) about the notion of an extreme event: it is one of
the interdisciplinary links of the BRISK project. Mainly based on the social sciences and TEK, this
paper will be followed by one with a climatologic approach that uses the same data.
16. This research was conducted with the choice not to mention the term “climate change”. It
focused on the global perception of climate change, adaptive practices, the native notion of
vulnerability, and potential changes in the perception of a link between the natural environment
and human society (Lavrillier 2013).
17. In this paper, the word “anomaly(ies)” will be used in terms of its Evenki meaning, which is
defined in the text above.
18. For a detailed analysis of this term, see Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2017, pp. 452-454.
19. Many herders uttered these two phrases in the interviews we gathered between 2006 and
2014.
20. For more details, see Lavrillier 2011a, Lavrillier et al. 2014.
21. For more details, see Lavrillier et al. 2016, pp. 118-119.
22. This citation is a compilation of phrases that appeared repeatedly in the interviews gathered
by the authors during between 2013 and 2018.
23. For more details, see Lavrillier & Gabyshev 2016.
24. From discussions of our results about Evenki TEK with specialists on snow and hydrology and
with Joel Heath from the SEA-AES project among the Canadian Inuits (see above).

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ABSTRACTS
This paper was co-written by Lavrillier (anthropologist) and Gabyshev (reindeer herder and co-
researcher) on the basis of their field materials, with documentation and analysis of complex
traditional environmental knowledge. After discussing the methodology of a community-based
transdisciplinary observatory for monitoring the climate and environmental changes with
herders, the paper reveals some results from their co-production. It presents the emic science of
climate (its typologies and concepts) the Evenki use for understanding norms and anomalies,
observing and predicting changes, and adaptation. The authors then develop the notion of an
“extreme process” and show that it is more suitable than the concept of an “extreme event”
(used in climate change studies) for defining how the Evenki face climate change. By analysing
several case studies, they define this notion as the interaction between an accumulation of
climatic anomalies in different domains and other environmental disruptions. When external
factors (economical, political, or industrial) join the mix, it results in a “hybrid extreme process”,
which seriously questions the resilience of this nomadic society.
Cet article, co-écrit par Lavrillier (anthropologue) et Gabyshev (éleveur de rennes et co-
chercheur) se base sur leur matériaux de terrain qui documentent et analysent le système
complexe de savoirs écologiques. Ayant discuté leur méthodologie d’observatoire
transdisciplinaire installé chez une communauté évenk pour le monitoring, avec les éleveurs, des
changements climatiques et environnementaux, l’article dévoile certains résultats de cette co-
production des savoirs. L’article présente la science émique du climat (ses typologies et concepts)
que les Évenks utilisent pour comprendre normes et anomalies, pour observer et prédire les
changements et pour s’adapter. Les auteurs développent la notion de « processus extrême »
comme étant plus représentative de la manière dont les nomades font face au changement
climatique, que « évènement extrême » (utilisée usuellement). Analysant plusieurs cas d’études,
ils définissent cette notion comme une accumulation d’anomalies climatiques de différentes
origines, et parfois d’autres dysfonctionnements de l’environnement. Quand des facteurs
extérieurs (économiques, politiques, industriels) s’ajoutent, cela devient un « processus extrême
hybride », qui, lui, questionne sérieusement la résilience de cette société nomade.
INDEX
Keywords: community-based observatory, cognition, transdisciplinarity, reindeer herding,
hunter, traditional ecological knowledge, climate change, environmental change, predators
Mots-clés: observatoire basé chez les communautés, transdisciplinarité, élevage du renne,
chasse, savoir écologique traditionnel, changements climatiques, changements
environnementaux, système cognitif, prédateur
AUTHORS
ALEXANDRA LAVRILLIER
Alexandra Lavrillier is Associate Professor in Social and Cultural Anthropology at the CEARC
(Cultures, Environments, Arctic, Representations, Climate) of University of Paris-Saclay (UVSQ).
Fluent in Evenki, she performed around 9 years of fieldwork. Her research interests cover
comparative studies of nomadism, hunting, reindeer herding, landscape management,

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representations of the natural environment, shamanism, lifestyles and adaptations brought by

postsocialism, the market economy and climate change among Evenki, Even and Yakut. She has
published on ritual, the uses of space and landscape, childhood, ethnolinguistics, ecological
knowledge system and environmental changes. She led scientific projects like BRISK, PARCS,
POLARIS.
alavrillier@gmail.com
SEMEN GABYSHEV
Semen Gabyshev is a Evenki reindeer herder and hunter with 28 years of experience in the Amur
region and Yakutia (Russia). A native bearer of the Evenki TEK and language, since 2012–2013 he
has been an associate member of CEARC and an indigenous co-researcher in scientific projects
(BRISK, POLARIS, PARCS, MI CNRS “Changements en Sibérie”, BRISK’s OBS ENV). He is the co-
author of scientific book and papers.
Bulchut.metakar@yandex.com

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Visiting Memorial Tree. Micro-

geopolitics of an Evenki place
composed and performed
Visite d’un arbre commémoratif. Micro-géopolitique d’un lieu évenk construit et
mis en scène
Gail Fondahl
EDITOR'S NOTE
click here
click here
A heartfelt thanks to Anna Sirina for inviting me to take part in the 2005 fieldwork, and for
totally enjoyable collaborations; and to Viktor Ganiugin, Denis Shangin, Veronika Simonova, and
the many residents of Holodnaia who assisted with information and greeted me with generous
hospitality, in 1992, 1994 and 2005. I also thank the many scholars who provided feedback to
various presentations of earlier iterations of this paper. I dedicate the essay to the memory of
Arkadii Petrovich Lekarev and his energetic if taciturn pedagogy of Trail and Tree. The standard
disclaimers apply.
Introduction
1 In this paper I consider a walk taken several years ago with colleague Anna Sirina,
during the course of fieldwork just north of Lake Baikal, to visit the “Memorial Tree”
(Ru. derevo pamiati). Memorial Tree (Fig. 1) commemorates a local reindeer herder who
lost his life in World War II. One reaches this Tree (or, rather, dead snag) by hiking the
“Ecological Trail” (Ru. èkologicheskaia tropa), a path leading from the village of

115
Holodnaia near the north end of Lake Baikal into the taiga, and eventually to the Tree
and beyond. Holodnaia is considered an “Evenki” village, the Evenki being one of the
indigenous peoples of the Russian Federation1. As a geographer interested in
indigenous rights to land, I am intrigued by the way indigenous peoples are re-making
and performing places2, how they are working landscapes actively both to encourage a
sense of territorial belonging among their youth and to communicate their assertions
of territorial rights to outsiders. The Tree and Trail exemplify such place-(re-)making
and territorial assertions; while the guided hike I consider a choreographed
performance of these claims.
Figure 1. Memorial Tree
© G. Fondahl, August 2005
2 To my delight, during the rather protracted evolution of this paper, I met another
researcher, Veronika Simonova, who had walked the same Trail to the same Tree, and
was writing about Tree and Trail. Her recently published work (Simonova 2013)
discusses this Tree and Trail in terms of the articulation of local memorial practices
with official commemorative customs. While I agree with her analysis, mine differs
somewhat. This in itself derives from the distinct moments of our walks, the different
purposes of our visits, our different identities, and what I imagine to the different
agendas of our hosts, given these other differences.
3 I start by describing the immediate geopolitical context of Holodnaia in 2005: the
village was faced with the possibility of an oil pipeline being constructed close by. I
briefly describe traditional land tenure among the Evenki of this region, then
summarize changing land use over the course of the 20th century, including previous
encroachments on Evenki territory. A note on the post-Soviet legal reforms that
address indigenous rights to traditional territory is then provided. With this

116
background established, I introduce the founding of the Trail and Tree as recent
constituents of local place-making. Two scales of place-making are identified, each
informed by a distinct geopolitical agenda of territorial assertions. I then describe the
walk – as a performance staged for several purposes: instructing about the Trail and
Tree in a particularly Evenki manner; asserting Evenki and more specifically Kindigir
territoriality; and communicating to outsiders the indigenous revival activities in
which local Evenki are engaging.
Place-threats
4 In the early 2000s, oil pipeline company Transneft planned to build an oil pipeline from
central (and yet to be developed) Siberian oilfields to the Pacific Ocean. Several routes
for the so-called “Eastern Siberian-Pacific Ocean Pipeline” were considered, and initial
reconnaissance pursued. An early preferred routing ran just north of Lake Baikal and
within its watershed – in one variant some 80 km north of the Lake, in another much
closer. Significant concern erupted regarding the risk of pipeline fractures and
subsequent ecological disaster for Lake Baikal, especially given that the area is one of
high seismic activity. At the same time, some found attractive the potential
opportunities for jobs related to the pipeline construction, given the difficult economic
situation (Fondahl & Sirina 2006a, pp. 5, 11, Sirina & Fondahl 2006, p. 25 3). Anna Sirina,
an ethnographer and leading specialist on the Evenki, from the Institute of Ethnology
and Anthropology (IEA) in Moscow, was asked to participate in the study of potential
social and cultural impacts of the proposed pipeline. She invited me to accompany her.
We had enjoyed earlier collaboration (Fondahl & Sirina 2003), and I had carried out
work in the area to the north of Lake Baikal in the early 1990s (Fondahl 1996, 1998).
Anna, while having extensive fieldwork experience in many areas of the Russian North
with Evenki communities (Sirina 2006, 2012), had never worked in this area.
5 As Anna and I carried out our research in Holodnaia village, interviewing local
residents about their aspirations and apprehensions regarding the proposed pipeline,
several Evenki individuals declared that we should pay a visit to the Memorial Tree 4.
Most insistent was Viktor Ganiugin, a mathematics teacher at the local school, and
initiator of an after-school Evenki culture program for his students. The program
addressed his and other Evenki’s concerns about the lack of transfer of ecological
knowledge from older generations to younger, and the dearth of opportunities for
Evenki youth in Holodnaia to spend time in the taiga and learn the skills and ways of
their ancestors (cf. Shubin 2007, p. 157). When I had initially met Ganiugin in the early
1990s, he had described his (then new) culture program, and I had visited his brothers’
recently established reindeer herd, where a number of Ganiugin’s pupils were gathered
as part of their curriculum (Fondahl 1998, pp. 124-126).
Traditional tenure
6 The Ecological Trail runs from the village of Holodnaia to the Niurundukan (or
Niarndarkan) Pass5, following the path used by Evenki reindeer herders descending
from pastures beyond the pass (fieldnotes 1994, 2005, Simonova 2013, p. 61). Until the
mid-20th century, many Evenki in this area depended on reindeer husbandry, along
with subsistence and fur hunting, trapping and fishing. They nomadized with their

117
reindeer in the area north of Lake Baikal, visiting the villages along the lake for trading
purposes, and, during the Tsarist period and early 20 th century, to pay the compulsory
fur tribute (Ru. iasak). Evenki reindeer herders of this area called themselves Orochen –
reindeer people (Evk. oron meaning reindeer), distinguishing themselves from
Lamuchen – semi-sedentary Evenki depending on fishing, living along the shores of
Lake Baikal (Evk. lamu meaning sea, a term used for Baikal) (see Wure’ertu in the
present volume). But most typically, primary identity was with one’s clan.
7 Each Evenki clan had its own territory for pasturing deer and hunting according to
customary norms, recognized by others, and passed down from generation to
generation (Sirina 2006, pp. 73-76, 2012, pp. 136-183, Shubin 2007, pp. 234, 333). Evenki
customary law dictated the right of clans to use these territories and to limit the rights
of members of other clans to use them without permission. Alienation of land from a
clan was uncommon, and usually happened when a group was decimated by disease or
in warfare. That is, clans recognized the rights of other clans to distinct territories
more or less “in perpetuity”, unless exceptional circumstances eradicated a clan and
thus freed up its territory. North of Lake Baikal, along the Tyia, Holodnaia, Chaia and
Chuia Rivers and the lower reaches of the Verhne-Angara, were the territories of the
Kindigir clan. Under the Tsars, their administrative centre was the village of
Dushkashan. Farther east, along the valley upper reaches of the Verhne-Angara River
the Chilchagir clan predominated, with their administrative centre at Irkana (Shubin
1973, p. 78, 2007, p. 224).
Changing land use and landscapes

8 Russians began enter the area to the north of Lake Baikal in the mid-1600s, establishing
a fortress and trading point (Ru. ostrog) at Verhne-Angarsk in 1647. However,
colonization was slow, and the inflow of non-indigenous population was relatively
minor for the next couple of centuries. Most in-migrants settled in small agricultural
and fishing settlements along or near the north shore of Lake Baikal and in the lower
reaches of the Verhne-Angara River. Interactions with Evenki reindeer herders and
hunters remained fairly limited (Shubin 1973, p. 78).
9 After the Revolution and subsequent Civil War, the Soviets began to assert authority
over Siberia, including this area. One early move of the Soviets was to establish
nomadic “soviets” (councils), to introduce the promises and practices of socialist
governance to Siberia’s indigenous population. In many areas of Siberia such nomadic
soviets were initially established on clan basis. To the immediate north of Lake Baikal
the Kindigir Nomadic Council was formed, named after the local clan (Shubin 2007,
p. 294).
10 The State also began to organize the native population for economic purposes, first into
Simple Production Unions or guilds, and then into collective farms (Ru. kolhozy).
Progress was slow in this part of the Soviet Union. While the more sedentary Evenki
who depended largely on fishing were relatively quickly incorporated into guilds and
farms, the nomadic herders proved harder to collectivize. In 1932, most Kindigir
reindeer herders of this region were incorporated into the “2nd Five Year Plan”
kolkhoz, with its administrative centre first at Dushkashan, and then at Holodnaia.
Members of the Chilchagir clan were initially organized into a number of small guilds
and collectives, though these existed almost only in name. Being farther away from

118
Soviet centres, many Chilchagir avoided collectivization for substantially longer. They
eventually were brought into the “Kalinin” kolkhoz, with its centre in Uoian (Shubin
1973, p. 80, 2007, p. 190).
11 Some Evenki refused to join a collective farm, and to turn their reindeer over – and
some were refused entry. Shamans, considered exploiters and charlatans, were banned
from membership, and often repressed. Rich reindeer herders, considered by the
Soviets as “exploiters of the masses”, were also banned from membership; the state
confiscated their deer when possible (Tugolukov & Shubin, 1969, p. 50).
12 Along with the collectivization, the State encouraged sedentarization – at least of the
part of the population that was deemed not to be “productively engaged” in activities
that required nomadism. State bureaucrats determined that one or two women “tent-
workers” (Ru. chumrabotnitsy) were sufficient to support a brigade of five-six male
reindeer herders (via cooking, mending of clothes, etc.); the rest were deemed
“unproductive labor”, better employed as dairymaids for the collective farms’ small
dairy herds, in tending the fox farms that were introduced to many Siberian collective
farms, and in other, mostly menial jobs in the central villages. Thus, the wives of
reindeer herders who were not assigned tent-work jobs were encouraged to settle in
the villages. Compulsory education was introduced, often via residential schools, for
nomadic children. The village of Holodnaia, like so many other small villages
throughout Siberia, was specifically created as a central place to sedentarize, civilize
and Sovietize the areas’ native nomads, providing permanent housing, a school, basic
medical care, and a variety of jobs for those who settled.
13 Of course, through the processes of (partial) sedentarization and formal education,
many women and essentially all children and youth spent less time on their clan lands.
Family life was disrupted, with most men spending long periods away from their
children and, in many cases, their wives, as they continued to nomadize with the herds
and hunt for furs. The reduction in the traditional land-based experiential learning
among Evenki children, who now spent up to ten months in the village at boarding
schools, eroded the transmission of ecological knowledge of their clan territories.
14 Under the new kolkhoz system, new methods of land allocation were set up. “Scientific
rotation” of reindeer pasture was introduced, with scheduled migrations of herd.
Hunting territories were assigned with an eye toward “carrying capacity”. In practice,
many Evenki continued to hunt and herd on their age-old traditional territories
(Fondahl 1998, p. 62). However some of these clan territories were abandoned, when
individuals (especially rich herders and shamans) fled the area to avoid confiscation of
their deer, and then reassigned to other hunters. In other cases, when men failed to
meet state-set hunting quotas for furs, their territories could be reassigned to other
hunters, including ones from other clans, by farm management.
15 In the 1950s, a period of village “consolidation” (Ru. ukrupnenie) occurred throughout
Siberia. The more remote villages that had served as the centres of small production
guilds and kolkhoz were declared “futureless”, services were withdrawn from them,
and their populations relocated to the larger centres. In northern Transbaikal region,
the merging of the “2nd Five Year Plan” kolkhoz and a fishing guild from nearby
Dushkashan created the “Friendship” kolkhoz, with Holodnaia as its centre. Nomadic
Chilchagir reindeer herders and settled Russians were brought together in the
“Kalinin” kolkhoz, centered in Uoian. Tompa, an Evenki (mainly Shemagir clan) village
along the northeast coast of Lake Baikal was closed, and its population relocated,

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mostly to the Holodnaia, but also to other settlements. Relocated Shemagir in some
cases were assigned new hunting territories nearer to the centres into which they had
been relocated, on what had been Kindigir or Chilchagir clan territories. Through these
on-going actions of sedentarization, relocation, and the re-assignment of hunting and
herding territories, Evenki (Kindigir, Chilchagir and Shemagir) places were sequentially
re-made. Yet memories of clan territories remained strong.
16 The area north of Lake Baikal experienced a short period of reconnaissance activity for
minerals and a possible railroad route in the late 1930s. It was in that decade that the
non-indigenous population – mostly Russians and Ukrainians – came to outnumber the
Evenki in the region. However, they were mostly concentrated in Nizhneangarsk and a
few other settlements (Shubin 2007, p. 154). The area remained a relative backwater of
the Soviet Union in the decades following World War II. Geology parties came and went,
hiring the local reindeer herders as guides and their deer as pack animals to supply
their temporary camps. A few small geologists’ settlements cropped up near potential
mining sites (Pereval, Chaia), and close to some of the key pasturing areas of the
Kindigir clan. Some former reindeer herders claimed that the influx of geologists in the
1960s, if small in number, initiated the annihilation of reindeer herding in the area, as
both the geologists and their dogs killed the reindeer, and their housing was
established on key reindeer pasture (fieldnotes, August 1994).
17 It was the building of the Baikal-Amur Railway (BAM) in the 1970s that brought massive
changes to the area. Thousands of workers poured into the area, to construct the so-
called “project of the century”. A thin linear feature, the BAM had territorial
implications much broader than might be expected. Forest fires accompanied its
construction, decimating large swaths of reindeer pasture and hunting grounds.
Construction also resulted in the pollution of the local waterways, which caused fish
stocks to crash. Reindeer herds were decimated both for meat to feed the newcomers,
as the State demanded local farms to support the construction efforts, and due to
poaching by the newcomers. By the early 1980s, this age-old occupation had all but
disappeared from the area – in 1978 the last 50 deer were removed from the pastures
just north of Holodnaia to distant pastures in the northern extreme of the region
(fieldnotes, August 1994, Pomishin & Atutov 1983, p. 19). Alcohol became much more
readily available in the once-isolated villages. Many Evenki of the region identify this
period of intensified development of their homelands as the climax of their cultural
demise (fieldnotes 1994, 2005).
18 Most recently, in the late 1990s, the proposed construction of an oil pipeline through
the area caused consternation among many Evenki, as a new threat to their homelands
and one that portended a replay of the ordeals experience in the 1970s. It was these
concerns that brought Anna and myself to Holodnaia, and that led to our visit to the
Tree of Memory. But before introducing the Tree and Trail, a quick review of the
development of legal rights for indigenous peoples in Russia is needed, to provide
context for the place-making I describe below.
Legal reforms: Russian law on indigenous rights

19 The early post-Soviet years saw dramatic evolution of indigenous rights, at least on
paper (Fondahl & Poelzer 2003, Kriazhkov 2010, 2013). Shortly after the Russian
Federation declared independence from the Soviet Union, a Presidential Edict called for

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laws to be adopted that would enable indigenous groups to organize into obshchina –
roughly translatable as communes or communities – and to receive allocations of land
on which to pursue traditional activities, protected from industrial encroachment
(President of the Russian Federation 1992, §22). While it took the better part of a
decade for federal law on such rights to be passed, numerous subjects (republics,
oblasts, etc.) passed their own laws (Fondahl et al. 2001, p. 547). The Buryat Republic, in
which Holodnaia is located, was one of the earliest subjects to pass such legislation,
enabling Evenki within its boundaries to create “Evenki peasant (farmers’)
establishments” (Ru. Evenkiiskie krest’ianskie (fermerskie) hoziaistv) – with the purpose of
pursuing “traditional activities” such as reindeer herding and hunting (1991). Evenki in
northern Buryatia regularly referred to these “establishments” as clan community
(Ru. obshchina) in the early 1990s, and even more so in 2005 (fieldnotes). The
“establishments”, like clan community, could petition for and receive an allotment of
land, on which to pursue such activities. In keeping with local parlance, I will refer to
those “Evenki peasant (farmers) establishments” that were formed in Northern
Buryatia as clan communities throughout the rest of this article.
20 A troika of federal laws, with the same purpose eventually followed, at the turn of the
millennium (Russian Federation 1999, 2000, 2001). The 1999 federal law outlined the
general guarantee of rights of indigenous peoples, and the responsibility and authority
of the state and its subjects to protect indigenous peoples. It noted the right of
indigenous peoples to “possess” (Ru. vladet’) territory for the pursuit of traditional
activities, without charge, and to receive support for such activities, on their traditional
territories of habitation and economic activity (Russian Federation 2000, §8.1, 4, italics are
mine). The 2000 federal law offered a definition of who is indigenous:
the peoples living in the regions of the North, Siberia and the Far East on the
territory of traditional occupancy of their ancestors, maintaining traditional ways of life,
economy and trades; numbering less than 50 thousand persons, and considering
themselves distinct ethnic communities. (Russian Federation, 2000, §1, italics mine)
21 It recognized the right of such indigenous peoples to establish clan community, and
along with the 1999 law, gave indigenous peoples the right to receive territories for
traditional activities6.
22 Several Evenki families in the area north of Lake Baikal decided to form clan
community, and tried to register these and receive land allotments for them, prior to
the passage of the federal laws (Fondahl 1998, p. 113). In Holodnaia, one family that
chose to exercise these new rights was the Ganiugins. Brothers Alexei and Alexander
Ganiugin, along with Vladimir Platonov, his son Semën Platonov, and another Evenki,
Semën Aeul’ev, created the clan community “Oron” (Evk. oron, reindeer), and applied
for lands on which to pursue the “traditional activity” of reindeer herding. The lands
they requested were those on which their Kindigir ancestors had hunted and herded
(fieldnotes 1994). They received a land allotment north of the village, purchased a small
number of reindeer from the neighbouring Chita region (Ru. oblast’), where reindeer
herding had not been fully destroyed, established a base camp at the abandoned
geologists’ hamlet of Chaia, and began operations, hoping to revitalize this much-
decimated traditional activity (fieldnotes from visit to “Oron” basecamp, 3-4 August
1994).

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The Ecological Trail: re-making a traditional landscape

feature
23 Viktor Ganiugin, the brother of Alexei and Alexander and mathematics teacher, had
meanwhile established an after-school and summer program in the early 1990s, to
instruct his pupils in traditional Evenki skills and trades. Creating a small enterprise for
educational purposes (Ru. maloe predpriiatie, also referred to as a shkol’noe hoziaistvo),
named “Kindigir”, he received a modest land allotment on which to pursue hunting,
trapping, fishing and berry gathering. Under the aegis of “Kindigir”, students learned
to fish and harvest berries, and donated the harvests to the kindergarten and boarding
school kitchens. Female students also learned to sew furs from trapped animals into
items such as hats, traditional reindeer blankets (Evk. kumalany) and souvenirs
(fieldnotes, July 1994). A fellow Evenki teacher at the school noted with respect that “he
is practically the only person who preserves the whole [Evenki] complex – fishing,
hunting, etc.” (interview, 26 July 1994).
24 Once his brothers received a land allotment for their clan community, in order to
pursue reindeer husbandry, and had re-established a small herd through a purchase of
deer from a neighbouring region, Viktor initiated a project to bring groups of his
students to the base camp of the clan community for a week or so, several times a year.
The school children improved the traditional Trail to the reindeer camp base.
Historically, in both Tsarist and Soviet times, the Trail had been employed by reindeer
herders descending from the mountain pastures to Lake Baikal, for trade and supply
purposes. In the 1960s it had also served as their route to provision the geologists
working in camps north of Holodnaia. With the demise of reindeer herding by the
mid-1980s, use of the Trail decreased.
25 Along the Ecological Trail, Ganiugin’s students built a series of “camps” (Ru. stany) –
each marked by a simple structure or structures. These include: the bark tipis
(Evk. golomo), which the Evenki of this area formerly used as summer residences
(Fig. 2); traditional fire pits with conical frames (Evk. guluvun) (Fig. 3); and squat
rectangular hunting cabins, adopted from the Russians some three-and-a-half centuries
ago (Fig. 4).

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Figure 2. Bark tipi (golomo)
Figure 3. Conical Frame (guluvun)

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Figure 4. Russian Style Hunting Cabin
26 “The very built form of a place can have the effect of solidifying particular notions
about how the world is structured and works”, claims geographer Don Mitchell
(Mitchell 2000, p. 100). In the “Ecological Trail” project, and in his after-school program
more broadly, Ganiugin appropriated the legal discourse that conflates indigeneity
with traditionality – choosing to selectively re-materialize the local landscape, in order
to solidify conceptions of the territory of the Trail as unambiguously Evenki.
“Traditional” Evenki-style structures – (Evk. golomo, guluvun) – punctuate the Trail’s
route. The Ecological Trail and its structure thus work to solidify notions conflating
Evenki with the taiga landscape, for both locals and visitors. What does it mean to be
Evenki, or more broadly “indigenous”, in early 21st century Russia? Who has the power
to define what it means to be indigenous? As noted above, recent legislation on
indigenous rights that enables indigenous land claims reified the concept of
“traditionality”. Indigenous peoples by legal definition are those who pursue traditional
activities on the territories of their ancestors. Indigenous peoples can petition for priority
usufruct rights to a territory only if it is to be used primarily for “traditional” activities.
27 After three generations of assimilatory pressures, involving sedentarization,
compulsory formal education, in some instances forced relocation, and the annihilation
of reindeer herding in some locales, the truly “authentic” natives (those “deserving of
indigenous rights”) are still imagined as of – and in – the taiga and tundra, a perception
potent enough in Russia to find codification in law. It is thus critical that youth now
learn about life in the taiga, including the routes historically used by their forbearers,
construction techniques of these “traditional” Evenki, and the “traditional” activities
of hunting, herding, gathering, and sewing furs, through experiential learning

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characteristic of “traditional” Evenki pedagogy – in a legal environment where their

legal rights are entangled with “traditionality”.
28 The very name “Ecological Trail” itself connects to a purported identity trait of
indigenous peoples, as underscored in the legislation. “Ecological” invokes imagined
connections of innately environmental Evenki with nature, in a continued Rousseauian
tradition no less notable in Russia than in North America. This connection is further
enhanced by the use of “trail” (Ru. tropa) rather than other possible nouns: “route”
(Ru. mashrut’) or “road” (Ru. doroga). The moniker “Ecological Trail” was used in
applications to the local administration to garner support for the project in the early
1990s, underscoring the role this Trail would play in the experiential curriculum
designed to re-connect Evenki youth with nature. It was also the referent most
commonly used during Anna’s and my visit in 2005. Interestingly, this was no longer
the case by the time Veronika Simonova first visited Holodnaia in 2007: colloquially the
trail was by then more often referred to as the “Trail of Memory” or “Memorial Trail”
(Ru. tropa pamiati) (Simonova, pers. comm., March 2013, Simonova 2013, p. 61, see also
Sirina 2012, p. 466). In 2005, during Anna’s and my visit, the threat of a new, potentially
environmentally threating “mega-project” was very much on the minds of the
population of Holodnaia. One reconnaissance transect for the pipeline cut through the
taiga across the Trail just above the village, near the beginning of the Trail (Fig. 5). The
actuality of the risks associated with the proposed pipeline concerns may have
encouraged the re-assertion of the term “ecological”, especially in discussions with
visiting academics who were engaged in ascertaining local attitudes about the pipeline.
Figure 5. Transect for pipeline

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29 There are obviously spatial limits of such indigenous re-territorializations. “Places”,

Jeffrey Davis notes, “are the result of spatially wider-ranging regimes of power and the
ability of some to legitimize one imagining of place over others” (Davis 2005, p. 609).
The land north of Lake Baikal was in the later Soviet decades re-visualized by the State
as a resource hearth for minerals and timber, and as an important transport corridor
linking its centre with its extreme periphery. More recently the area was briefly
imagined as an oil pipeline corridor, by Russian and international investors.
Environmentalists have envisioned the area as a potential zone of preservation – an
imagination fuelled by Lake Baikal’s recent designation as a World Heritage site. These
are just a few of the externally imposed place-makings that confront the local Evenki.
30 It has only been beyond the lake’s shore and the village edges, in the forests mostly
marginal to the larger projects of capital and conservation, and only at limited scales,
that the Evenki can resist annihilation of their places, and assert their own visions of
landscapes. And it is here that Evenki are performing these small but tenacious place-
remakings.
Memorial Tree: scalar identities asserted

31 Fourteen kilometres up the Trail, we arrived at the “Memorial Tree”. The Tree, now a
dead snag, is located along the side of the Trail. In 1942, a reindeer herder, Trofim
Uronchin, on his way from the reindeer pastures north of Holodnaia to the WWII front,
stopped and carved his initials on this Tree’s trunk. Under Viktor Ganiugin’s
leadership, this Tree was elevated to a shrine (see also Simonova 2013, pp. 56-57). The
students created a plaque to memorialize the contribution of this person, and all the
Evenki of the local Kindigir clan who served in World War II (Fig. 1). The plaque reads
(Fig. 6):
Figure 6. Translation of Text on Plaque on Memorial Tree
© Gail Fondahl

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32 If the “Ecological Trail” is a deliberately constructed or “materialized” “Evenki

landscape”, rooted in the memories of a pre-Soviet past, its construction in part
prompted by an agenda of explicitly reasserting effaced geographies of “traditionality”,
the Memorial Tree serves as a more complex or stratified commemoration. It celebrates
Evenki as citizens, taking their place alongside other peoples of the Soviet Union, to
make sacrifices for the protection of the greater homeland (Accomplished hunters,
indigenous peoples played an important role as snipers in WWII, and suffered high
casualties.). Yet the Tree also marks prominently the local lineage of Uronchin – he was
Evenki but also Kindigir.
33 The clan name Kindigir has also recently been re-inscribed on the territory as the name
of the middle school in Holodnaia. As well, the local township, of which Holodnaia
serves as the centre, is the “Kindigir Evenki Rural Administration” (Supreme Soviet of
the Buryat Soviet Socialist Republic 1992)7. Kindigir are once again asserting more
localized territorial identity and associated rights to the territory, in an environment
where law allows land to be assigned on the basis of connection to “ancestral
territory”. Concerns over clan community allocations to non-Kindigir, as well as more
general concerns and competition over land use priorities, have stimulated such
assertions of both Evenki and more specific Kindigir territorial identities.
Performing the walk: the researchers’ role

34 I now want to turn to consider the purpose of our walk, arranged by Viktor Ganiugin,
along the Ecological Trail to the Memorial Tree. I argue that it involved three main and
intertwined objectives. Firstly, it provided for a temporary assertion of Evenki
authority over ourselves, reversing the typical role of researcher/researched, and
specifically involving the instruction of us via Evenki pedagogical methods of
experiential learning. Secondly, the walk enabled our witnessing the assertion of
Evenki, and more specifically Kindigir, rights to this territory. Thirdly, the walk
conveyed a message about indigenous revival to us — but also potentially through us to
others involved in or sympathetic to such struggles.
35 Viktor Ganiugin suggested as our guide Arkadii Lekarev, a 73-year old Evenki
intimately familiar with the territory, and with Evenki culture and protocols (Fig. 7).
Lekarev, also of the local Kindigir clan, was from a reindeer herding family. His life
straddled and perhaps epitomized the various phases of the Soviet period experienced
by the Evenki of this region. Born in the bush in 1932, he had grown up as a herder on
the land. Sent to study at the Evenki boarding school in Ulan-Ude, he returned after
6th grade to his birth-region and took up reindeer herding (V. Ganiugin, personal
communication, July 2005, Shubin 2007, p. 171). He had worked for geologist parties,
providing transport services and guiding the parties through the taiga, which he knew
exceptionally well. When reindeer herding was finally fully annihilated in the 1980s he
became a hunter. Lekarev had witnessed the changes brought by geological
reconnaissance in the late 1950s/1960s, by the railroad in the 1970s/1980s, and by the
“transition to capitalism” in the 1990s. In 2005 he lived in grim poverty, subsisting on
fishing, hunting and the occasional sale of baskets (Evk. potki), for which he holds a
reputation as a master craftsman. Lekarev was one of the few remaining Evenki in
Northern Transbaikal region who was fluent in his language – he was “a real Evenki”
according to the discourse of some villagers.

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Figure 7. Arkadii Lekarev and Denis Shangin
36 Given the presence of bears in the area, it was considered necessary for someone in the
group to carry a rifle on this trip. Yet rules on firearms circumscribe their ownership
and transport. Evenki, along with other citizens, have to register them, and have to
have the right papers to carry them. Our visit corresponded with the season of
encephalitic tick activity, requiring attention to protective clothing against these
insects. It took a couple of days to acquire a gun, to fill in the appropriate paperwork
and to arrange to borrow the necessary clothing. Midmorning on July 12, 2005, Lekarev
donned his a traditional backboard (Evk. ponianga) that served as a pack. His great-
nephew Denis Shangin also joined us. We headed out of the village along the Ecological
Trail into the taiga.
37 Shortly thereafter, perhaps another 15 minutes, we traversed a pipeline reconnaissance
transect cut through the woods. We then started to climb through the forest of larch,
pine and birch. In an hour or so we came upon the first “station” or assemblage of
Evenki structures built by the students. We paused at this station for a few moments, as
Lekarev took a smoke break. The mosquitoes encouraged movement rather than rest,
so Anna and I inspected the interiors of the structures.
38 Our research on the pipeline, though considered of import, was village-based. During
our work in the village we were thus not experiencing a “true Evenki landscape”, nor
were we learning about Evenki concerns “in an Evenki way”. Thus, it was important to
take us out of the spaces of village-based interviewing, to invert the roles of authority,
and to instruct us, if only briefly and superficially, in Evenki ways and by Evenki
(experiential) means about Evenki concerns regarding the land and culture. It was
important that we inhabit this Evenki landscape corporeally, if but briefly. To
understand the landscape of Trail and Tree we needed to experience it with an

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authoritative Evenki elder. This educating of us was deemed worth the risks that our
guides and we would endure – most notably that of encephalitic ticks, but also of bears,
and simply of fatigue from a 28 km (return) hike (I note once again that Lekarev was
738).
39 While in the village Anna and I exercised relative autonomy, in the taiga our decision-
making was relinquished to Lekarev, who decided what pace to set, when to take
breaks, when to eat – regulating our experience of the Ecological Trail. Power-
knowledge relations shifted. Lekarev instructed us in appropriate conduct in this place,
mostly through actions not words. Indeed the hike was relatively free of words and of
food – reproducing documented Evenki patterns of demeanour in the taiga, where
talking and eating take place mostly once in camp (Vasilevich 1969, p. 232, Shubin 2007,
p. 45).
40 The Trail itself was sometimes obvious; at other times to the untrained eye it
disappeared, as we followed gravel bars along the Holodnaia River, or traversed
meadows of thigh-high grass with no apparent course. We required the skill of Lekarev
to navigate – to bring us from gravel bar back to the river’s shore at the right location,
to issue from the meadow at that spot where Trail re-entered the forest. We
theoretically depended on his protective capacity as the gun-bearer for the group. The
walk allowed us to experience this “real Evenki’s”, this Kindigir’s close knowledge of
and engagement with this place, his clan’s “traditional territory”.
41 Accompanying us was Lekarev’s grand-nephew, Denis Shangin (Fig. 7). The expedition
thus was both demonstrative and heuristic: Denis could demonstrate to us what youth
know of their traditions and territories (partially learned through Viktor Ganiugin’s
training programs), while he would also receive instruction through observing his
grand-uncle during the day’s sojourn – a process we would witness, while we ourselves
were also educated.
42 Anthropologists Julie Cruikshank and Tatiana Argounova, in recounting their own
experiences of being taken to visit remote Sakha9 memorials in the taiga several
hundreds of km northeast of Holodnaia, note that “indigenous peoples in arctic and
sub-arctic regions are trying to reconstruct links between memories and knowledge in
ways that simultaneously reestablish meaning locally (especially for young people) and
convey clear messages to distance audiences” (Cruikshank & Argounova 2000, p. 97).
Ganiugin’s Ecological Trail project was directed in large part to re-establishing a
landscape of local meaning for his Evenki students. Denis’s participation in this hike
allowed us to witness this re-connection.
43 Yet our hike was also about communicating Evenki visualizations of their spaces, and
Evenki materializations of these spaces – in a word, Evenki geopolitical agendas – to
“distant audiences”. Anna and I had both adequately indicated our interest in Evenki
culture. Though Anna had not previously worked in this area, her work with Evenki in
the neighbouring Irkutsk province is known by the local intelligentsia, including Viktor
Ganiugin. Anna combined the stature of working at the most prestigious
anthropological institute in the country with being of somewhat local birth (she was
from Irkutsk, a city near the southern end of Lake Baikal). Her past work, her
workplace, and her origin all suggested her as a potentially useful and sympathetic
accomplice.
44 I had conducted research on land rights and land claims in the region in the early1990s,
and had interviewed Viktor Ganiugin in 1994, subsequently sharing the published

129
results of that research (Fondahl 1998) with him. My international status provided yet
other channels for communication. We were thus credible intermediaries, worth
Ganiugin’s and Lekarev’s investment of time and effort, promising channels for the
recording and dissemination of information on this local place-making project.
Ganiugin could use our voices as conduits for expressing local Evenki concerns over
other potential re-makings of this – this Evenki and Kindigir place – the re-makings
schemed by distant powers: by oil and pipeline companies, by Baikal conservationists,
by rich Russians desirous of vacation homes on the shore of Lake Baikal. Our visit to
Memorial Trail, our walking of the Ecological Trail helped both to concretize the local
importance of these features, and to connect these intimate Kindigir/Evenki spaces of
re-territorialisation to wider scales and -scapes of indigenous place-(re)making.
45 Reaching the Memorial Tree in the late afternoon, we built a small fire, and brewed
another cup of tea. We made offerings to the place, of candies, coins and vodka, as
Evenki protocol demands. We then began our return trip, following Lekarev as he
nimbly negotiated his way down the Trail. Stopping one more time for tea, we would
reach the village late in the evening, at the latter edges of twilight.
Conclusion
46 Geopolitical power, Fraser McDonald notes (McDonald 2006, p. 55), is exercised through
the experiences of sights and spectacles. Produced by Ganiugin, directed by Lekarev,
our hike along the Ecological Trail to the Memorial involved us simultaneously as
audience and actors. We experienced the sites/sights but also enacted this spectacle of
indigenous micro-geopolitics.
47 During the past century, Evenki were forced to spatially dissimulate their cultural
landscapes. Exogenous place-makings – kolkhoz villages, a railroad, mines, forest clear-
cuts, and so forth – have long functioned as imposed forms of representation and
regulation, first Soviet, now peri-capitalist. The local Evenki are contesting these
external place-makings. They are re-creating landscapes proclaimed to be explicitly
Evenki, if at small scales and peripheral locations. They are doing so within a newly
evolving political context, following visualizations in part imposed on them by Russian
law about what it means to be indigenous. They are appropriating these legal
definitions that link rights to “traditional” or “ancestral” territory and to the practice
of traditional activities. They are creating material landscapes to further solidify their
claims to their territories. Some in Holodnaia are proclaiming “Kindigir” landscapes,
further localizing their claims.
48 And they are asserting geopolitical power by the carefully-staged embedding of
outsiders in the spaces of such political projects – to educate and to connect locally
constructed landscape of resistance and revival to wider scales of indigenous
geopolitical actions10. Our walk is but one example of many such projects taking place
in the Siberian taiga.

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North Baikal, Siberia, Journal of Ethnology and Folkloristics 6(1), pp. 49-69.
Sirina, A. A. 2006 Katanga Evenki in the 20th Century and the Ordering of Their Life-world (Edmonton,
CCI Press).
2012 Èvenki i èveny v sovremennom mire [Evenki and Evens in the contemporary world] (Moscow,
Vostochnaia Literatura).
Sirina, A. A. & G. Fondahl 2006 Èvenki severnogo Pribaikal’ia i proekt stroitel’stva nefteprovoda
“Vostochnaia Sibir’–Tihii okean” [The Evenki of Northern Cisbaikal region and the “Eastern
Siberia-Pacific Ocean” pipeline construction project], Issledovaniia po Prikladnoi i Neotlozhnoi
Ètnologii 186.
Supreme Soviet of the Buryat Soviet Socialist Republic 1992 Postanovlenie “Ob obrazovanie na
territorii Buriatskoi SSR èvenkiiskih sel’skih Sovetov narodnyh deputatov [Decree “On the
formation on the territory of the Buryat SSR of Evenki rural councils of people’s deputies”],
17 January 1991, Vedomosti Verhovnogo Soveta Respubliki Buriatiia 2, pp. 61-62.
Tugolukov, V. I. & A. S. Shubin 1969 Kolhoznoe stroitel’stvo u èvenkov Severnoi Buriatii i ego
vliianie na ih byt i kul’turu [Collective farm construction among Evenki of Northern Buryatia and
its influence on their lifeway and culture], Ètnograficheskii sbornik (Ulan-Ude) 5, pp. 42-64.
Vasilevich, G. M. 1969 Èvenki. Istoriko-ètnograficheskie ocherki (XVIII-nachalo XX v.) [Evenki. Historical-

ethnographical monograph (18th-beginning of 20th c.)] (Leningrad, Nauka).
Wure’ertu (this volume) Evenki migrations in early times and their relationship with rivers,
Études mongoles & sibériennes, centrasiatiques & tibétaines 49 [online, URL: http://
NOTES
1. Russian Federation law recognizes “indigenous numerically small peoples of the North” as a
special category of peoples warranting legal protection due to their small numbers and
“traditional” ways of life (Russian Federation 1999, Kriazhkov 2010, 2013, Fondahl & Poelzer
2003).
2. Henri Lefebvre argues that space is produced by visualization, administration and
materialization (Lefebvre [1984] 1991, pp. 33). Indigenous places have often been re-made by
colonial and other external forces, which have visualized a different use of the space, and then
performed administration and material reconstruction, that altered these spaces and the places
they encompass. Indigenous communities challenge these exogenous place-makings, re-making
the places by asserting their visualizations through concrete materializations and transitory but
recurrent enactments.
3. The pipeline was later re-located to outside of the Lake Baikal watershed.

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4. Simonova also notes the locals encouraging her to visit the Trail and Tree (Simonova 2013,
p. 60).
5. Shubin recorded Niarndarkan (or Iandarkan) as the Evenki name for the Holodnaia River as
well (Shubin 2007, pp. 155, 179, 314).
6. The laws provided for the transfer of rights of use and inheritance and certain exclusionary
rights over its territory, though not for “ownership” akin to fee-simple rights common in the
West. The 2001 federal law enabled the creation of Territories of Traditional Nature use, but has
remained unimplemented. Revisions to the federal legal code in 2004 reduced significantly the
rights of indigenous peoples, no longer allowing land to be transferred to clan community “in
perpetuity” or “rent-free”, but rather introducing a 25-year lease period (Kriazhkov 2010, p. 83).
7. Indeed, it is worth noting the introduction of the term Evenki once again in the name of the
rural councils. In the early Soviet period the names of the units on administrative level up from
“rural administrations”, the districts (Ru. raiony or, locally, Evk. aimakil) were, in Northern
Buryatia prefaced with the word Evenki: the Severobaikal Evenki Aimak (Ru. Severobaikal’skii
evenkiiskii aimak) and the neighboring Baunt Evenki Aimak. However the word Evenki fell way
from the official titles by the 1930s, as “nationalist tendencies” became increasingly suspect and
subject to punishment.
8. Indeed, in 1994, Yuri Chernoev, also of Holodnaia, had organized a somewhat similar
expedition, to his clan community’s territory – though by tank not foot. Once there, he
instructed me to turn on my tape recorder, and proceeded to provide a political commentary on
indigenous rights and struggles in general and his rights to the territory in specific. It was
important to him that I heard about these rights while on the land (fieldnotes 1994).
9. Another indigenous people of Siberia, though not a “Numerically Small People” – see
footnote 1, above.
10. Our hike along the Ecological Trail to the Tree of Memory was an important element of our
local research regarding of the potential social impacts of the pipeline, the results of which were
published, among other places, in a journal focused on indigenous geopolitical action and rights
around the world (Fondahl & Sirina 2006b). The pipeline route was subsequently moved out of
the Lake Baikal watershed, to the North; its construction is affecting other Evenki communities.
ABSTRACTS
In this paper I explore how the Evenki of southeast Siberia resist place-annihilation caused by
both the direct actions of resource development and the indirect effects of formal education that
cause a decline of indigenous place-based knowledge. I argue that they do so by the production
and presentation of landscape elements that assert and educate about Evenki place-based
identity. Through performing the landscape of an “Ecological Trail” and a “Memorial Tree”, for
both Evenki youth and visitors from afar, Evenki elders appropriate legal discourses that conflate
indigeneity with traditionality, manipulate memories of indigenous pasts (pre-Soviet and Soviet),
communicate place-based cultural teachings and celebrate Evenki survival and renewal in the
face of continued threats of place-annihilation.
Dans cet article, j’explore la façon dont les Évenks du Sud-Est de la Sibérie résistent à
l’anéantissement de leurs terres. Celui-ci est causé tant par les actions directes de l’exploitation
des ressources que par les effets indirects de l’éducation formelle ayant pour conséquence le

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déclin des savoirs environnementaux autochtones. Je suggère que les Évenks de cette région
résistent par l’intermédiaire de la production et de la présentation d’éléments de paysage qui
affirment et transmettent une identité évenke ancrée dans ce lieu. À travers la mise en scène
d’un paysage au travers d’un « sentier écologique » et d’un arbre commémoratif, tant pour les
jeunes Évenks que pour les visiteurs venus de loin, les aînés évenks s’approprient les discours
juridiques qui combinent « indigénéité » et « traditionalité », manipulent la mémoire des passés
autochtones (pré-soviétique et soviétique), transmettent les enseignements culturels ancrés dans
le paysage et célèbrent la survie et le renouveau des Évenks face aux menaces continuelles de
l’anéantissement des terres.
INDEX
Keywords: indigenous, Evenki, Siberia, Baikal, re-territorialization, identity, place-based
identities
Mots-clés: autochtones, Évenk, Sibérie, Baïkal, identité, re-territorialisation, identités
territoriales
AUTHOR
GAIL FONDAHL
Dr. Gail Fondahl is a Professor of Geography at the University of Northern British Columbia,
Canada. Her research has focused on the legal geographies of indigenous rights in the Russian
North, the historical geography of reindeer husbandry in the Russian North, and co-management
of resources and research in northern British Columbia. She is currently also involved in
research on Arctic sustainability, with a focus on its cultural, legal and governance dimensions.
Fondahl recently co-edited the second Arctic Human Development Report (AHDR-II, 2015), and
Northern Sustainabilities. Understanding and Addressing Change in the Circumpolar World (Springer,
2017), and co-authored Arctic Sustainability Research. Past, Present and Future (Routledge, 2017).
Gail.Fondahl@unbc.ca

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Are the Evenki reindeer herders still

nomads? The alternate use of
different types of spaces in Inner
Mongolia, China
Les Évenks éleveurs de renne sont-ils encore nomades ? L’utilisation alternée de
différents types d’espaces en Mongolie-Intérieure, Chine
Aurore Dumont
EDITOR'S NOTE
click here
click here
The “Ecological Migration” of the Evenki from Old Aoluguya to new Aoluguya in
2003 (Xie, this volume)
click here
Introduction
1 According to a widely accepted but contested definition, nomadic pastoralism is an
economy relying on livestock and on extensive seasonal movements conducted by
herders together with their livestock. It encompasses a broad range of skills,
techniques and values shared by the people who practice it. Throughout the
20th century, state policies, the market economy and environmental issues gave rise to
important changes in nomadic pastoralism. In The End of Nomadism?, Caroline
Humphrey and David Sneath argue that while “nomadism has disappeared virtually

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everywhere in Inner Asia, mobility remains a central pastoral technique”

(Humphrey & Sneath 1999, p. 1).
2 In the People’s Republic of China (PRC), the sedentarisation campaigns introduced from
the 1950s, together with pasture degradation and policies of modernisation, have
profoundly affected the domestic economies of millions of nomadic people. In the
Tibetan Plateau, herders had to abandon their pastures and settle down in special
resettlements to revitalise the degraded grassland (Cencetti 2010, p. 45), while in the
Xinjiang Autonomous Region there has been a “swing between nomadism and
sedentarism among the Kazakh, Mongols, Kirghiz, Tajik and Uyghur nomadic
herders” (Tsui 2012, p. 65). In the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region, the combined
effects of various state policies have also affected the Evenki reindeer herders and the
Mongols. Nowadays, the constant movement of the herders between their “ethnic
village1” and their camps in the forest not only reflects their strategies for adapting to
ecological and political challenges, but also sheds light on the local government’s
impotence when it comes to resolving what is called locally “settling but not living”
(Ch. ding er bu ju 定而不居). Today, are the Chinese Evenki reindeer herders of China
still practising nomadic pastoralism?
Nomadism(s)?
3 The viability of the concept of “nomadism” has been called into question by scholars,
since it has always referred to “a romantic stereotype […] which viewed nomadic
pastoralists as brave, independent fierce men, freely moving with their herds and not
having to deal with the constraints and frustration we ourselves face in day-to-day
‘civilised living’” (Dyson-Hudson & Dyson-Hudson 1980, p. 15). Although the term
“nomadism” is “a category imagined by outsiders” (Humphrey & Sneath 1999, p. 1) and
has not been adopted by the people concerned to refer to themselves – the Evenki
would instead use the words “Evenki” to refer to their community –, it remains a
functional concept in anthropological work for analysing the local knowledge of mobile
reindeer herding. Indeed, herding and hunting skills, land management, the
organisation of mobility and cultural values form a complex range of nomadic practices
which are highly valued by the Evenki and are still part of their everyday practices.
While “nomadism” and its related lifestyle, as witnessed by ethnographers and other
observers (such as Serguei Shirokogoroff [1929] 1966, Ethel John Lindgren 1930, 1938,
Haruka Nagata/Yong Tianzhen [1969] 1991 and Anatoli Kaigorodov 1968 2) in the first
decades of the last century, may have already gone extinct, nomadic practices are still
being transformed and adjusted. In their volume dedicated to the pastoral societies of
Northern and Central Asia, Charles Stépanoff, Carole Ferret, Gaëlle Lacaze and Julien
Thorez (Stépanoff et al. 2013) highlight the different forms of nomadism in the area and
the range of practices covered by the term “nomadism”.
4 Without ignoring local emic conceptions, in the present case study, I will consider the
global concept of nomadism as an ongoing process in which people move from one
space to another in accordance with the needs of the reindeer herds. From this
perspective, nomadism is not opposed to sedentarism: the herders’ ethnic village and
the seasonal camps are embedded entities which allow for constant adjustments to
reindeer herding.

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5 Based on fieldwork conducted between 2008 and 2016 among the Evenki reindeer
herders in Hulun Buir3, this paper seeks to understand how the herders adapt reindeer
herding and the required mobility to a changing social and economic environment in
the present-day Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region. More precisely, it explores the
Evenki’s annual movements between two complementary spaces: the ethnic village and
the seasonal camps.
6 After presenting the Evenki reindeer herders of China and outlining the different state
policies carried out from the 1950s, the first section exposes the herders’ conception of
two living spaces, the village and the camp. The second section examines the way the
herders annually cover and use these two types of spaces.
The Evenki reindeer herders of China
7 The Evenki reindeer herders today form a small community of approximately

300 people4 living with around 1,000 reindeer in the northeastern part of the Hulun
Buir prefecture (Ch. Hulunbei’er shi 呼伦贝儿市) in the Inner Mongolia Autonomous
Region. In the Chinese ethnographic literature and sources, they are known under
various appellations: “Reindeer Evenki” (Ch. Shilu ewenke 使鹿鄂温克), “Reindeer-
Using Tribe” (Ch. Shilu bu 使鹿部), “Yakut Evenki” (Ch. Yakute Ewenke 雅庫特鄂溫克)
or “Aoluguya Evenki” (Ch. Aoluguya Ewenke 敖鲁古雅鄂温克). Nowadays, they are
commonly known in the mass media as “Aoluguya Evenki”, after the name of their
current “ethnic village”, or simply “People of Ao Village (Ch. Aoxiang ren 敖乡人).
“Aoluguya” is the Chinese transliteration of the Evenki term “Oluia”, meaning “lush
poplar forest” and was chosen in the 1960s by the local Chinese administration to
designate the newly created “ethnic village”. The Evenki people use the ethnonym
“Evenki” or the administrative category “Aoluguya Evenki” to refer to themselves. In
order to avoid confusion, we will use the auto-ethnonym “Evenki” throughout the
article to refer to the Evenki reindeer herders.
8 Today, the Evenki language is spoken only by a few elders. Most of the Evenki people
only speak Mandarin, although they may use some Evenki terms when talking about
topography or herding and hunting techniques. Furthermore, the Evenki have
borrowed numerous terms from Russian, especially at the beginning of the 20 th century
when the herders were engaged in barter trade with Russian emigrants settled in the
area.
9 The Evenki were living in Southeast Siberia before crossing the Chinese border between
the early 18th and 19 th centuries in order to avoid Russian taxes and to find better
hunting grounds. Although they were converted to Russian Orthodoxy, the Evenki
practiced shamanism. Up to the 1930s, each clan had its own shaman (Kaigorodov 1968,
Heyne 1999), whose function was to act to the benefit of the community: bringing
success in hunting, curing sickness and accompanying the soul of the deceased (Heyne
1999, pp. 378-379).
10 Before the Chinese state launched its policies in the 1950s, the Evenki mode of
subsistence relied primarily on an equal combination of herding and hunting. The
herds of domesticated reindeer were usually small. The animal was used for milking,
riding and packing: its meat was, and still is not eaten. The Evenki used to hunt roe
deer, weasel, squirrel, wood grouse and sable. Apart from the sable, which was kept for
barter with Russian emigrants up until the 1950s, the other types of game were

137
consumed by the Evenki themselves for food and clothing. Similar to the Siberian taiga,
the forest area of the Great Khingan range in Hulun Buir offers birch, larch, pine and
the other natural resources needed for herding and hunting. Shaped by hills and
mountains, the hydrographic network is made up of hundreds of rivers, lakes and
streams. Drawing a natural border between Russia and China in the north, the Amur
River is formed by the meeting of the Shilka and the Argun rivers. The Gen River runs
through Aoluguya Village and flows into the Argun.
“Settling but not living”
11 The last six decades of Chinese state policies have transformed the Evenki’s small-scale
herding economy into an intensive type of herding management, which consists of a
more systematic use of fixed dwellings and the reduction of grazing areas. This could
be considered as the disappearance of the Evenki nomadic way of life. However, while
the reduction of pastoral grounds and the low frequency of nomadisations is an
undeniable reality today, herders’ mobility has conversely become more flexible and
herding skills remain a fundamental component of their everyday life. In 2003, the local
authorities engaged in the “Ecological Migration” project (Ch. shengtai yimin 生态移民 5),
which consisted of banning hunting and relocating people and their herds 250 km
south from their previous living area. The aim of this policy was officially to protect the
environment and to improve the economic living conditions of the herders through
proximity to an urban centre, sedentarisation and the development of ethnic tourism.
The lack of appropriate grazing lands ended in the death of many reindeer. Faced with
this serious catastrophe, the local authorities had to make a concession and allow the
herders to go back to their camps to safeguard reindeer herding. 15 years after the
“Ecological Migration”, a large number of Evenki still move between the village and
their winter and summer camp throughout the year, adapting their nomadisation
routes and herding practices to external pressures, including environmental
degradation, difficulties in accessing pastures and the growing number of Han Chinese
tourists during the summer period. This is the concept of “settling but not living”.
Since that time, the only reindeer herders of the country have been given attention by
the Chinese media, anthropologists, journalists and, later, tourists, all of whom were
concerned or curious about this failed ecological policy.
Chinese state policies and the nomads

12 Central policies aimed at integrating nomadic peoples into the “modernised world”
have always been a constant goal for nation states. As part of this political process, the
first years of the PRC were devoted to new territorial planning and socio-economic
development in pastoral areas6. From the 1950s onwards, like the other “ethnic
minorities” of the country, the Evenki were incorporated into the new communist and
multiethnic Chinese nation state. In theory, preferential policies towards ethnic
minorities promoted an “integrated society” by setting up autonomous areas,
supporting their socio-economic development, and preserving ethnic language and
culture with financial aid7.
13 Following the Soviet political model implemented among the Evenki of Siberia 8, the
Chinese government started to reorganise the Evenki domestic economy. The first

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settlement with permanent housing for the Evenki was created in 1957 in Qiqian 奇乾 9
(Kalina 2006, p. 29), in the Argun Banner (Ch. A’erguna qi 阿尔古纳旗), next to the
Russian border. Some Evenki were appointed as government members in the new local
authorities set up for the settlement.
14 The four Evenki clans known at that time, the Sologon, the Buldotin, the Kaltakun and
the Gudrin10, nomadised on four herding and hunting territories adjoining the village
(NZBZ 1986, pp. 188-189), which were later used as demarcated boundaries for work
units during collectivisation. The ethnic village was then relocated twice: in 1959 due to
an ecological disaster and in 1965 for political reasons (see Xie in this volume). In the
1960s, recognizing the economic potential of reindeer antlers as a raw material for
Chinese medicine, the local government attempted to convert small-scale reindeer
herding into a collective state farm following the Soviet sovkhoz model. The thousand
reindeer heads were collectivised and the herders used to sell the antlers to the local
government annually in return for work points. In the 1960s, it was more difficult for
the Evenki to access their herding and hunting territories, which had been reduced
considerably by the growing forest industry and the arrival of many Han Chinese
workers. The taiga was divided into forest areas used as sedentary spaces: numerous
townships were built in the forest, such as Alongshan 阿龙山 and Jinhe 金河. The
Evenki pastoral areas in northeastern Hulun Buir traditionally covered about 8,000,000
ha, but were successively reduced to 3,000,000 ha in the 1980s and finally to
approximately 700,000 ha in the 1990s (Hao et al. 1994, pp. 44-45). Furthermore, public
health, schooling, political and anti-religious campaigns were held under the
leadership of Chinese cadres. Despite these new external constraints, the herders could
maintain their domestic economy based on herding and hunting as long as the sale of
reindeer antlers was financially viable for the local government. Following the
decollectivisation process, the herders were given back their herds in 1984, although
the antlers remained the local government’s collective property until 2012. Since this
date, the herders have been free to choose whether to sell the antlers to the local
government or not. Most families prefer to deal with their own Han Chinese economic
partners, since the prices are higher.
15 In the 2000s, while economic development remained a major leitmotiv in Chinese state
policy, environmental degradation became an important issue, especially in the
peripheral areas where “ethnic minorities” are scattered. Pastoral areas were not only
potential economic resources: they also became fragile zones in need of state ecological
protection. The “Open up the West” (Ch. xibu da kaifa 西部大开发) campaign, which
started in 2001, highlighted the state’s concern with conducting a policy that combined
“environmental harmony”, economic development and political legitimacy. One part of
the “Ecological Migration” campaign was launched in 2003 in the Evenki area to protect
the degraded forest zones and to enhance economic opportunities for locals. The
resettlement of herders was followed by a ban on hunting to protect wild species and a
big project to develop ethnic tourism. As mentioned above, due to the lack of lichen for
their herds, the Evenki had to go back to their camps, situated from a few dozen to
hundreds of kilometres from the ethnic village, in order to maintain viable herding.
Years of hindsight and various published works on reindeer herding have shown that
while the introduction of controlled production and territorial boundaries had
important repercussions for Evenki social organisation and domestic economy (Bilik

139
1996, pp. 65-66), they have still maintained nomadic practices, adjusting them to new
economic, environmental and political factors.
16 In order to gain the best possible understanding of current Evenki nomadic practices,
two spatial entities must be taken into account: the Aoluguya ethnic village and the
camps.
Two complementary spaces: the village and the

camps
Aoluguya ethnic village
17 Aoluguya Village is not only a sedentary administrative entity created by local

authorities11 to provide a “modern life” for the Evenki people. It is also a part-time
living area and one of the backbones of the Evenki’s day-to-day social organisation.
Located 4 km southwest from the city of Genhe 根河 (153,257 inhabitants in 2013 12), the
village numbers 1,454 inhabitants, including 271 Evenki 13 divided into more than
20 nuclear families. Before the launch of the tourist project by the local authorities in
2008, Aoluguya was much like any other village built in northeastern China: rows of
identical houses, a school, a local government building and one convenience store.
Today, under the impetus of local policies to develop tourism, the village appears more
“ethnic” since it combines contemporary architecture with reproductions of conical
nomadic dwellings visited by tourists. The village is equipped with two-story wooden
buildings, a retirement home, a museum dedicated to the culture of reindeer herding,
an ethnic park14 situated a few hundred meters behind the village and, as of late, a large
number of shops specialising in ethnic products.

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Figure 1. Main road of Aoluguya Village, July 2016
© Aurore Dumont, Aoluguya Village, July 2016
18 For the Evenki, before it is a tourist area or an “ethnic village”, Aoluguya is the primary
place to which they feel themselves to belong. Indeed, they explain that, over the
course of generations, Aoluguya became the hometown of reindeer herders, where
everyone found his own place. Although some people do not live for the whole year in
the village, it remains a residential area with fundamental social, economic and
administrative functions. Basically, after the “Ecological Migration” a house was
allotted to every Evenki nuclear family.
19 As a governmental centre, the village is a place where “the political structure of the
state meets a social community” (Humphrey & Sneath 1999, p. 198). The local
authorities play an important role in organising the village’s social structure: they
distribute household allocations, resolve potential conflicts regarding herding or other
cases and organise collective events in which most people take part such as the
“Auspicious Festival” (Ch. sebin jie 瑟宾节), the official Evenki celebration held annually
on 18 June. Of equal importance is reindeer herding management, in which the local
authorities take an active part. They provide herders with free equipment for their
seasonal life in the camp (removable dwellings, solar panels and other useful furniture)
vaccinations and food. They also buy antlers from herders who wish to sell them, and
they participate in each nomadisation from one camp to another by providing the
trucks and equipment necessary for moving. Even though members of the local
authorities are spatially distant from the camps in the forest, they remain crucial
decision makers.
20 The observations conducted in the village also offer a glimpse into the social
relationships maintained between Evenki people within their community. Since the
camps are situated far away from the village, thus complicating interactions between

141
people, the village also acts as a gathering place. All the news related to life in the
forest (reindeer herding, forest industry affairs, environmental problems, who left the
camp and when, etc.) passes through the village when people meet there. When leaving
the village, families disperse and set up tents in their respective camps.
21 According to the Evenki, Aoluguya forms the point of departure and arrival in all the
itineraries of the herders when they go to or come back from the forest. The village
also has a role in the herding decision-making process: all decisions related to reindeer
herding are taken in the village (both by the herders and the local government). For
example, herders and the local authorities meet in order to define a day for antler
cutting or the date of the next nomadisation for the camp. It is also here where
collective herding alliances between the different members of a given camp are formed
and decisions are made with regard to the type of seasonal work to be done (for
example, care of the new-born, milking, the repair of a tent, etc.). Social ties are
expressed more prominently in the village than in the camps, or, at least, they offer a
more precise instance of this social mechanism. Festive events provide a telling
example of this logic: the whole community always gathers in the village for annual
festivities, weddings or other social gatherings.
22 Since 2003, when Aoluguya was relocated 250 km to the south, the proximity with
Genhe City has redefined the Evenki’s daily lives. All social structures such as schools,
hospitals, banks, supermarkets, etc. are situated in Genhe, the village providing a few
grocery stores and shops for tourists open only during the summer. This is why all the
Evenki children are enrolled in Genhe schools. Urbanisation also allows for various
leisure activities much appreciated by the people (restaurants, karaoke) and
commercial opportunities, since the Evenki can find some shops or Han Chinese
partners to sell their products (mainly reindeer antlers). Vicinity to the urban space
also implies remoteness from the camps. From the 1950s to the present day, reindeer
herders have repeatedly survived the creation of the ethnic village, its multiple moves
and its transformation into a hub of tourism during the summer. However, the
community has had to adapt to each change by rearranging its territory, taking
possession of different places and covering greater distances to reach camps in the
taiga.
The camp
23 An older Evenki woman told me that in the 1960s, there were so many camps that it
was impossible to count them all. In July 2016, there were 12 camps, but this number
varies frequently according to people’s needs, agreements and disagreements.
Throughout the year, the Evenki divide their life and activities between the camp and
the village. The length of their presence in the camp can extend from a few days to
several weeks or months, depending on seasonal herding and individual constraints. A
camp is organised into one to six tents, each being occupied by one person, a group of
persons from the same nuclear family, a couple, relatives or even friends, depending on
the season. During the winter, when reindeer require less care, only a few people,
mostly men, are in the camp. Young women and children are largely absent during this
period because children attend school in Genhe City. Thus, women’s competences and
responsibilities in the camp such as cooking, repairing clothes and tending to animals
have also become men’s tasks (Dumont 2015, p. 85). In contrast, summer is quite a busy
season for herding and, recently, for tourism. Furthermore, as the children are on

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vacation, more people (from one or more families) share the camp from the beginning
of July to the end of August.
24 For herders, the camp is a living space in the forest. Being spatially and symbolically
detached from the administrative centre, it allows for a more flexible approach to
herding management. In the taiga, the camp is laid out according to both
administrative territorial limits and Evenki perceptions of the environment. The
12 camps are situated between 20 and 250 km away from the village 15, along the railway
line linking Genhe in the south to the township of Alongshan 16 in the north. Even
though they are scattered in the forest, each camp is connected either to a township or
to Genhe by a road. This high level of urbanisation (compared to most of the Siberian
situation, where the camps of the Evenki are situated hundreds of kilometres away
from a township) highlights the effects of state economic development policies in the
area. The state planners’ perception of space determines the distribution and delimits
the boundaries of available lands in the forest. As a result, the taiga is mapped into nine
forest areas (Ch. linchang 林场), which are delimited by roads (Ch. gonglu 公路) at each
township’s entrance. The roads are further divided into numbered embranchments
(Ch. chaxian 岔线) or other signalizations, small lanes trailing off into the taiga. Roads
and forestry stations are numbered according to the territorial organisation, while
mountains, valleys and townships have kept their Evenki-sounding names even after
being transliterated and sinicised (toponyms bear Tungusic appellations, including
Evenki, Oroqen and Manchu names17).
25 While the Chinese way conceives the forest as marked by boundaries, the Evenki way is
based on a concept of multiplicity. By multiplicity, I mean a large range of resources,
techniques and places conceptualised and used in different ways by the Evenki
according to the requirements of herding and, to a lesser degree, hunting. Nowadays,
the Evenki mainly use Mandarin terms or expressions to describe the environment and
its surroundings – the young generations in particular only speak Mandarin. In this
respect, the Evenki refer to the camp and its adjacent environment as “hunters’ point”
(Ch. liemin dian 猎民点), “forest” (Ch. senlin 森林) or “mountains” (Ch. shan 山).
Regardless of the season, the camp is called “hunters’ point” or “camp” in Chinese.
Sometimes, the Evenki may also use the autochthonous term egdan, which designates
the camp but literally means “taiga forest” or the “forest inhabited by nomads 18”. When
one leaves the village for the camp, one says that one “goes uphill” (Ch. shangshan 上
山), while one would say that one “goes downhill” (Ch. xiashan 下山) when leaving the
camp. Indeed, the area is mostly mountainous, and the metaphor of the mountain is
always associated with a specific milieu that supports herding and hunting practices,
one that is different from the city or the village. Going uphill means to reach the forest,
the camp and its adjacent environment, pastures and hunting grounds.
26 The dwellings are diverse, differentiated by various terms and languages. The conical
tent (djiu in Evenki, which also designates the household) is referred to via the Russian
word meaning “tent” (palatka) by the Evenki and serves mainly as food store or a place
for tourists to sleep. The modern rectangular tent (zhangpeng 帐篷 in Chinese) is the
main living space during the summer months. Since 2013-2014, a third type of dwelling
has been provided for free by the local government of Aoluguya to Evenki herders: a
tent-covered truck (Ch. pengche 篷车) used during the winter19. In addition, the camp
consists of a collective reindeer enclosure, a platform owned by each family for the

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storage of belongings (Evk. engnewun, Ch. cangku 仓库), a solar panel, a kennel for dogs
and, for some families, a reserve of hay during winter.
Figure 2. A summer camp with reindeer, Pelagiia summer camp, Alongshan area, July 2016
© Aurore Dumont, Alongshan area, July 2016
Figure 3. A modern rectangular tent, Pelagiia summer camp, Alongshan area, July 2016
© Aurore Dumont, Alongshan area, July 2016
27 For the Evenki, the taiga ideally has no strict boundaries, unlike the administrative
territories defined by fixed marks. At first sight, a camp may seem to be situated in a

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divided landscape shaped by local authorities for the needs of forest industry. Although
they are codified, none of the areas in the forest are subject to regulatory constraints.
The Evenki use many virgin areas without numbers, names and human occupation for
herding and hunting. I consider that the two types of areas correspond to a dual spatial
reading of the Evenki conception of environment. The first one, which I call “normed
territory”, bears the administration’s stamp of demarcations and controls. This
territory is divided into roads, regulated by signs and exploited and crossed by both
Han Chinese (forestry workers, town inhabitants and tourists for the camps next to
Aoluguya Village) and by the Evenki. The second one, which I designate by
“autonomous territory”, is inscribed in the “normed territory”. At first sight, the
“autonomous territory” appears to be isolated, devoid of administrative signs or
human presence. However, the Evenki possess an extensive and comprehensive
knowledge of this “autonomous territory”. They know its shelters, resources and
potential dangers, and also some of its secret hunting grounds (since hunting has been
illegal since 2003). Furthermore, it possesses both visible and invisible signs that form a
set of spatial and symbolic indicators by which the Evenki orient themselves within the
forest. These signs may be the footprints of wild animals or domestic reindeer, a hill
with a particular shape, small rivers or sacred spaces. For the Evenki, the “autonomous
territory” is populated by various spirits or/and human souls. Furthermore some
places must be avoided or, conversely, worshipped through ritual gestures and
offerings. According to the emic understanding, this sacred landscape’s entities have
their own agency, which is reinforced by human action. Since the shaman has lost his/
her main functions in the taiga after the death of the last shaman in 1997, the
interactions of Evenki herders with animals and spirits are now associated with
different places and objects such as particular trees, fire, and are parts of various
individual ritual practices. The latter are performed by individuals (sometimes on a
day-to-day basis) and aim to preserve the community and guarantee success in
hunting. They take various forms that include playing games and feeding spirits in the
“autonomous territory” and in the tent, which in return will give access to game. The
hunting ground is never crossed carelessly: the hunter carefully avoids certain places
considered harmful to humans. For example, a place where a human being died will be
systematically bypassed20. The places populated with spirits will be subject to certain
rules: for instance, one has to feed them to get the opportunity to catch game.
28 The Evenki cover these two spaces, using both of them differently to maximise their
opportunities, to meet the obligations of herding and the needs of hunting and to deal
with bureaucratic restrictions. The “normed territory” is mainly used for commercial
exchanges and supplies while the “autonomous territory” is used for its grazing and
hunting areas, and as a ritual space.
29 Village and other urban areas on the one hand and camp site on the other are often
considered by outsiders as two opposite realms. Although they are indeed
geographically distinct spaces, they also overlap and are used by Evenki herders in
complementary ways.
Evenki mobility between different spaces

30 Throughout the year, the Evenki reindeer herders undertake different trajectories
between urban area and the camp in the taiga: from one camp to another, from one

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camp to a township, Aoluguya Village or Genhe City, and vice versa. These mobility
frameworks are not exclusive categories; they are established complementarily and
highlight how Evenki respond to external pressures and new challenges such as
summer tourism by adopting various forms of mobility.
Choosing a camp in the forest
31 Strictly speaking, nomadisation implies the moving of the nuclear family and its herd
from one camp to another according to seasonal herding and hunting patterns. Before
the 2003 “Ecological Migration”, the Evenki used to camp in a new location almost
every week and nomadisation was carried out on the backs of reindeer. At that time,
there were no solar panels, televisions or iron beds and the equipment was relatively
light. Nowadays, the Evenki nomadise approximately two to four times a year
according to seasonal requirements21, the choice of the nuclear family and summer
tourism for some people. While some herders choose to nomadise one time in the
winter and a second time in the summer, others move every season.
32 Before forming a new camp in the forest, the Evenki have to take into account two
fundamental parameters: the first is dictated by reindeer herding, while the second is
linked to the bureaucratic division of the forest.
33 Following the seasons, the renewal of resources requires the selection of an area
suitable to the herd’s nutritional requirements. Indeed, a variety of rules and spatial
organisation govern the selection of a new camp. Since hunting is banned and
performed more occasionally than before, the choice of a camp area depends primarily
upon the nutritional needs of the reindeer at the expense of hunting activities. First,
herders must find a sheltered zone to protect reindeer from external dangers such as
truck passage and Chinese poachers coming from adjacent townships. They ideally
prefer a territory nestled at the centre of the forest where the camp is not too visible.
The richness of the soil in terms of lichen and the proximity of a water source are
crucial. Once the most favourable area has been chosen, the Evenki organise their camp
in an area marked out in advance by the men. This consists of opening new pathways
by cutting away branches and other obstacles.
34 At the end of the spring in April, the Evenki are busy with the reindeer parturition,
which requires a daily gathering of the herds in the camp and the construction of
enclosures. In May, when the antlers have grown, an experienced herder cuts them,
travelling to each camp and then bringing them in the village. Daily milking
(Evk. sielda) falls to women. Between June and August, men build fires in the centre of
the camp to protect the reindeer against mosquitoes. July and August are also the
season of mushroom picking and constructing or repairing tent structures.
35 As a large amount of wood is required for heating the tents and cooking during the
winter (starting from the end of September), priority is given to areas with larch that
are situated next to the hunting grounds. Since the herd require less care, fewer people
remain in the camp during this season. Every day or every three days, men go to look
for their reindeer (which must stay together), walking up to 5 or 10 km. Other daily
activities include chopping wood and cutting ice from the frozen river for drinking
water. The water is used for cooking and for making tea or hot water.
36 The remaining time is dedicated to hunting, although it is strictly prohibited. Men
mainly practice two types of hunting: tracking and trapping. The first is used to find

146
furbearing animals and deer, while the second is mainly reserved for capturing rabbits.
The ban on hunting was a dramatic event for the Evenki because “hunting is one of the
first activities of the man, and we have learned so much from animals”, as one skilled
hunter once told me in 2011. While conducting field research among the Evenki in the
late 1950s, Chinese scholars asked the following question to an Evenki hunter: “What
would you do if the game was to disappear?” The hunter replied: “If there is no more
game in the future, well then we will see” (NZBZ 1986, p. 178). Fifty years later, game
has been effectively rarefied by decades of industrialisation and over hunting by
newcomers from other provinces. Since hunting became an illegal activity, hunters
have had to take all necessary precautions and prefer to go through “ autonomous
territory” for hunting instead of venturing into “normed territory”.
37 Apart from environmental and herding needs, the Evenki have to deal with an
administratively defined space: this requires adaptive strategies each time they move
from one camp to another. Upon each nomadisation, the Evenki have to select a new
camp area according to the territorial boundaries imposed by the Forestry Department
of Genhe (Ch. Genhe linye ju 根河林业局22). Founded in 1954, this department is in
charge of some 632,000 ha of forest. More than 5,600 people (mainly Han Chinese) work
for this organisation, which deals with development issues as well as the protection and
management of the forest. Since some areas are reserved for woodcutting 23, herders
must be careful not to hinder the passage of forest workers. At the same time, they
need to be able to access areas rich in wood for their own consumption. Moreover, the
camp must be easily identifiable for reasons of safety and easy access. The camp should
be precisely located at the end of a numbered embranchment and not far from the
road. An Evenki technique used to mark the camp location consists of hanging a band
of coloured cloth in a tree24. This proximity to the road allows herders to move easily
and permits the Aoluguya local authorities to reach the camp (to deliver supplies, lead
journalists or accompany a veterinarian). In addition, forest employees are always kept
informed of camp locations and all those who regularly go through the forest, namely
seasonal workers, forestry workers and town residents with whom the nomads
maintain market relationships. Reaching a camp requires that one goes through a
township and a forest station and then takes a main road and several branches.
38 The following two figures provide quite different insights into how annual
nomadisations are carried out according to the aforementioned environmental
parameters and bureaucratic constraints. They show the cases of the two Dongxia camp
and the Dawa camp. Each camp is named by both the local authorities and the Evenki
after the camp leader’s first name. The camp leader is always Evenki and is chosen by
the other camp members.
39 The Dongxia camp is less than 40 km from Genhe City. The nomadisation is carried out
annually two to three times in July and in September along embranchment number 36.
The summer and winter camps are both located between the main road and
embranchment 36, close to streams. The average annual distance covered by the camp
members ranges from 3 to 5 km. This example highlights the considerable reduction of
both the area of nomadisation and mobility. For the sake of comparison, Alexandra
Lavrillier has noted that the Evenki of Southeastern Siberia can cover up to 1,000 km
annually (Lavrillier 2006, p. 4).

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Figure 4. Annual nomadisation of the Dongxia camp in 2009
© Aurore Dumont, according to the explanations from members of the Dongxia camp members,
December 2009
40 The second figure shows quite a different situation.

41 The Dawa camp is 70 km from Jinhe township and about 150 km from the village. Its
annual trajectory of nomadisation is based on a circle made up of five different camp
zones. While the same route is followed during the winter nomadisation, the spring and
summer routes alternate from one year to the next. Regardless of the camp location in
the forest, administrative territorial rules require that hills, mountains or valleys are
not crossed since they delimit the area of nomadisation. The Dawa routes remain stable
and defined by territorial boundaries, as is the case for other people’s nomadisations.

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Figure 5. Annual nomadisation of the Dawa camp in 2013
© Semen Gabyshev, adapted by Aurore Dumont, according to Dawa’s explanations, July 2014
Moving from one camp to another
42 People move from village to camp and from one camp to another. As mentioned earlier,
the ethnic village is the arrival and departure point for every journey. Once the new
site is chosen by men who went off to look for it, some people remain in the camp to
prepare materials while the other members go to the village to gather things, find
people who can help to pack them into a tent truck. The ease with which herders can
switch from one space to another is tied to growing motorisation. The abandonment of
reindeer as pack animals to nomadise in exchange for all-terrain vehicles, which are
considered to be more practical when carrying increasingly heavy herding equipment,
dates back to the beginning of the 1990s. While the equipment is transported by car,
herders reach the new campsite by foot with their herd, which is sometimes also
transported by four-wheel drive and in trucks. Everywhere in Hulun Buir where roads
are surfaced, motorised vehicles have changed the nature of movement. Herders
perform most of their journeys by all-terrain vehicle, car, motorcycle, tractor or truck.
This phenomenon is not unique to the pastoral regions of China. In Chukotka, tracked
vehicles are used to transport heavy goods over long distances during the
transhumance (Vaté 2013, p. 77). China’s reindeer herding management appears to be a
unique case in the world where the animals can be transported by car and so on over
such short distances.
43 Staying in the same camp site for an entire season means that men and especially
women have become less mobile. Whether in the forest or between different spaces,
men are generally much more mobile than women. Women stay for a long period of

149
time in the village, taking care of the children’s education. When they are at the camp,
women are in charge of domestic tasks in the tent and feeding reindeer, which requires
less mobility. Nevertheless, while mobility dictated by herding and hunting has been
largely reduced both in terms of distance and frequency, other trajectories are
characterised by the opposite phenomenon.
Other trajectories
44 Apart from annual nomadisations conducted within the forest, that is to say between
two camps, the Evenki also travel hundreds of kilometres per year for different
purposes. While these movements are difficult to prioritise, it is possible to determine
common trajectories. The first takes place between the camp and the townships for the
purpose of selling merchandise and grocery shopping. The townships are important
places for herders: they are areas for refuelling and making purchases, sales and
exchanges of some hunting products and reindeer antlers. Furthermore, they are also
meeting places. These townships (Ch. xian 县 or zhen 镇 depending on the size) are so
often frequented by the Evenki people that the inhabitants know them all: every
herder, man or woman, goes to his or her own grocer. Reaching a camp in the taiga
requires passing through a township, which marks the beginning of the entry into the
forest area. Before reaching it, herders buy the necessary supplies: meat, rice,
vegetables and other materials. Similarly, when returning to Aoluguya, they must go
through a township, as this is the only way back.
45 In the field, I observed that these journeys, which are different from nomadisations, are
undertaken approximately every week or every two weeks. Thus, the reindeer herders
who go once a month to the Alongshan camp, which is located around 200 km from the
village, travel over 4,800 km every year. The means of locomotion are also very
important. The train connecting Genhe City to Alongshan township remains the
preferred means of transportation for the herders. Upon their arrival in the township,
they use taxis to reach the camp. For less remote camps (between 20 and 40 km), the
Evenki often use the car provided by the local government. Every month, the
government replenishes each camp with food supplies (such as oil, rice and flour). In
addition, as mentioned earlier, the city is part of the herders’ life. Located only 4 km
from Aoluguya Village, Genhe provides a number of elements to herders who live in the
village: first, one can buy everything that is not provided in the township, such as
specific foods, mobile phones and computers. The city has the reputation of having a
wider range of cheaper goods. Moreover, it is synonymous with urban festivities, such
as karaoke and restaurants. Thus, herders like to go regularly to Genhe, which is easily
reachable by taxi during the winter or by motorcycle or bicycle during the summer.
46 Herders want to have access to urban services, like the rest of the population. As
stressed by Humphrey and Sneath, the existence of cities in the steppes is not
incompatible with the maintenance of mobile pastoralism (Humphrey & Sneath 1999,
p. 300).
Tourism mobility
47 Furthermore, since 2012, summer tourism has affected the herding management and
the annual nomadisations of some herder families. Still in its nascent phase in the

150
mid-2000s, tourism is nowadays a well-established local industry in which many

herders take an active part for economic purposes. The tourists are mainly Han Chinese
coming from other provinces of China. Organised into groups and led by a Chinese or
Evenki guide, the tourists normally make a whole tour of the Hulun Buir area. The trip
starts in the southern grasslands of Hulun Buir, where Mongol and other Evenki groups
live, and finishes in the northern forest among the reindeer herders. Tourists come to
see “exotic ethnic minorities” and the only reindeer herders in the country. Thus, the
tourists, who can number more than 150 people a day, visit the village and its museum,
the ethnic park and the forest camps. Tourists usually do not stay more than an hour in
the camp. They pay to be allowed to take pictures of reindeer, conical tents and the
Evenki wearing their ethnic costumes (Dumont 2016, p. 289). The tourists also pay camp
entrance fees and buy souvenirs, which are the main sources of summer tourism
income for the herders.
48 In July 2016, out of a total of 12 camps of reindeer herders, six were opened to tourists
during the summer period from the beginning of June to the end of August. Before the
summer season, the Evenki families must choose a proper place for grazing their herds
and hosting tourists. As we have seen, the Evenki ideally prefer areas that are far away
from the biggest urban centres; however, during the summer season, these two spatial
parameters are reversed. To be reachable by tourists, the camps must be located less
than 20 km away from Aoluguya Village. Besides the spatial arrangement of the
summer camp, the regular flow of tourists has led the Evenki herders to move more
frequently during the summer season. These journeys are mainly conducted between
one camp and the village and between the village and Genhe City. They are carried out
several times a week, depending on the desires of the tourists and the needs of herders.
When the summer season ends, the herder families go back with their herd to the
northern areas for the winter season. The different movements outlined above raise
several questions regarding herd’s viability. The tourism mobility does not go without
causing some damage to the well-being of the reindeer herds. According to six families
of herders engaged in tourism, the poor quality of the vegetation, the pollution and the
flow of people coming every day to the camp cause irreversible damage to the reindeer
and the surrounding environment. The herders engaged in tourism explain their
choice in terms of financial income. Indeed, summer tourism represents a welcome
financial supplement in a place where the principal income comes from governmental
subsidies, the sale of reindeer antlers and illegal hunting.
Are the Evenki herders still nomads?

49 Evenki herders move two to four times a year from the camp to the village, and several
times from the camp to a township and from the village to the township. This
illustrates extensive mobility between these different spaces throughout the year.
These different levels of spatial mobility follow constantly changing patterns,
suggesting that herders’ activities are continuously interacting with various spatial,
political and economic environments, thus giving rise to new nomadic and sedentary
practices. However, nomadic practices cannot be reduced to the mobility parameter.
We have shown that, as part of an ongoing process, nomadic practices encompass
mobility, herding techniques, skills, beliefs and environmental knowledge. The two
categories of space, “normed territory” and “autonomous territory”, analysed in the

151
present paper underline the way the Evenki community uses them in a complementary
manner, being alternately mobile and less mobile.
50 For instance, in the Tibet Autonomous Region, Angela Manderscheid has shown how
the Tibetan pastoralists of Amdo revived their “nomadic lifestyle” based on a
traditional economy of high yak herding by returning to a subsistence-based economy
and adapting the features of the revived lifestyle to changed ecological, political and
economic conditions (Manderscheid 2002).
51 Chinese scholars have carefully examined the issue of nomadism in the pastoral areas
of the PRC. Since 2003, a number of works have been published on the “Ecological
Migration” of 2003 among the Evenki reindeer herders and its impact on their
“traditional way of life”. Before 1949, the Chinese term youlie 游猎 (literally: “to
nomadise” and “to hunt”) was mainly used to refer to reindeer herding and hunting
practices. It was often associated with the idea that the herders were moving
“following water and grass” (Ch. sui shuicao er qianyi 遂水草而迁移). Since the 1950s,
this Chinese conception of “traditional nomadism” has been constantly changing,
especially since a growing number of settlements have been created for nomads. In an
article devoted to the present situation of the Evenki reindeer herders, Qi has provided
a framework, classifying the Evenki into three categories according to the degree of
their mobility and their social status: the “mobile [nomads]” (Ch. yidong weizhu 移动为
主), whose lifestyle is “traditional”, mainly based on nomadism and whose income
principally comes from the sale of reindeer antlers; the “half-mobile and half-
sedentarised [nomads]” (Ch. ban yidong ban dingju 半移动半定居), whose lifestyle is
“modern” and whose income comes from salaries (for those with official and regular
incomes); and the “sedentary people” (Ch. dingju 定居), whose lifestyle is “modern” and
whose income depends on government aid (Qi 2006, p. 100). However, the complex
situation of the Evenki makes difficult to support such a rigorous categorisation.
Indeed, a significant proportion of supposedly “sedentary people” actually possess
reindeer herds and salaries, while some “mobile nomads” have neither reindeer nor
revenues from antler sales; nonetheless, they are engaged in reindeer herding. Thus, in
Northeast China, the Evenki live in a common social sphere. In contrast, Alexandra
Lavrillier demonstrates that among the Evenki of Southeastern Siberia, despite the
circulation of some individuals between camps, villages and towns, Evenki nomadic
herders, villagers and townspeople do exist and function as distinctive and different
social spheres (Lavrillier 2005, pp. 169-413 et passim).
52 For the Evenki of China, the reindeer herd is a form of both material and symbolic
capital, and most human activities relate to reindeer in one way or the other. Whatever
its nature, reindeer herders pursue the same goal: the optimisation of nomadic
practices through constantly modified knowledge. As a social and economic system,
herding and the antler business represent both the main sources of income for the
herders and their “cultural values”. Mobile or less mobile, living alternately in ethnic
village and in the camp, all the Evenki consider reindeer essential for their existence.
As they often say: “without reindeer, the Evenki would not exist”.

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Qi Huijun 祁惠君 2006 Xunlu Ewenke ren shengtai yimin de minzuxue kaocha 驯鹿鄂温克人生态
移民的民族学考察 [Ethnological investigation on the ecological migration of Evenki reindeer
herders], Manyu yanjiu 1, pp. 98-105.
Shirokogoroff, S. M. [1929] 1966 Social Organization of the Northern Tungus (Oosterhout, The
Netherlands).
Stépanoff, C., C. Ferret, G. Lacaze & J. Thorez (eds) 2013 Nomadismes d’Asie centrale et septentrionale
(Paris, Armand Colin).
Tsui, Y. 2012 Swinging between nomadism and sedentarism: a case study of social and
environmental change in the nomadic society of the Altay steppes, Xinjiang, Nomadic Peoples
16(1), pp. 50-67.
Vaté, V. 2013 La chenillette en Tchoukotka, in C. Stépanoff, C. Ferret, G. Lacaze & J. Thorez (eds),
Nomadismes d’Asie centrale et septentrionale (Paris, Armand Colin), p. 77.
Xie Yuanyuan 谢元媛 2010 Shengtai yimin zhengce yu difang zhengfu shijian : yi Aoluguya Ewenke
shengtai yimin weili 生态移民政策与地方政府实践:以敖鲁古雅鄂温克生态移民为例 [The
ecological migration governmental policy and its application by local authorities: the Aoluguya Evenki case
study] (Beijing, Beijing daxue chubanshe).
2015 Ecological Migrants. The relocation of China’s Ewenki Reindeer Herders (New York, Oxford,
Berghahn).
(this volume) From hunters to herders. Reflections on the “Ecological Migration” of the Chinese
Evenki reindeer herders, Études mongoles & sibériennes, centrasiatiques & tibétaines 49 [online, URL:
Yong Tianzhen 永田珍 [Nagata, H.] [1969] 1991 Xunlu Elunchun 驯鹿鄂伦春 [The Orochen
Reindeer herders], translated from Japanese by Ao Denggua 奥登挂 in Neimenggu zizhiqu
ewenke yanjiuhui (ed.) Ewenke zu yanjiu wenji 鄂温克族研究文集 [Collected works on Evenki
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NOTES
1. According to China’s ethnic policy, areas with a considerable concentration of “ethnic
minorities” have been given special political and administrative status. The “ethnic villages”
(Ch. minzu xiang 民族乡) are one of these administrative units designated for “ethnic minorities”.
They were mainly created in the 1950s and 1960s, when the ethnic groups were still a majority.
The growing number of Han Chinese has led the “ethnic minorities” to become a minority in
these “ethnic villages”.
2. For more details about ethnographers who have conducted fieldwork among the Evenki
reindeer herders of China, see the introduction.
3. I conducted my fieldwork mainly in Mandarin.
4. The Evenki reindeer herders are officially part of the “Evenki ethnic minority” which is
composed of three sub-groups: the reindeer herders, the Solon and the Khamnigan. While the
reindeer herders live in the forest zone, the Solon and the Khamnigan live in the grasslands areas
near their Mongol neighbours. According to the 2010 Chinese National Census, the total population
of the Evenki amounts to 30,875 people. After their merger with the official Evenki entity, no
population figure is available for the Evenki reindeer herders. I thus give an approximate number
provided by the local authorities. For more details about the three Evenki sub-groups of China,
see the introduction.
5. For a detailed analysis of the “Ecological Migration” process and its social impact, see Xie 2010,
2015, pp. 85-124, Fraser 2010 and Xie in the present volume.
6. Regarding the large size of pastoral areas, including both forest and steppe zones in Hulun
Buir, territorial planning was administered differently. In the present case study, I refer only to
the forest zone of the Genhe and Argun river area, where the Evenki herders live nowadays.
7. For a comprehensive analysis of the ethnic policies pursued in PRC, see Gladney 2004 and
Heberer 1989.
8. The policies in this part of the Soviet Union were effectively carried out from the 1940s and the
1950s, depending on the region. For more details, see Lavrillier 2005, pp. 102-140.
9. At this time, Qiqian was better known by its Russian appellation “Ust-Urov”, named after the
border village on the Russian side.
10. Today, these four clans are still known and have many representatives among the Evenki.
They have been transformed into the Chinese family names Suo 索 (Sologon), Bu 布 (Buldotin),
Ka 卡 (Kaltakun) and Gu 固 (Gudrin).
11. Nowadays, the mayor of Aoluguya Village is a Solon Evenki. The other people who work in
the local government are both Evenki and Han Chinese.
12. According to the Ministry of Public Security quoted by the Genhe government’s online
website: www.genhe.gov.cn (last accessed on 25 July 2018).
13. The total population includes the other two villages under the jurisdiction of Genhe City:
Sanchejian 三车间 and Jialaga 加拉嘠. Excluding the Evenki, the population is composed of Han
Chinese (768) and eight other “ethnic minorities” (Manchu, Mongol, Hui, Oroqen, Russian, Dahur,
Korean and Li), according to data provided by the Central Institute of Ethnic Administrators
(Ch. Zhongyang minzu ganbu xueyuan 中央民族干部学院).
14. The ethnic park, officially called the “primitive tribe’s tourist park” (yuanshi buluo lüyoudian
原始部落旅游店) is the first Evenki recreational camp built in the area. Financed by the local
authorities, this “open-air museum” offers attractions and reindeer exhibitions.
15. In 1994, when the Evenki were living in their former village, Naran Bilik noted that the camps
were about 60 km away from the village (Bilik 1996, pp. 65-66).
16. Alongshan is the biggest township (Ch. zhen 镇) of Genhe area. It was built in 1968 following
the development of the forest industry (NZEY, HEY 2007, p. 391).

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17. For example, Gadzha (Ch. Galaya 嘎拉雅) means “ferocious bird” or “giant bird” in Evenki. It
is a small hamlet constructed in 1959 and situated to the north of Genhe City. Haolibao 好里堡,
another small hamlet 4 km away from Genhe City, is the Chinese transcription of the Evenki term
kolbo, which is a storage cache.
18. Personal communication by Alexandra Lavrillier about the Southeastern Siberian and
Chinese Evenki reindeer herders.
19. The covered truck is a new type of mobile dwelling used by a number of pastoralists and
herders. It first appeared in the steppe areas of Hulun Buir in the mid-2000s to replace the
Mongol yurt. Since 2013-2014, the local government of Aoluguya has provided the Evenki
reindeer herders with this new type of mobile home for the winter. Each camp is given a covered
truck for free. While some families have chosen to live in the covered trucks during the winter,
others still prefer to stay in their tents.
20. For a comparison with local spirits and ritual practices among the Russian Evenki of
Transbaikal region, see Brandišauskas in the present volume.
21. In the words of Lavrillier (2005), the “Evenki calendar” in Siberia is composed of five seasons:
the summer (Evk. diugha), the autumn (Evk. bolo), the winter (Evk. tughe), the first spring
(Evk. nelkini) and the second spring (Evk. niengneni). Each season corresponds to specific pastoral
and/or hunting activities. This calendar is known among the older reindeer herders in China.
22. See the official website: http://www.ghlyj.com.
23. Woodcutting has been regulated since 2003.
24. The Evenki of Southeast Siberia use these ribbons (Evk. ulganivun) for offerings to the local
spirits with a second function of “marking the camp space” (Lavrillier 2005, pp. 472-478).
ABSTRACTS
The last six decades of Chinese state policies has led to the transformation of the Evenki reindeer
herders’ domestic economy, a more systematic use of fixed homes and the reduction of the
grazing areas. Paradoxically, the herders’ mobility has become more flexible and extensive, while
herding skills remain a fundamental component of their way of life. The present paper explores
the contemporary nomadic practices of the Evenki by examining their annual moves between
village and camp. The constant movement of the herders between these two complementary
spaces reflects their strategies for adapting to ecological and political challenges.
Les politiques étatiques chinoises de ces six dernières décennies ont conduit à la transformation
de l’économie domestique des Évenks éleveurs de renne, à une utilisation accrue d’habitats fixes,
et à la réduction des zones de pâturage. Paradoxalement, la mobilité des éleveurs est devenue
plus flexible et étendue, tandis que les compétences liées à l’élevage demeurent une composante
fondamentale de leur mode de vie. Le présent article étudie les pratiques nomades
contemporaines des Évenks en examinant leurs mouvements annuels entre village et
campement. Les mouvements constants des Évenks entre ces deux espaces complémentaires
reflètent leurs stratégies d’adaptation aux défis écologiques et politiques.

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INDEX
Mots-clés: Évenk, élevage, nomadisme, pastoralisme, mobilité, sédentarisation, politiques
publiques, minorités ethniques, Chine, Mongolie-Intérieure
Keywords: Evenki, herding, nomadism, pastoralism, mobility, sedentarisation, public policies,
ethnic minorities, China, Inner Mongolia
AUTHOR
AURORE DUMONT
Aurore Dumont completed her PhD in anthropology at École Pratique des Hautes Études, Paris in
2014. Her doctoral research explores the contemporary pastoral practices of Evenki people in
Inner Mongolia, People’s Republic of China. Between 2015 and 2017, Aurore Dumont was a
postdoctoral fellow of the Centre for China Studies at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. She is
currently a postdoctoral fellow at the Institute of Ethnology in Academia Sinica, Taiwan. Her
current research focuses on the ritual practices (oboo cairns and shamanic graves worships)
among the Tungus and Mongol societies of Northeastern China from the Late Qing up to the
present.
auroredumont@gmail.com

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From hunters to herders.

Reflections on the “Ecological
Migration” of the Chinese Evenki
reindeer herders
Des chasseurs aux éleveurs. Réflexions sur la « migration écologique » des
Évenks éleveurs de rennes de Chine
Yuanyuan Xie
EDITOR'S NOTE
click here
click here
This work was supported by the Chinese Fund for the Social Sciences (No. 11CMZ043). I would
like to thank Prof. David Anderson from the University of Aberdeen, Prof. Jessie Ribot from the
University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, Dr. Alexandra Lavrillier, and Dr. Aurore Dumont for
their many helpful suggestions.
Introduction
1 The Evenki reindeer herders of China are part of the “Evenki ethnic minority”
(Ch. Ewenke shaoshu minzu 鄂温克少数民族) and today have a population of
approximately 300 people1. Their nomadic lifestyle was once constituted by a
combination of reindeer herding and hunting: they domesticated reindeer for milk and
transportation while hunting other animals for meat. Before 1949, the cornucopia of
animals living in the Greater Khingan Range, like birds, animals, and various species of

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fish, were the Evenki’s principal sources of food and clothing. Over the years, the
Evenki developed reindeer domestication, learned to utilise birch bark to make tent
covers and containers, and became skilled at tanning animal skins. This group has a lot
in common with the Evenki reindeer herders in eastern Siberia.
2 The Evenki reindeer herders, or “Aoluguya Evenki” as they are known today, were
given various official appellations over the years. In the official documents of the Qing
dynasty (1644-1911), they were called the “Reindeer-using tribe” (Ch. Shilu bu 使鹿部);
after the foundation of the People’s Republic of China (1949), they were officially
designated the “Evenki hunters” (Ch. Ewenke liemin 鄂温克猎民). “Hunter” is not only
a professional identity, it is also a political one. Up until the 2000s, the Evenki had the
right to hunt, but they lost the right to do this in the forest in 2003. However, although
they are not entitled to hunt, they have retained their political identity as “hunters”,
which means they receive more social welfare than before: this has fed into a
reputation of hunters who receive social welfare but do not work. However, after the
“Ecological Migration” of 2003, the appellation gradually became “reindeer herders”
(Ch. Xunlu yangzhi zhe 驯鹿养殖者).
3 In 2003, I conducted one year of fieldwork in Genhe city, in the Inner Mongolia
Autonomous Region, and revisited the site three times from 2011 to 2014.
4 In my fieldwork, I ate, talked, and worked with the Evenki: I spent most of my time in
Aoluguya, although I also sometimes accompanied the herders to Jinhe, Alongshan, and
Mangui (townships about 200 km from the village). Every day I made observations and
conducted interviews. The setup of the tents (like the malu’s2 location, the tanning
hides, etc.) was similar to what Lindgren described in 1931, when she was conducting
fieldwork among the Evenki group (Lindgren 1935). This means that this group has
kept some of its traditional customs for decades. Thus, some mass media hold them to
be a living fossil of one of China’s nomadic ethnic groups. However, in reality many
aspects of their lifestyle have undergone changes3.
5 In this article, I first describe the “Ecological Migration” in 2003 and then trace the
development of state-led Evenki hunters back to the founding of the People’s Republic
of China in 1949. Finally, I consider the transformation of the social standing of the
Evenki people over the course of 60 years. The main purpose of the paper is to reveal
the changes in the life of the Evenki people under the external pressure of the
government-led modernisation project.
The 2003 “Ecological Migration”

6 A series of governmental policies known as “Ecological Migration” (Ch. shengtai yimin
生态移民) caused a shift from the administrative category of “hunter” to that of
“reindeer herder”. In Chinese, “Ecological Migration” refers both to the people who are
required to move (the “ecological migrants”) and the policy regarding migration. In
2000, in order to balance the unequal development between eastern and mid-western
China, the central government launched the “Open up the West” (Ch. xibu da kaifa 西部
大开发) campaign. To improve the ecological environment in the western regions of
China, the Chinese government relocated people and their animals out of areas where
the environment was officially declared under serious threat and then closed off these
places in order to nurture plant life through artificial cultivation techniques.

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7 Nowadays, the only group of Evenki reindeer herders in China live in the Aoluguya
Evenki ethnic village (Ch. Aoluguya Ewenke minzu xiang 敖鲁古雅鄂温克民族乡) in
Genhe county (Hulun Buir prefecture, the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region). The
appellation “Aoluguya” refers to the two villages shown on the map below: the first was
the Evenki settlement before the “Ecological Migration”, the second one afterwards.
The former is called “Old Aoluguya” and the latter just “Aoluguya”. For simplicity’s
sake, the local people shortened the official name to the “Ao township” (Ch. Ao xiang
敖乡).
Figure 1. The “Ecological Migration” of the Evenki from Old Aoluguya to new Aoluguya in 2003
© Max Fisher (in Xie 2015)
8 The “Ecological Migration” in 2003 was the third relocation of the Evenki reindeer
herders since the founding of the People’s Republic of China in 1949 (Kolås 2011, Xie
2015). The previous two relocations occurred in 1957, in 1959 and in 1965. In 1957, the
government built the first Evenki ethnic village in Qiqian 奇乾, next to the Soviet
border; in 1959, a special fund of 48,000 RMB4 was allocated to the construction of 30
wooden houses in Qiqian. The purpose of the previous two relocations was to provide
better material conditions for the Evenki and to make them give up their nomadic
lifestyle. An investigation conducted by the State Ethnic Affairs Commission 5 at that
time showed that, in addition to the eight families who had already been settled in
Qiqian, another 18 families (out of a total of 31) also requested settlement (Guobuku &
Mandu’ertu 1960). However, except for the leaders of the village and the supply and
sales store (both of whom resided in town for most of the year), all of the other nomads
spent long periods of time hunting and herding in the forest. As such, the government’s
aim to see the Evenki hunters settled in a fixed location was never completely realised.

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This was because a permanent residence was not conducive to either hunting or
reindeer herding, both of which require a nomadic lifestyle in the forest.
9 In 1965, with the relationship between China and the USSR turning sour 6, the situation
in Qiqian became complicated. This was the context within which the “Jimide incident”
occurred. In the winter of 1964, a child fell sick; the situation was very urgent, since no
treatment was available locally. Jimide, deputy head of the Qiqian Evenki ethnic village
and deputy head of the village police station, went to his superior to request a
helicopter to airlift the sick child to an out-of-town hospital. However, he was refused.
Jimide therefore argued that it was necessary to cross the Argun River and enter the
USSR to save the child. This resulted in a fight between the two men: Jimide attempted
to grab his superior’s gun and was shot dead in the attempt. He was labelled a counter-
revolutionary who had surrendered to revisionism and treason. Concerned with the
safety of the border, the government decided to move the Evenki from Qiqian to what
is today called “Old Aoluguya”. The government also intended to use the relocation
plan to sendentarise the Evenki. It was believed that this people were engaged in a
“primitive hunting lifestyle”, the lowest stage in the Marxist conception of human
history; therefore, they had to be reformed by the Chinese state. However, these two
relocations did not completely alter their nomadic life in the forest. The Evenki were
satisfied with both new situations because the government allowed them to open up
new hunting areas; equally, their living conditions improved through the provision of
government support (Kong 1989, pp. 30-43). However, the third relocation in 2003
aroused serious discontent among the Evenki. The plan to have the reindeer pen-fed
failed, which resulted in the restoration of forest-based herding.
10 In 2003, mass media spread news about the “Ecological Migration”, attracting
international attention7. The head of the World Reindeer Herders’ Association invited
Aoluguya to participate in its conference; the village became a member of this
organisation soon afterwards. In 2009, a delegation of Evenki reindeer herders attended
the Fourth World Reindeer Herders’ Congress in Norway, where the Aoluguya township
was elected as the host of the fifth congress to be held in 2013. Since then, the local
government has begun to redesign its development plan for the Evenki reindeer
herders. In contrast to the original policy of forcing them to abandon their traditional
lifestyle, the government is now encouraging the Evenki to recover some aspects of
their “traditional lifestyle” by wearing ethnic costumes, learning the Evenki language,
maintaining reindeer herding, building nomadic camps, and making handicrafts for
tourists; however, hunting has been completely banned8.
Old Aoluguya before the “Ecological Migration”

11 The Evenki reindeer herders lived in Old Aoluguya for 38 years. According to the
herders I interviewed, Old Aoluguya was a good place for hunting and herding. While
they resided there, the local government adopted different guidelines to shape the
Evenki’s lifestyle and mode of production.
12 In 1967, at the height of the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976), Aoluguya was organised
into a people’s commune. The “Oriental Red Hunting Unit” (Ch. Dongfang hong lieye
dui 东方红猎业队) was formed to implement the “Hunting at the Forefront: Protecting,
Herding, and Hunting Simultaneously” guideline9. In 1979, due to the exhaustive
exploitation of the forest and the large number of drifters who arrived in Aoluguya, the

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number of games began to decrease. The government adopted a new guideline titled
“Herding Reindeer at the Forefront: Protecting, Herding, and Hunting
Simultaneously10”. The main activities of the hunters shifted from hunting other
animals to herding and managing reindeer. Acknowledging the reality of this situation,
the local government developed the aforementioned guideline further, renaming it the
“Herding Reindeer at the Forefront: Protecting, Herding, and Hunting Simultaneously:
the Active Development of Diversified Modes of Production and Livelihood 11” in 1980.
The development was aimed at stressing the application of scientific knowledge and
methods to traditional styles of herd management. The goal was to transform the lives
of Evenki hunters from what the government saw as something approaching vagrancy
to a proper, civilised lifestyle in fixed residences.
13 In 1980, the government provided the hunters with 72 semi-automatic rifles and
100,000 bullets in order to improve hunting conditions. The government invested tens
of thousands of RMB12 to turn wooden houses into more durable structures made of
bricks and tiles. The government also laid power lines from Mangui to the Ao township,
expanded schools and dormitories, and opened a nursing home. Old Aoluguya was
given permission to fell 1,000 cubic meters of timber each year: this was a significant
source of financial support at the time. Tents, movable plank houses, generators, and
winter clothing were provided to the Evenki nomadic families in the forest.
Experimental pens were built and a contract production system for raising reindeer
was adopted in 1983. In an effort to boost production and improve the quality of the
herds, Chinese scientists undertook research on reindeer breeding. At the same time,
the local government responded quickly to natural disasters and organized rescue
efforts13.
14 According to the Evenki hunter Bart, the people were satisfied with life in Old
Aoluguya:
The government built brand new wooden houses for us. The houses were tall and
spacious and of good quality. The site was well chosen too. The officials back then
were very nice. They lived and ate with us in the forest. They knew that we were
hunting for a living. The relocation to Old Aoluguya in 1965 essentially helped us
open up new hunting areas. After the move to Old Aoluguya, the government’s
policies were very beneficial for us. Back then, food coupons were in use. Each
month we could receive 25 kg of rice and white flour. The flour we received was
refined wheat flour, whereas the forestry workers14 only got coarse grain flour.
Additionally, each month we received more bean oil than they did. Many hunter
families purchased cameras, bicycles, and several wristwatches. At that time, we all
bought thick wool coats. Actually, wool coats got caught very easily on things in the
forest, but because the village’s leaders all wore wool coats, we did the same. When
we had money, we also purchased floor rugs. Although they were not as warm as
bear hides, they were an indicator of our wealth. We enjoyed excellent welfare
then. Schooling and health clinic visits did not cost money. The students all
received living allowances. Each of us male Evenki hunters was a forest patrol
worker, and every month we were entitled to a forest patrol salary of 18 RMB.
Later, it increased to 36 RMB. Women from outside all wanted to marry “hunter
men”. Men from outside were also willing to marry “hunter women”.
15 From the above interview, we can see that despite the fact that the Evenki families had
been relocated to Old Aoluguya and owned wooden houses, they did not give up their
nomadic lifestyle. Except for the village’s officials, workers, and students, many people
were still living in the forest. However, as time went by, fewer people were still

162
engaged in their traditional lifestyle. Before the “Ecological Migration” in 2003, there
were about 40 people still constantly living in the forest.
16 Living in Old Aoluguya had tremendous influence on the lives of the Evenki reindeer
herders. Firstly, the facilities and infrastructure the government built needed
management and staff, so workers were brought in, which increased the population of
Old Aoluguya. Secondly, the good living conditions in Old Aoluguya attracted many
outsiders, which greatly expanded the scope of potential marriage partners for the
Evenki hunters. Thirdly, the obligatory nine-year boarding school education provided
by the government enabled all Evenki children of school-age to obtain an education.
However, this practice gradually drew Evenki children away from their familial
environment and traditional lifestyle.
At Aoluguya after the “Ecological Migration”

17 After the “Ecological Migration” in 2003, it quickly became apparent that the reindeer
herds were not doing well in the low lands. This was one of the reasons why some
Evenki refused to move their camps. The reindeer suffered serious losses in the first
month after the relocation. Over 300 reindeer were transported to the new village
during the first phase of the relocation. To the Evenki’s dismay, about 90 reindeer
either went missing or died. Originally there were over 100 reindeer at the
enhancement station of Aoluguya. After the heavy losses in the herds that had been
relocated, most of the station’s herd was given to the herders to compensate for their
losses; only 21 reindeer remained at the station. This demonstrated that the reindeer
preservation project, which involved the purchase of reindeer from Russia and an
investment of over 400,000 RMB15 from the government in 1996, had failed.
18 Many reindeer died: they either starved to death, since there was a lack of lichen, or
were killed in poachers’ traps. The surviving reindeer were bony and weak, a complete
contrast to the strong and healthy reindeer living in the Alongshan area before 2003.
The old Evenki reindeer herders were more determined than ever to remain in their
old homes.
19 After 2003, the Evenki reindeer herder families retained their dual lifestyle between the
village and their camp16. In 2004, the reindeer herders would leave the forest every few
months and stay in their new houses in the village for several days. Every quarter, they
received subsistence allowances. They would then gather together to go to restaurants
in the downtown area and enjoy good food. One person’s three-month subsistence
allowance (300 RMB17) was thereby squandered away in a single day. The herders also
frequently went to quietly sit in front of the government building to protest. On each
such occasion, they were warmly treated by the department head in question, who,
after much persuasion, was able to convince the Evenki to accept rides back to the
village in government vehicles.
20 The village officials were left scratching their heads helplessly in the face of the
continuous hassle that the hunters created. In private, the officials expressed to me
their regret at having moved the Evenki so close to Genhe city centre (Ao township was
only 5 km away). The Evenki’s proximity made it easier for them to hold silent
demonstrations in front of the city hall, which caused a great deal of trouble for the
government. After the relocation, not only did the conflicts between the Evenki and the

163
government become more frequent and intense, but fierce disputes, distinct from those
of the past, also broke out among the hunters themselves. The Evenki believed that life
had become more difficult after the relocation, and they felt a sense of deprivation with
the loss of their hunting rights.
Resource conflicts
21 Resource conflicts have emerged as a result of different “political identities”. After the
relocation, the Evenki have faced many predicaments. The biggest conundrum has been
that various parties are unable to reach any consensus about the use of the most
important natural resource, the forest. The Evenki, with a long history of living in the
forest, felt a strong sense of deprivation and mistreatment when they were moved out
of their traditional ecological setting. They argued: “the forests used to belong only to
us. But now the mountains have been quietly taken away from us and we have now
been reduced to a people adrift in the forests”. Outsiders who come to the forests to
make a living by exploiting the resources, including unemployed workers who pick red
berries, have often complained: “We are all citizens of China. It is unreasonable to let
the Evenki hunters have exclusive access to the rich resources in the forests. Of course
we should have the right to pick berries and gather herbs in the forests”.
22 When faced with limited resources, can the conflicts that arise over access to resources
be resolved by finding the right balance between the need for long-term sustainability
of resources with the need for economic growth and development? Access to resources
may be managed regardless of whether management methods are based on the taboos
and lifestyles of traditional societies or on laws and regulations passed by the
government. However, in practice, there has been resistance from both the local
government and the Evenki.
23 Before 2003, the Evenki’s “ownership rights” of the forest were based on traditional
usage, not on any state-recognised system of legal and economic ownership. Today,
however, there are Han Chinese forest workers in the region who also make claims on
forest resources, a phenomenon that has given rise to problems regarding resource
allocation and the delimitation of property rights. Population growth in the region and
the corresponding increases in competition for resources eventually led to more
serious conflicts. In addition, the Evenki have established relationships with other
reindeer herding groups in other countries, which means that they have international
support that could help them fight for more rights and resources locally. The Fifth
World Reindeer Herders’ Congress was held in Aoluguya in 2013: this bestowed
significant publicity upon the Chinese Evenki reindeer herders, thereby giving them an
advantage in future negotiations with the government. The recent “Reducing Emissions
from Deforestation and Degradation and Enhancing Carbon Stocks” (REDD+)
mechanism may also provide another opportunity for indigenous peoples who live in
forests (Sikor & Stahl 2011) to obtain rights to resources.
24 In the past, the local government often adopted simplified measures for dealing with
troubles relating to resource management. In particular, the government’s
development of ethnic tourism in the Evenki village has meant that it has had to re-
evaluate its stance vis-à-vis the lifestyle of the Evenki. In 2003, the government made
efforts to persuade the Evenki to give up living in the forest; however, the government
now encourages them to return to the forest during the summer season in order to

164
prepare the area for tourists. The government previously decried forest-based reindeer
herding and was in favour of pen feeding, but now offers stylish conical tents 18 and
beds to encourage the practices of traditional life.
25 As we know, shifts in government policies often create larger social conflicts. Even in
Norway, strife emerged recently between Sami reindeer herders and the government
with regard to monetary compensation for herd loss (Kintisch 2014, Tveraa et al. 2014)
and a de-stocking policy (Johnsen et al. 2015). Assumptions and actions based on
patronising self-conceit, regardless of whether such assumptions and actions are
intended to benefit others, will likely lead only to estrangement, grievances, and
violent conflict.
Government measures
26 In order to improve the living standards of the Evenki reindeer herders, the local
government has been implementing some new measures since 2003.
Attracting commercial investments
27 In November 2003, a small wood processing factory was built in Aoluguya. The owners
of the factory rented village houses from the Evenki trading shop. The small factory
mainly produces round wooden sticks used for corn dogs. Two months after production
started, the factory began to make a profit. Its estimated annual sales were worth over
300,000 RMB19.
28 This factory is privately owned by a Han Chinese couple in Genhe and employs a total of
15 people. Initially, there were eight Evenki from Aoluguya among the employees.
When the factory was constructed, village leaders encouraged all the unemployed
Evenki to take jobs there. Many young Evenki gave it a try, but they quit in less than
half a day, saying the work was boring. Now there is only one Evenki woman working
there; all the other women are laid-off employees from the Genhe forestry industry.
They are paid piece rates. Those who work hard can earn about 400 RMB a month.
29 The village provided a free warehouse for the factory, which meant that the owners
only have to pay for water, electricity, and heating. The monthly heating fee is 3 RMB
per square metre. For each heating period (about nine months), the factory only has to
pay eight months’ worth of fees. The government offered this factory many favourable
conditions, including low rent and tax deductions.
30 However, the Evenki are unhappy with the preferential treatment that the village
government offered the factory. As the herders said, “the factory has occupied the
large space of the Evenki trading shop while claiming that it helps the Evenki solve
employment problems. If so, how many Evenki work there? We want to sell reindeer
antler slices and leather but have no place to do this; nonetheless the village allowed
outsiders to use a large lot to open their factory. The place should benefit the hunters;
however, the Han Chinese just use the excuse of offering work opportunities to the
Evenki to earn benefits for themselves”. The hunters believe that the preferential
benefits offered by their government have been encroached upon by the Han Chinese.

165
Development of tourism
31 In order to increase revenue, in 2004 the local government planned to build an ethnic
tourism village near the new Aoluguya community before the beginning of the busy
tourism season from July to September. They chose a location about 4 km southwest of
the community in an open patch surrounded by dense woods. A large military tent was
pitched about 500 m from the road. However, there were weeds both inside the tent
and around it, so obviously this “hunter’s campsite” was not at all like the real ones.
The so-called village consisted of only two structures: a canvas tent and a conical tent 20.
The local government arranged for Asuo, a 35-year-old single Evenki man, to live in the
tent and tend to six reindeer. As long as Asuo lived in the tent, he received a salary of
100 RMB each month from the “4050 Reemployment Project” fund 21.
32 Soon, the village officials said that this tourist site was too remote, which meant that
the local government decided to move it to another site, where they would build a
larger village. Consequently, Asuo was told that he no longer had that position. This
tourist site only existed for a week. Several officials stated that two main concerns led
to its abandonment: firstly, local government officials thought that its inauthenticity
would not attract tourists and, secondly, they were also worried that Asuo would hurt
the image of the Ao township. Three years later, in July 2007, Gejun, another Evenki,
was contracted to develop and manage the relocated tourist camp. Today, it is the one
of the major touristic attractions during the summer period.
33 The local authorities devised yet another scheme to develop tourism: the hand-made
crafts that the hunters produce. It would show the “special aesthetic characteristics” of
Evenki arts and crafts. The local government set up a “Handicrafts Production Studio”
in a room of the village’s museum. Those Evenki who could tailor, carve, sew, and make
various handicrafts were asked to teach traditional craft skills, like fungus-carving,
root-carving, making boxes out of birch bark, and creating purses out of leather. The
local government planned to display the crafts in the museum for viewing and selling.
International focus
34 Although these measures did not bring economic benefits to the reindeer herders,
Aoluguya became ever more famous thanks to the increased media attention after the
2003 “Ecological Migration”. These reports attracted interest from international
reindeer herding associations.
35 The establishment of the Association of World Reindeer Herders (WRH) provided
reindeer herders a forum for contact and cooperation, which contributed to putting
reindeer husbandry on the international agenda. As early as 1999, the Norwegian
Minister of Foreign Affairs, Mr. Knut Vollebæk, took the initiative of placing reindeer
husbandry on the agenda of international Arctic cooperation: this resulted in the WRH
being given the status of observer on the Arctic Council in 2000.
36 The first conference of the WRH was held in Russia in 1997. This organisation brings
together reindeer herders from across the world to promote professional, cultural,
social, and economic exchange and collaboration. In 2001, the WRH announced the
Anar Declaration as a guide for sustainable reindeer husbandry. In 2005, the Yakutsk
Declaration was published in order to emphasise the need for international
collaboration to bring reindeer husbandry to the Arctic region.

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37 The International Centre for Reindeer Husbandry (ICR), based in Norway, and an
“observer” in the Arctic Council22, made the Aoluguya Evenki members of their
organisation; this offered the local government an opportunity to recognise the
cultural value of the Evenki herders.
38 In 2007, the secretary of the ICR came to Aoluguya and issued a formal invitation for
the Evenki reindeer herders to participate in the WRH. Hence, in 2009, the Evenki
attended the Fourth World Reindeer Herders’ Congress in Norway. 23 It was here that the
Aoluguya Evenki officially joined the WRH and won the privilege of holding the fifth
congress in 2013. The main theme of this congress was “Human-Reindeer-Nature:
Sustainable Development”. The Aoluguya Declaration pointed out that international
collaboration has shown promise; it praised the Evenki for providing new species of
reindeer for breeding and offered support for young Aoluguya Evenki to visit Russia so
they can exchange skills related to herding. This case demonstrates that international
influence can also be a promising political strategy for helping the local Evenki to
reclaim their original right to live in the forest.
39 It is hoped that different knowledge and know-how will inspire the Chinese Evenki
reindeer herders to improve reindeer herding. In fact, much research has been
conducted on reindeer food intake and biting patterns (Trudell &White 1981), as well as
the harassment caused to the animals by Oestridae flies and mosquitoes (Hagemoen &
Reimers 2002). GPS tracking has been used to demonstrate migration routes (Panzacchi
et al. 2011 and Anttonen et al. 2011). Pollen analysis of the peat profile of forest
vegetation in areas used for reindeer herding has been conducted (Räsänen et al. 2007).
Similar tools have been used to investigate Evenki-Yakut activities along the Zhuya
River (Anderson et al. 2014).
40 Over the past two decades, the Evenki have seen their economic status decline as China
modernises and develops. Due to large-scale mechanical felling in the 1970s-1980s and
prohibitions against hunting and entering the forest during the warm season to
prevent fires, the Evenki feel they are in a poorer condition compared both to their
position a few decades earlier and to that of the ethnic Han Chinese. International
attention has instilled awareness among the Evenki: they want to reclaim the right to
live in the forest without restriction and use forest resources freely.
Shifting identities
41 Today, the social and ecological conditions in which the Evenki live are vastly different
from those in the past. Although the forest ecosystem was capable of sustaining the
hunting-herding lifestyle of the Evenki, the government persisted in pushing through
the policy of “Ecological Migration”, considering it to be the only method by which
they could force the Evenki to abandon their lifestyle. This compels us to reconsider
the government’s ideological notions. Although some local government officials may
claim that Ecological Migration was undertaken to ensure the survival of the Evenki,
my field research has proved that this is entirely unfounded. When reflecting on the
group’s history prior to the 2003 relocation, it is apparent that their living conditions
were already dramatically different from the fully nomadic lifestyle they maintained
prior to the foundation of the People’s Republic. Prior to 2003, living conditions among
the Evenki were nowhere near as low or “backward” as portrayed in media reports. In
fact, their food, clothing, and community services were of a far higher quality than

167
those available to most rural communities in China. They owned houses in Old
Aolugoya in addition to having tents and reindeer in the mountains.
42 The “Ecological Migration” was carried out under a government directive to “preserve
the people”, which meant ensuring the survival of the Evenki reindeer herders: the
government believed that it was necessary to change their lifestyle by means of
relocation. However, at the same time, the government advocated “preserving Evenki
traditional culture”. Clearly, these goals give rise to a paradox: how is it possible to
change the “traditional” lifestyle of the Evenki whilst simultaneously preserving their
“culture”? We need to examine which “people” the government wants to preserve and
what “culture” it seeks to protect.
43 First, let us examine to whom “people” refers to in this context. The people who live in
the Aoluguya Evenki ethnic township are not all Evenki. Most of them are Han Chinese,
while others are from different ethnic groups, including the Man, Hui, Dahur, Russians,
and other branches of the Evenki; all of these individuals have married Evenki. Evenki
do not necessarily possess “hunter” status: indeed, only Evenki who do not have jobs
may claim this status. In other words, “hunter” is more of a political identity than an
ethnic identity, a fact that is directly related to the 2003 migration.
44 After the 2003 “Ecological Migration”, jobless Evenki still were registered as “hunters”
however, they began to question this appellation. They stated: “we are forbidden to
hunt, so we are not real hunters”. Gradually, the appellation “hunters” was replaced in
official documents by the term “reindeer herders”. This was especially the case after
2009, when the Evenki attended the Fourth World Reindeer Herders’ Congress.
45 When considering the relationship between “preserving people” and “preserving
culture”, Kong Fanzhi24 believes that culture can be preserved only when the people
themselves are preserved: “Only when we help them to break away from their
barbarous and primitive lifestyle and living environment can we begin to talk about
advances in culture and the development of civilisation” (Kong 2003, pp. 16-17). This
opinion is not entirely without logical merit: if people are the bearers of culture, they
are thus the foundation upon which culture rests. However, from the perspective of
cultural ecology (Kottak 2010), it is the mutual interaction between people and their
ecological environment that gives rise to cultural developments. All cultures have been
strongly affected by the environment in which they live.
46 When the Evenki gave up their original nomadic hunting lifestyle and their spiritual
links to the mountain environment, they were no longer “hunters”. Instead, they only
retained a “political identity” through the official category of “Evenki hunters”. Today,
this category has been renamed “Evenki reindeer herders”, which has allowed them to
receive preferential treatment from the government. However, in reality, for many Han
Chinese observers, the Evenki have almost lost the “cultural characteristics” which are
usually presented as defining them as Evenki. Hunting was one of them. Since hunting
was banned in 2003, what was considered as “hunting culture” is now missing from
their lifestyle.
47 One of the Evenki elders expressed this succinctly when she said: “After the relocation
it will not be long until, once all the old hunters die, our ethnic group will cease to
exist”. So what do these old hunters represent? They are Evenki hunters who grew up
traditionally in the forests: they were never severed from their traditional lifestyle and

168
practices. The old hunters are the last remaining Evenki who serve as carriers of their
“traditional culture”.
48 The people are the bearers of culture. When the old Evenki started to talk about
modern people who do not have faith, I seriously considered the role of shamanism in
Evenki everyday life (Heyne 1999), although I have never seen a shaman among them 25.
When E. J. Lindgren did her fieldwork in 1931, she witnessed several shaman
performances and met with the shaman Olga, who managed the daily affairs of the
group and led it through tough times (Lindgren 1935). Following the death of their last
shaman in 1997, the Evenki are struggling to adapt to ever-changing Chinese society.
Frustrated by interactions with the government and the reality that surrounds them,
they are trying to find answers or even just consolation. However, it is very easy to get
lost, especially for the younger generation. Over the last 20 years, there has been a high
death rate among the Evenki, which was caused by excessive drinking. The comfort of
alcoholism is a kind of escape from cruel reality. The boom in Russian shamanism
demonstrates the extent of the ideological vacuum left by the collapse of the Soviet
Union (Humphrey 2002). The role of religion in maintaining a society’s spiritual world
is not negligible.
Epilogue
49 The “Ecological Migration” in 2003 was a complex social and economic programme.
Under the push from the local government, the Evenki reindeer herders underwent a
series of historical changes, especially the harsh consequences of industrialisation,
have affected local culture, the minority’s growing self-identity, and their
understanding of the wisdom of “traditional culture”. In recent years of study on
Evenki reindeer herders of China have revealed that Evenki culture is undergoing a
transition from depression to recovery, constituted by the revival of the Evenki
language, the reappearance of ethnic costumes, and other factors. “The more ethnic,
the more international”: when this government slogan was cemented into place as the
consensus among local government and academic circles, the resurrection of
“traditional culture” through the use of museum displays became an established
practice. These practices are supposed to represent the lifestyle of the Evenki, but they
have lost the spiritual core at the heart of the lifestyle; thus they are more like
“cultural performances”. The reverence for nature and sacred human-reindeer
relations (Nyyssönen et al. 2013) that Lindgren describes during ritual performances is
gone (Lindgren 1935).
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NOTES
1. Existing historical records indicate that the Evenki population has generally fluctuated around
several hundred people (Kong 1989, p. 190).
2. In the belief system of the Evenki reindeer herders, malu (Evk.) refers both to a spirit and a
sacred place. Usually found in the northern area of the tent, the malu area is off limits to adult
women because this sacred place is reserved for the malu spirit, the shaman, and the guest of
honour.
3. Details about the current daily life of the Evenki can be found in Xie 2015, Kolas & Xie 2015,
and Dumont 2015 and in this volume.
4. About 6,500 euros.
5. The State Ethnic Affairs Commission (Ch. Guojia minzu shiwu weiyuanhui 国家民族事务委员
会) is in charge of the administration of minority affairs.
6. In the 1960s, USSR wanted to build a naval base in China. The Chinese leader refused, so the
USSR withdrew all the Russian experts helping the Chinese and demanded that the Chinese pay
off the war debts incurred during the Korean wars. In 1965, the international communist
movement broke up due to differences in thinking, leading China to sever all ties with the USSR.
7. CNN and China Daily reports attracted interest from international reindeer herding
associations (Easen 2002, Xinhua 2003).
8. After the “Ecological Migration”, they moved closer to the city. For public safety reasons and
in order to protect the forest and wildlife, their guns have been confiscated.
9. Yi lie weizhu, hu, yang , lie bingju 以猎为主，护、养、猎并举.
10. Yi siyang xunlu weizhu, hu, yang, lie bingju 以饲养驯鹿为主，护、养、猎并举.
11. Yi siyang xunlu weizhu, hu, yang, lie bingju, jiji fazhan duozhong jingying 以饲养驯鹿为主，护、
养、猎并举, 积极发展多种经营.

171
13. Winters can create “white disasters”, where the snow is too thick for the reindeer to dig
down to the moss, thus creating a food crisis. In order to save the reindeer, the government
would provide soybean cake feed.
14. These forestry workers were mainly Han Chinese from various areas of China. They had high
levels of income and welfare compared to people with other occupations at the time.
16. For more details about the mobility between the village and the camp, see Dumont in the
present volume.
17. About 40 euros.
18. Since 2015, the Evenki who are engaged in summer tourism are no longer provided with
“touristic conical tents”: they have to buy them out of their own pockets.
20. The conical tent (Ch. Cuoluozi 撮罗子, Evk. diu) is made with a frame of 20-30 stripped
pinewood poles. Until the 1980-1990s, the outside of the tent was covered with birch skins during
the summer and animal skins during the winter. On top, there is a hole for ventilation and light.
Experienced hunters can set it up without any nails or pins. This unique structure is the material
embodiment of the Evenki people’s wisdom and talent.
21. This project was designed to provide employment opportunities for laid-off workers in state-
owned enterprises. The programme targeted women over the age of 40 and men over the age of
50 who lacked specific skills but wanted to re-enter the workforce.
22. The ICR was established by the Norwegian government in 2005 in Kautokeino in
order to contribute to international cooperation between circumpolar reindeer herding
peoples. It is an independent professional unit with its own board and budget. Its core
funding is provided by the Norwegian government through annual grants from the
budget of the Ministry of Reform and Government Administration (ICR 2016).
23. In the delegation from Aoluguya, two of the seven were Evenki reindeer herders: they both
had official positions in the Genhe and Aoluguya governments.
24. This local government official and scholar conducted an investigation into Aoluguya Evenki
for over 20 years.
25. This does not mean that the Evenki no longer believe in shamanism (Lavrillier 2010).
ABSTRACTS
The “traditional way of life” among the Evenki reindeer herders of China has faced many
changes after their “Ecological Migration” in 2003 and the hunting ban. Evenki identity has thus
shifted, as they are officially categorised as “reindeer herders” rather than “hunters”. Being
identified as a “hunter” meant access to welfare within the government’s institutional
arrangement. Furthermore, since 2009, the local government has reconsidered its stance towards
the traditional lifestyle of the Evenki and has striven to foster tourism. Based on fieldwork
conducted in 2003-2004 and during several visits from 2011 to 2014, this paper first examines
various governmental policies aimed at the Evenki. It then analyses the present situation of the
Evenki, in particular examining resource conflicts and changing identities.

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Le « mode de vie traditionnel » des Évenks éleveurs de rennes de Chine a connu d’importants
changements suite à la « migration écologique » de 2003 et l’interdiction de la chasse. Ainsi,
l’identité des Évenks est passée du statut de « chasseurs » à celui d’« éleveurs de rennes ». Dans le
passé, la désignation de chasseurs ne renvoyait pas seulement à une identité ethnique, mais
également à une identité politique. Par ailleurs, depuis 2009, le gouvernement local tente de
revaloriser le mode de vie des Évenks éleveurs de rennes en développant le tourisme. Basé sur
une enquête de terrain d’une année menée en 2003-2004 et sur plusieurs visites effectuées entre
2011 et 2014, cet article examine dans un premier temps les diverses politiques
gouvernementales conduites chez les Évenks éleveurs de rennes. Il analyse ensuite la situation
actuelle des Évenks, les conflits liés aux ressources et les changements d’identités.
INDEX
Mots-clés: Chine, Évenk, minorités ethniques, identité, chasse, élevage, conflits, tourisme
Keywords: China, Evenki, ethnic minorities, identity, hunting, herding, conflicts, tourism
AUTHOR
YUANYUAN XIE
Yuanyuan Xie is associate professor in the Department of Sociology at the China Agricultural
University of Beijing. She received her PhD from the Institute of Anthropology and the
Department of Sociology of Peking University in 2005. Her current research, funded by the
National Social Science Fund of China, focuses on the ecological issues faced by reindeer herders
in various countries. Her main publications in English comprise of Ecological Migrants. The
Relocation of China’s Ewenki Reindeer Herders (Berghahn Books, 2015) and “The Ecological Migration
and Ewenki identity” in Ashild Kolas & Yuanyuan Xie (eds) Reclaiming the Forest. The Ewenki
Reindeer Herders of Aoluguya (Berghahn Books, 2015).
xiekathy@126.com

173

Human and animal individuals’

personhood, ritual practices and luck

174
The gluttons of eastern Siberia.

Spirits, poachers, and cannibals in
Evenki perceptions
Les gloutons de l’Est sibérien. Esprits, braconniers et cannibales dans le système
évenk de représentations
Donatas Brandišauskas
EDITOR'S NOTE
click here
click here
Introduction
1 A great number of the tragic events – deaths, drunkenness, and various disabilities –
that occurred in Evenki communities in the Zabaikal region during the Soviet period
and after the collapse of the Soviet Union left significant marks on the local landscape.
The impact of these events affects the current experiences, memories, and land use
strategies of indigenous Evenki living in remote villages in the northern part of the
region. Today, Evenki hunters and herders believe that many old and vacated reindeer
herders’ camps, unattended mortuary sites, and places where tragic events occurred
are scattered throughout the taiga. These places have become sites where malevolent
non-human beings manifest themselves. Therefore, the Evenki of the Zabaikal region
link all their current difficulties not only to the unpredictable economic environment,
but also to losing memory of their interaction with spirits and ritual places. Just like
when the ethnographer Sergei Shirokogoroff conducted his fieldwork among the

175
Tungus (Evenki) in the Zabaikal and Amur regions, people today believe that various
“bad places” continuously demand new victims (Shirokogoroff 1935, pp. 137-138). As a
result, these bad (or tragic) places affect the wellbeing of various kin members and the
community as a whole.
2 Soviet ethnographers documented the continuation of traditional daily ritual practices
in the taiga1. During that period, various beliefs in “master-spirits” (odzhen) ruling river
watersheds and influencing the lives of humans and animals were continuously being
reproduced through daily ritual practices, such as making offerings to fires and at rock
art sites, and by storytelling2. These stories typically recounted human encounters with
various spirits in the taiga (Alekseev N. A. 1975, Zelenin 1929, Gurvich 1977, Mihailov
1987, Petri 1930). During my several months of fieldwork among different Evenki
communities in Buryatia and the Zabaikal region, villagers, hunters, and herders talked
about their living environment as being infused with malevolent humans and non-
human beings3. They referred to these beings as “spirits” (arenkil4), “monsters”
(mangil), and “cannibals” (diaptygil5). The various experiences of interactions with these
beings (animals, spirits, humans, and monsters) presented in these stories also show
how gluttonous beings play a role as important actors, or at least as moral imperatives
shaping human subsistence, land use, ritual practices, and worldviews.
Figure 1. Sketch map of my research region in Zabaikal‘ia
I reworked the map using some parts and elements from David Anderson and Gail Fondahl sketch
maps (with their permissions).
© David Anderson and Gail Fondahl
3 In this article, I intend to show how the sociocultural changes that occurred during
Soviet times, as well as current post-Soviet economic and social challenges, are
creatively reflected and incorporated into Evenki cosmology and morality. Indeed, the
various bad beings that existed in Evenki cosmology for centuries are continuously
experienced and animated in contemporary storytelling. Today, these narratives link

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various tragic events, past policies, personal misbehaviour, and the loss of memory
with current Evenki misfortunes. As a result, various malevolent beings can be analysed
not only as mythic personages depicting various genres of folklore, but also can be
understood as important social actors revealing ruptures in the ethical norms and
power relations which now shape the ritual and subsistence of the Evenki. These beings
are thought to have the attributes of gluttony, and malevolence: in some cases, they are
thought to have been anthropophagi. While references to the cannibalistic features of
indigenous peoples were widely employed and distributed by colonial powers, today we
can also see how these images are reversibly used to describe coercive state policies
that affect the lives of those peoples. These stories and images are used by Evenki as
powerful symbolic tools to balance the current displaced field of relations between
humans, the landscape, and non-human beings in the context of a challenging
economic and social environment.
Soviet and post-Soviet environment of domination

4 During the early Soviet repressions of indigenous people’s economic and religious
practices in the 1930s and 1940s, several Evenki ritual specialists, alleged shamans, and
prominent reindeer herders were arrested, tortured, and imprisoned. Domestic
reindeer herds owned by nomadic Evenki were confiscated, while their owners were
pressed to lead a sedentary life in newly established state-built villages. Many Evenki
were employed as herders and hunters on collective farms and faced rapid, often
unpredictable, and seemingly chaotic changes in their economic and social
environment. The development of the mining and military industry in the region also
caused many environmental challenges for indigenous communities that relied on the
taiga for their subsistence. These subsistence modes included nomadic or seminomadic
activities such as hunting of large game animals, herding small herds of privately
owned reindeer, fishing, and the gathering of berries, plants, and minerals. Hence, the
large-scale forest fires that changed the taiga significantly also made Evenki economic
activities more dangerous and unpredictable. Furthermore, the region became a place
for the relocation of huge numbers of deportees. These people were of different
nationalities, as they came from various republics in the Soviet Union. The deportees
were forced to work on state projects such as the famous Baikal Amur Railroad (BAM)
and this, of course, led to many human deaths.
5 After the collapse of the (Soviet) centralised economic system, hunters and herders
privatised herds and organised clan enterprises in order to find their own ways of
accommodating to life in the taiga. As in the early Soviet years, the collapse of the
state-funded system also brought various challenges linked to the shifting economic
environment, as well as to overhunting and the plundering of taiga territories by
outsiders. Indeed, most former collective farm workers had no other option but to
relocate from remote villages to cities or, if they remained in their villages, to become
involved in the hunting of game and fur animals. Most men and some women rushed to
the taiga, searching for everything valuable that could be sold, exchanged, or used for
food or medicine6. Villagers living in remote areas started to compete among
themselves for hunting or reindeer herding grounds as well as for different
opportunities for subsistence. Such competition also embraced native and non-native
people, hunters, and entrepreneurs and led to chronic conflict between groups; even

177
people working for the state started to fight among themselves. These conflicts could
turn into violent skirmishes as well as establish the curse known as “black activities”
(Ru. chernota). These activities were thought to “spoil” (Ru. naportit’) hunting luck and
bring misfortune to other competing hunters. Indeed, during my fieldwork in the
northern villages of the Zabaikal region and Buryatia in 2004-2015, local people would
stress that such curses (Ru. porcha) and the malevolent eye (Ru. zglaz) had become very
widespread practices that caused health and economic problems 7.
6 The tension between hunters rose even higher when officials involved in the
administration, forestry, militia/police, and military started to use all-terrain vehicles
belonging to the public for poaching. Many hunting techniques employed by such
hunters were illegal, damaged animals, and were locally referred to as “poaching”
(Ru. brakonerstvo). Such poaching is described by Evenki hunters as linked to the
person’s enormous gluttony (Ru. zhadnost’) for meat because such hunters killed
“anything that can move in the taiga”. For Zabaikal Evenki, poachers are those who
waste animals, kill without limit, and without the ability to consume all they kill: they
do not attempt to find wounded animals or transport their kills from barely accessible
places, often leaving meat spoiled. The Evenki say that poachers often omit “taiga
rules” that had been respected in the region even during the Soviet years. These well-
known rules include hunters’ respect and exchange relations with animals and spirits
as well as adopting a careful approach toward harvesting and skinning animals or
treating their remains. Today, the Evenki believe that such practices prevent other
people from hunting successfully and destroy the balance in the taiga. Furthermore,
such poaching is referred to as “sinful” (ngelome) and therefore dangerous since spirits
might punish them by seeking revenge8.
7 For the Evenki of the Zabaikal region, various bad beings can be met anywhere in the
taiga and can take the shape of a human or an animal. They can threaten someone in
dreams, cause physical and psychological damage, or even kill a person. They are
thought to influence hunting and herding success, health, and well-being. When talking
about malevolent beings, Zabaikal Evenki describe not only tragic events that occurred
in the remote past, but also link them to their present life and extraordinary
experiences in the taiga. Indeed, these narratives invoke awareness of potential
threats.
8 Shirokogoroff, while working in the area in 1917, stated that the relevance of these
malevolent spirits (arenkil) was minor, though they could cause mischief (Shirokogoroff
1935, p. 121). The current appearance of cannibalistic or monstrous features among
various beings and the increase in the importance of malevolent spirits (arenkil), as well
as their connection to tragic events and places, symbolises how the contemporary
socioeconomic environment is experienced as unpredictable and even dangerous for
Evenki. Although Shirokogoroff described Tungus rituals as a “shamanic art to control
spirits”, he also stressed that every hunter must know the simplest methods of
“managing” spirits and avoiding their harmful influence (ibid., p. 187, 207). Similarly,
the ethnographer Maksimova also noted that most Sym River Evenki hunters and
herders living in the past knew simple rules for tricking such malevolent spirits
(Maksimova 1994, p. 102). During my fieldwork, I found that the knowledge of how to
properly interact with spirits inhabiting the landscape and secure wellbeing had
become deficient; therefore, it was highly valued knowledge.

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9 Today, with the privatisation of reindeer herds and the use of hunting areas formerly
owned by Soviet collective farms, the Evenki aim to reconfirm their relations with the
landscape and the sentient beings that inhabit it (see Fondahl in this volume). They
reuse old ritual places or establish new ones (Anderson 2012). Primarily, they aim to
calm forgotten and untamed local spirits as well as receive their support when dealing
with current misfortunes or disabilities. Alexandra Lavrillier, who carried out extensive
fieldwork among the Evenki of the Amur region and southern Yakutia, similarly
noticed that the local Evenki communities of the Amur region explain their poor
economic conditions by their failure to honour their spirits (Lavrillier 2003, p. 103).
Similarly, Buyandelgeriyn noted that the Buryat of Mongolia attribute their current
misfortunes to spirits which have returned to take revenge for the abandonment of
ritual practice s(Buyandelgeriyn 2007). Hence, by talking about spirits, locating them in
the landscape, and contacting them through rituals, the Evenki aim to re-master taiga
territories and their own destinies in an unpredictable socioeconomic environment.
Malevolent spirits (arenkil): contemporary

cosmologies and places
10 For the Evenki, various historical tragedies like epidemics, the overhunting of their
living territory and fights among different Evenki clans have often been seen as
connected to the activities of malevolent beings, shamans, or spirits (see Anisimov
1963). Contemporary and Soviet ethnographers also widely documented the
persistence of storytelling about dangerous beings among Evenki living in various
regions of Siberia. These beings can be referred to as arenkil, molkosh, melkun, bugadyl,
main, and mekachony among different groups of Evenki (see Simonova 2013, pp. 259-274,
Vorobëv 2013, pp. 46-47, Alehin 2000, Maksimova 1994, p. 102, Simonov 1983, p. 104,
Vasilevich, 1969, p. 222). Ethnographers mention that these malevolent spirits are
abundant at the sites of tragic events, mortuary places, and abandoned dwellings;
however, they can be met anywhere in the taiga and even in villages.
11 Today, as in the past, the Evenki of the Zabaikal region experience the contemporary
taiga as full of angry and bad beings (arenki singular; arenkil plural) which significantly
influence the success of subsistence activities and personal wellbeing 9. In
Shirokogoroff’s work, we also find that a terminology and hierarchy of spirits based on
their role could not be clearly established, since the essence of various spirits can be
seen as ambiguous, and therefore they can be both malevolent and benevolent
(Shirokogoroff 1935, pp. 138-165). According to him, an arenki is the soul of a hunter or
a herder who did not reach the world of the dead because a sudden or accidental death
befell him or because their souls were not escorted there through the proper ritual
means (ibid., pp. 137-13810). These souls had to stay in the world of living beings and
were malevolent. It was believed that arenkil can be powerful enough to be the
“masters” of certain mountains or small region (ibid., p. 139).
12 Arenkil wandered around the taiga and, as Shirokogoroff (1935, pp. 149-150) wrote,
along “roads”: they entered and exited different “placings 11” either independently or
after being invited or enticed by humans. Any geographical location, tree, animal,
human, artefact, or part of an organ could become a “placing” for the spirit (ibid.,
pp. 149-150, 160). The arenkil could influence a human mind, cause serious illness, or
lead hunters or hunted animals astray (ibid., pp. 139-140). Their activities encompassed

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small mischiefs like misleading humans in the forest, laying false tracks, frightening
hunters and herders by making lights in the darkness or spooky noises.
The arenkil have no body. They are very numerous in the forest and marshes.
However, sometimes they penetrate the store houses erected near the wigwams.
They stay in rotten hollow trees, sometimes even in living trees. When the Tungus
cut down such a tree, they may hear screams of onoi – i.e. “painful” from these
spirits. Such an accident is sufficient for causing a serious illness with a fatal
outcome – the people lose their minds and die. […] As a rule, they are numerous
near graves. The arenki may be seen in the form of light, usually bluish or reddish,
also sometimes moving, but when people approach them they move farther away.
They whistle. They produce an echo. Generally speaking, they are mischievous. […]
They are always hungry for their food [and] they depend upon the people’s
generosity (ibid.).
13 If in the past arenkil were known as ambivalent spirits, today arenkil are often described
and known by Evenki as always hungry, wishing to consume human souls or reduce the
“living energies” (musun) and “luck” (kutu) of humans. If one encounters this kind of
spirit, then he or she may become ill or die. The Evenki believe that the risk of
encountering such spirits unexpectedly has increased since various rituals of respect
were neglected for half a century during the Soviet era. Therefore, these beings are not
simply mischievous, but can potentially be very dangerous. As a prominent reindeer
herder once declared: “all through the taiga, spirits started to act with violence
(Ru. duhi budorazhut po taezhnym debriam)”. Contemporary Evenki avoid many places
marked by recent social conflicts such as drunken rivalry and tragic deaths caused by
homicide, car accidents, and drowning, associating these “bad places” with the
activities of arenkil. During sable hunting season in the winter of 2004-2005, the Evenki
hunter Aleksei Aruneev and I stopped to smoke a cigarette on our road passing a pine-
covered hill on the western banks of the Levyi Kotomchik River. Aleksei pointed toward
a hill he called “Pine Tree Hill” (Ru. Sosnovaia Sopka) and said that it is a very unlucky
(Ru. nefartovaia) place that should be avoided. Usually he used to smoke cigarettes while
walking on foot, but on this rare occasion he stopped there. He told me that his brother
once injured his ankle when he did not stop there to show proper respect. Aleksei also
said that he never crosses the river to visit that hill, although sable and musk deer
abound there. He decided to abandon the site saying, it is “really bad to go there”
(Ru. stram poiti tuda). In the past, Aleksei never had any hunting luck there, though he
tried to appease the local spirits many times by feeding them (Ru. nosil ugoshchenie). His
brother, Iura Aruneev, also told me about several tragic and spooky incidents that
occurred in the area of that hill. Several years ago, a spirit caused great distress for him
when he decided to camp near the hill. The arenki made his dogs and reindeer go crazy,
and he could hear voices and a domestic reindeer herd passing the place. Finally,
during a drunken skirmish one visiting relative was stabbed with a knife by a reindeer
herder in that place. The old father of the dead person even tried to set fire to the
forested hill in order to kill the spirit. However, according to inhabitants of the area,
the spirit is still active.
14 Some reindeer herders visited a female Tungus shaman, Olga Ulzueva in the Aga Buryat
Autonomous County, who told them to look for the remnants of an old mortuary site
that was presumed to be located near the hill. Evenki reindeer herders and hunters
believe that an Evenki shaman was buried there and his soul causes continuous trouble
for those who camp or move around. The reindeer herder Nikolai and his mother Olga
regularly used to sprinkle tea in the direction of this place even when camping at some

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distance in order to calm these evil spirits. They hoped to locate a scaffold and then
establish positive relations with the place so that they could use the area for reindeer
herding and hunting. Indeed, they had a lack of good reindeer pastures and wanted to
reuse the river basin for reindeer grazing and hunting. Shirokogoroff (1935, p. 87)
described how some Tungus felt that a certain place should be avoided for a short
period of time until other Tungus reported that they felt nothing. If a spirit’s activity
was not noticed, “the original safety of the place is restored” (ibid.). Tungokochen
reindeer herders and hunters did not manage to establish good relations with a local
spirit for decades and thus were forced to leave the area.
15 Quite a number of Tungokochen village hunters (Zabaikal region) have stories of
encounters with arenkil in the taiga and even in villages. People say that these beings
can talk to people, ask for cigarettes or food, tease dogs, steal various items, make
people disoriented, and even drive humans and animals insane. Evenki say that arenkil
are hungry for human flesh (especially the liver) and attack humans who refuse to
share with other beings. Encountering arenkil in a dream is considered a bad sign that
signals you are likely to become ill, or worse. Therefore, people say that a person
without the support of master-spirits is extremely vulnerable to such malevolent
spirits.
16 The elder hunter Gilton Aruneev told the story of how he encountered a lake and where
he could hear a girl singing whenever he visited it. As he found out later, this place was
well known to the elders as a place where a family of herders died from disease. By
telling this story, he also warned younger hunters to beware the spirits. The elders say
that one of the reasons why people constantly encounter arenkil in the taiga might be a
punishment or revenge sent by a master-spirit. A “master-spirit” (odzhen) is in charge
of different animals and river basins, helping control the balance there. To maintain
luck and wellbeing, it is said that people leave offerings or smudge plant (senkire) when
camping or subsisting in different taiga places. Therefore, some elders say that they
always fear camping in little-known places. During my stay with Ust’ Karenga and
Tungokochen hunters, I observed that all of them avoided old campsites and started
their fires some distance from old fireplaces, even when they stayed for just a few
hours. The reindeer herder Oleg Taskerov from Ust’- Karenga village (Zabaikal region)
once refused to spend the night in a camp that had been established by his deceased
uncle. He said that he did not want to be troubled by an arenki since it could inflict a
disease upon him, his family, or even his herd. Hunters and herders believe that old
campsites hold omi, a word that can be translated as “soul”. They also add that such
places possess the “energy” (Ru. energiia) of past incidents and thus influence people’s
present-day luck. Such experiences indeed shape the way herders organise their camps
with regards to acquiring luck and avoiding misfortune. Shirokogoroff (1935, p. 88)
noted that the Tungus explained their choice of a campsite in a similar way by saying,
“this is a good place, there are no bad spirits around”. An elder hunter from
Tungokochen village (Zabaikal region), Olga Zhumaneeva, believes that one should not
be afraid of arenkil since they never appear to humans without reason. Nevertheless,
Olga never stayed in log houses because, as she said, she wants to avoid meeting an
arenki. People believe that arenkil visit the person before s/he is taken to the “world of
the dead”, referred to as buny.
17 One must establish good relations with the local master-spirit in order to be able to use
old paths. Old paths are traversed by arenkil, and camping near them should be avoided

181
(see Basharov 2003, p. 9, Lavrillier 2011). Arenkil are likely to approach people who
camp at “crossroads”. The arenkil might make a fog descend on people to lead them
astray. It is said that even experienced hunters start walking in circles (Ru. kruzhit’) due
to the influence of malevolent spirits. The term kruzhit’ is used in this context to refer
to people who have lost their minds and perform dangerous and illogical activities
because of an unsuccessful interaction with a master-spirit or an encounter with an
arenki. Nikolai Aruneev always used to leave offerings at different places associated
with spirits when transporting his supplies by truck to the remote camps. Once Nikolai
asked a driver to stop at every river and mountain pass on the way. Constant walking in
the taiga, leaving tracks on paths, and ritual performances are elements of a person’s
subtle interaction with the spirits of various places. At the same time, successful
interaction with spirits and the long-term experience of luck creates a sense of
belonging to a place (Brandišauskas 2012).
18 Constant misfortunes, illness, or long-term loss of luck may be signs of a curse from
malevolent spirits. A “sinful person” (ngelomel) who violated taiga laws and was
involved in poaching is thought to lack the support of the master-spirits and therefore
is highly vulnerable to malevolent attacks. The Evenki say that if a person ignores taiga
ethics, then arenkil can easily affect his/her health and cause his/her death. Any kind of
sin may provoke an aggressive reaction from the “spirits” of the deceased that wander
in the taiga. A rock cliff located near Usugli village (Zabaikal region) was famous for
driving people to jump from its ledge to their deaths. In a similar vein, the
anthropologist Olga Ulturgasheva (2012, p. 44) described the vernacular notion of an
“open body” – referring to a weak connection between the soul and the body (this was
in reference to the Manchu-speaking Evenki, but is probably present among all Evenki).
Many Evenki hunters and their relatives refer to different cases of how spirits caused
disabilities and death to people and even whole families for violating taiga laws. Local
spirits often intervene in order to drive hunters away from certain places by attacking
them in dreams, sending a bear in their path or making strange noises that drive the
hunter crazy or hurt him. A person once frightened by a spirit or a bear may lose his
luck, his health, or even die. Some stories tell of a hunter who was attacked by a spirit
who sent reindeer that pushed him out of a river basin and chased him back to the
village. In another case, a bear spirit attacked the hunter in dreams and made him
mentally ill.
Images of cannibals: state policies, Evenki storytelling

and morality
19 Folklorists and ethnographers have documented Evenki tales, songs, and stories which
depict “cannibals” (changit, mangi, or diaptar) (see Vasilevich 1949, Varlamova 1996,
Gabysheva 2012, Varlamov 2011). The earliest description of cannibalism in Siberia
comes from a report written in 1685 to the tsar by Duke Shcherbats’, who visited the
Enisey region. It demonstrates that colonial officials obtained information from the
Evenki regarding cannibals called chulugdy. The report described how the Tungus
(Evenki) witnessed a one-legged, one-eyed, and one-handed human-monster called
chulugdy that dwelt in large pits. The report provides vivid descriptions of these pits,
which smelt so bad that the odour even left “marks on the trees”. The Tungus
described not only the monstrous appearance and dress of these so-called “humans”,

182
but also explained the rituals of reciprocity they enacted dealing with chulugdy. Hence,
Tungus used to leave offerings consisting of the feathers of woodpeckers and jays,
while in exchange they used to find some hunted birds or even brass pots. The colonial
official even launched new investigations to search for these reported groups of
humans.
20 From the 18th century, an image of cannibals developed as a state-produced image that
served to establish a hierarchical relationship between the state and the Evenki
analogous to the difference between “civilised” and “savage”. In early documents
revealing discourses of colonial history, it was quite common for Russian colonial
officials present in different northern regions to refer to indigenous people as
cannibals. Art Leete provides early accounts of cannibalism among the indigenous
peoples (Ob-Ugrian and Nenets) in the northern areas of Russia during the 18 th and
19th centuries (Leete 2005). Hence, this example is widely used in many reports through
the old ethnonym “Samoyed” (i.e. self-eaters) that in Russian etymology refers to the
practice of cannibalism among this indigenous group of reindeer herders (ibid.).
However, some early explorers agreed that these images were misleading and far from
the truth. Nevertheless, the idea of indigenous people practising cannibalism became
widespread. Alekseev (quoted in Leete 2005, p. 244) mentioned that his informants
confirmed the fact that cannibalism was a practice present among northern peoples
(see Alekseev M. P. 1932, pp. 128-129). Such attributions of cannibalistic features to the
indigenous peoples of Russia continued throughout the 20th century. The ethnographer
Ivashchenko (2011, pp. 145-150) reported presumably cannibalistic incidents that
occurred at the beginning of the 20th century among the Nanai, living in the far eastern
part of Siberia (near the Evenki). Evenki hunters reported that they found hunting
camps with a few corpses of Nanai that had been eaten by their own relatives. This
story was published in the newspapers of central Russia and reiterated the well-
established stereotype of indigenous people in terms of the binary frame of reference
mentioned above. Namely, there was the “civilised Russian” and, in symbolic contrast,
the “wandering wild people” (Ru. brodiachie dikari) (ibid. 12). Ivashchenko also admitted
that while there was no evidence of cannibalism among the Nanai of the Amur region,
both Nanai and Tungus storytelling traditions (so-called local folklore) confirmed the
existence of cannibalism (ibid.). Indeed, we can find Nanai stories about malevolent
beings known as mangi, the souls of people who had committed suicide (ibid.). Mangi
practised cannibalism, including eating bones (ibid.). Most colonial powers actively
employed these images of indigenous people as cannibals, associating it with
immorality and backwardness13. These images stressed the superiority of the colonisers
and also served as grounds for the exploitation and violent conquest of new territories
(see also Conklin 2001, p. 25).
21 Such images of indigenous people were reproduced recently as a result of a reported
incident of cannibalism that occurred in a remote area of South Yakutia. The main
Russian mass media outlets issued TV videos reports and articles that described in
detail a group of experienced fishermen who had lost their way in the taiga and ate two
of their companions. Four members of the fishing expedition, consisting of two locally
born villagers and two others from Central Russia, were lost for three months in the
taiga. After a long search, officials unexpectedly found two survivors and traces of
anthropophagy. The two fishermen were charged with homicide via cannibalism and
received long jail sentences. Local and national newspapers reported on this and

183
organised discussions and commentaries that identified the actions of these two
survivors with vernacular cosmological perceptions. Indeed, local people raised many
doubts about how a group consisting of locals, including experienced hunters of Evenki
origin, could lose their way in the taiga and spend months “circling around”
(Ru. kruzhit’) the different log houses (Ru. zimov’e). The group walked around the
various areas and returned to the log houses to consume food left at storage platforms
without moving anywhere further for substantial periods. The fishermen even used to
meet hunters and gold miners still continuing to wander in the taiga. First, the tragic
event of cannibalism was linked to a well-known “bad place” – the log house where
tragic events had occurred in the past. Hence, according to local people, this place
attracted this new tragic event. Hunters even stated that the survivors turned into
cannibals because they had broken “taiga laws”, such as plundering stored food that
was accumulated by other hunters in order to spend the fur-hunting season during the
winter in their hunting territories. Cannibalism was here interpreted as a kind of
revenge for such misbehaviour14. Furthermore, the group was accused of having
interests other than fishing, perhaps involving illegal gold mining and getting obsessed
by gold fever. By describing this entire story in detail, the mass media in Russia added
another page to the long history of associating taiga people living in remote villages
with “wild people”.
22 At the same time, we can see how images of cannibals and monsters have become a tool
used by indigenous people to describe their experience of tragic events and policies
initiated by the state and state agencies. These stories told by Evenki hunters and
herders serve as an important tool to raise awareness of the danger of exploiting and
dominating powers. People from Tungokochen, Zelënoe Ozero and Ust’-Karenga
villages in the Zabaikal region told me several times about the existence of hungry and
dangerous beings that they encountered in the taiga and which looked like humans. In
some stories, such human-like beings were also referred to as cannibals called bamlak
(BAM beings-Baikal Amur Magistral): they were associated with prisoners and workers
at industrial sites in the Transbaikal region, such as the Baikal Amur Railroad. For
instance, an elder hunter and herder with whom I spent the winter sharing a tent once
warned me that, in the taiga, one could meet dangerous and very hungry bamlak which
can bring serious harm. In the past, plenty of them were met in the taiga. These stories
can be linked to the widespread stories told in Siberia about prisoners escaping the
gulag, who used to take a colleague to be consumed as food on their long trip through
the taiga.
23 Similar to arenkil, these bamlak cannibal beings (in some cases also referred to as mangi,
changit, and diaptygil in the Zabaikal region) are considered to be extremely dangerous
and very hungry beings that are anxious for food and the vital body parts of humans,
such as the heart, liver or intestines: they were also noted as being thirsty for blood or
one’s strength (chinen). In an environment of competition for resources, people believe
that, in the context of shortages, this feature of cannibalism can be realised by
malevolent, greedy, or vengeful beings such as animals, spirits, and humans (see
cannibal shamans in Stépanoff 2009, pp. 283-307).
24 Many areas in Siberia are marked by Soviet policies of domination, such as the labour
camps, prisons, railroads, or roads built by political and criminal prisoners and
deportees sent to Siberia from all over the Soviet Union. The Evenki of different BAM
regions say that some of the indigenous villages and roads were constructed right on

184
human bones. The description of bamlak (in other cases called diaptygil; from diapta-,
“to eat”) can be seen as an outcome of fusing state repressive policies and existing
Evenki cosmologies. Elena Makarova from Ust’ Urkima village (Amur region) said that
her parents taught her that the word diapnadia (cannibal, glutton) was used to refer to
greedy people, such as gold miners, traders, BAM village people, or other resource
exploiters in charge of the pollution of rivers. Indeed, most stories about cannibals
were collected in Evenki communities that had the strongest interactions with
intensive resource exploitation and industrial development (see Gabysheva 2012,
pp. 100-118). At the same time, the villagers of Tiania recount Evenki fights with
cannibal changit people not as epic stories, but as historical events that occurred in
certain geographical locations still commemorated by hunters and herders, who leave
offerings there (ibid. pp. 100-103). Ulturgasheva (2012, p. 14) also reports how the
“wandering spirits of the dead” (called arinkael by Evens) are associated with the
repressive policies of the Soviet Gulag. In this way, beliefs in stories related to
malevolent ghosts are symbolically associated with suffering, violence, and the deaths
of prisoners. Among Evens, arinkael were originally forest spirits (ibid.). Today,
however, these spirits are present in village buildings, thus transforming perceptions
of the location of spirits and affecting present Even experiences of living in the cursed
place (ibid.).
25 In a similar vein, Simonova (2013, pp. 256-293) reports that among Evenki living in the
northern part of Lake Baikal, various malevolent beings have become very active not
only in the taiga, but also in villages and abandoned industrial sites. Hence, abandoned
places have connections with the idea of how government violence and the devastation
of formerly prosperous places consign people to an unstable life. The current
difficulties that the Evenki experience in villages are also often attributed to the wrong
choice of location made by early Soviet state officials. Evenki (as well as other
indigenous peoples) were forcibly moved and settled in places that were well known by
them to be “bad places”. Indeed, Tungokochen village (Zabaikal region), known as a
dangerous village of black magic and tragic events, has been flooded a few times,
causing great damage to villagers. As a result, the villagers believe that they
continuously experience threats of potential misfortune just by residing in a village
built in a bad place inhabited by malevolent spirits or angry shaman spirits. According
to villagers, all visiting shamans from neighbouring Buryats or Evenki say that this
place is cursed and that people “spoil” (Ru. porcha) nearly every second house. Shamans
have performed public rituals several times to cleanse Tungokochen village (Zabaikal
region) and create a permanent ritual site that would help to calm spirits. Hence, we
see how Evenki and Even memories are localised and infused with experiences of
violence from colonial powers that physically and spiritually affected the worlds of
humans, non-humans, and the local landscape. Gordillo aptly notes that such
“spatialized” memories and experiences are active forces in the production of various
monstrous beings and meaningful places (Gordillo 2004, pp. 123-138).
26 The folklorists Archakova & Trifonova ( 2006, p. 114) also pointed out that for the
Evenki of Amur, various features of the monster identified as mangi were analogous to
those attributed to Russians: merchants, exploiters, and Cossack soldiers. Cossacks
were seen as helpers of these hungry monsters (i.e. the Mangi), since they brought wine
to the Evenki in order to weaken them and make use of them (see also Ivashchenko
2011). Alexander King (1999, pp. 57-66) also shows how images of vampire shamans (i.e.
kalaw) among the Koryaks can be seen as culturally appropriate symbols and metaphors

185
that could be used to describe current difficulties or refer to people that drain public
resources for personal profit. In the stories of the Koryaks, kalaw can “prey upon other
people, draining their spiritual energy or life force in order to gain extra power or
maintain unusual youth and prolong their life15”. Today, in the pervasive insecure
economic environment, local people divide villagers into victims and kalaw. They use
kalaw to refer to “administrators and managers analogous to vampire shamans draining
the vestiges of a vital force from a now-dead corpse [Russian economy touched by
crisis]” (ibid.). Similarly, in their contemporary storytelling Khanty hunters and
reindeer herders also employ the mythical image of a large man with an iron stomach
and a big cap that is capable of eating everything in his way (see Novikova 2014, p. 182).
This new and negative image evolved out of Khanty interactions with oil companies
and replaced the former image of bad and dangerous heroes found in traditional
folklore (ibid.).
27 Various stories linked to dangerous beings told in the camps of Evenki reindeer herders
and hunters provoke a sense of fear and an awareness of possible dangers. An Evenki
elder from Buryatia, Iulia Semirekonova, was among the main informants of the
famous Russian folklorist Mihail Voskoboinikov and a storyteller herself. She told me
that her clan used to invite an elder from the Zaguneev clan who could narrate an epic
(nimngakan) for three days. Everyone took part in such storytelling and was involved
emotionally; the audience sang songs together with the storyteller. People participated
in storytelling events by taking part in the contest related in the story, thereby
attracting luck and success. Elders say that some people could even be healed or receive
special healing powers by taking part in the narration of an epic. Indeed, when hunters
used to tell stories of success in the evenings before hunting, they sought by this means
to attract luck16. Narratives linked to the monster-cannibals usually described skilful
humans who escaped from monster-cannibals. Such stories provided the audience with
emotional inspiration and implicit suggestions for possible ways of escaping danger.
The various ways of escaping danger included creating obstacles for the monster or
other ways of misleading or deceiving it17.
28 Furthermore, these stories can teach moral ways of behaving in the world, like such as
reciprocating with the other humans, non-humans, and places that one interacts with.
A good example of the fusion of fear, morality, and awareness is represented by the
Evenki game Channit-Halganchuluk. As the journalist Iurii Klitsenko documented, this
game was recently re-enacted and played by the children of Surinda village in Evenkiia
(Klitsenko 2009, p. 15). The Channit-Halganchuluk is a one-eyed, one-legged, one-
armed monster represented by an Evenki child, dressed up for the occasion. Before the
game, the smartest child is chosen to play the most important role, that of the
monster-cannibal. The monster has to catch a “caravan” consisting of children and
choose any child to be eaten. A dialogue is established between the monster and the
individual player that helps to depict what is right or wrong. As Klitsenko (2009) aptly
notes, this game helps to make a moral judgement and to identify sinful behaviour,
referred to as ngelomel. The aim is also to develop awareness in the children regarding
the ability to recognise signs that predict future misfortunes; such signs among the
Evenki are known as nengo (see also Alehin 1998).
29 The morals of Evenki stories linked to monsters, ghosts, and cannibals always refer to
the violation of normative rules or ethics. People believe that accidental disrespect
shown to the spirits and ritual sites (for example, stealing objects from old storage

186
platforms or mortuary scaffolds) can cause various physical and psychological

disabilities. If a person is greedy, does not share with other beings, and does not show
respect to animals and their remains, then such a person can potentially die tragically
and become an arenki himself/herself. Disrespect and greediness linked to hunting and
the use of other resources often turn people into victims who lose luck and health or
remain troubled by spirits or anxious about something until death.
30 Among the indigenous communities of the Canadian Algonquin language family,
images of non-human beings called windigo are continuously animated in narratives
linked to aggression and cannibalism. Windigo are described as gigantic human-like
creatures or spirits that wander in the forest and possess a heart of ice (Ferrara &
Lanoue 2004, Mermann-Jozwiak 1997, p. 45, Teicher 1960, p. 7). Such beings have the
desire to eat human flesh and also display qualities of selfishness “to the point of
becoming monstrous” (Mermann-Jozwiak 1997). A human can be transformed into a
malevolent spirit or monster through misbehaviour or through possession, witchcraft,
and extreme starvation (Podruchny 2004, p. 677, Brightman 1993, p. 170, Ridington
1990, p. 160). For Ridington, the phenomenon of humans turning into cannibalistic
monsters known among Algonquians and Athabaskans as wechuge is not simple
psychosis, but a social sickness that is linked to the influx of strangers and mixing with
people who do not know the taboos associated with sacred bundles (Ridington 1976). In
other cases, wechuge can be associated with strangers who present a threat to social
cohesion and can be linked to the disruptive influence of contact with Europeans.
31 Similarly, Feit (2004, pp. 92-110) describes how the Canadian Cree associate white men
with the atuush (a being similar to the windigo described above). The atuush are cannibal
monsters that live in the forest and occasionally capture people for food or to keep as
slaves. Today, the metaphor of atuush is used among the Cree to describe the moral
delinquency of an individual (ibid.). Hence, the image of atuush is about anti-social
behaviours like self-interest, irresponsibility, and the exploitation or commodification
of the human relationship with the environment in a context of growing conflicts with
Euro-Canadians over various development projects (ibid.). According to Feit (2004,
p. 123), the atuush can be overcome by going into the forest and re-uniting people,
spirits, and the environment. Similarly, most Evenki believe that by performing rituals
of respect and reciprocity and returning to life in the taiga can calm the forces located
in the landscape and even make them act on their behalf in the taiga and in villages.
32 Various rituals are performed publicly serve to calm the spirits and maintain the
wellbeing of the Evenki community. Reindeer herders and hunters have managed to
revive what appeared to be extinct rituals in order to calm forgotten and malevolent
spirits and ensure subsistence in various taiga territories. Today, the Evenki living in
the taiga strive to visit various ritual sites to conduct rituals intended to calm the
spirits affecting their lives (Brandišauskas 2011). The Soviets repressed all Evenki
shamans up to the 1960s; however, various monumental ritual sites were still attended
by hunters and reindeer herders and were an important source of ritual inspiration,
luck, and wellbeing.
33 Despite admitting the malevolent nature of a particular spirit, hunters and herders
believe that this character can be changed depending on the relations one establishes
with it (see also Vaté 2005).

187
Conclusion
34 While various human encounters with bad spirits, monsters, and cannibals are well
documented in the ethnography and folklore of the subarctic peoples of northern
Canada and Siberia, the cosmological or culturally constructed experiences and
reactions of the indigenous peoples themselves remain, for the most part, an
unexplored topic (see Carlson 2009). Soviet ethnologists focused mainly on historical
explanations, etymology, and the genesis of narratives found in the various folklore
and myths they recorded among various groups of Evenki. Despite the wide
documentation of stories linked to malevolent spirits and dangerous cannibal beings
among Tungus (Evenki, Even) all over Siberia, there is still a dearth of explanations for
how these stories were socially perceived, experienced, and employed in daily
discourses and practices.
35 My aim in this article is to take a first step in analysing the topic of gluttony as
represented by various malevolent humans and non-human beings in Siberia from the
perspectives of Evenki hunters and herders living in the Zabaikal region and Buryatia. I
have tried to show that these beings – non-human as well as human, and referred to as
monsters, cannibals, or greedy beings – should be given more attention than is usually
given to the epic heroes described in the scientific classifications present in various
genres of folklore. These beings can be portrayed as “real persons” in the sense that
they help shape contemporary Evenki perceptions of sociality, morality, and ritual life.
Hence, malevolent human and non-human beings are not simply imagined, but also
feared and avoided. They can be encountered in the taiga, in villages, and in dreams. In
the context of an unpredictable environment, these beings embody threats and
violence that occurred in the past or recently and which continue to have a negative
effect on the present day lives of humans in the area. As early state officials’ reports
demonstrate, anthropophagy and marginality were attributed to the indigenous
peoples of the Russian North and were part of the complex colonial image constructed
by these officials in conjunction with the idea of them being uncultured and backward.
36 Evenki strategies of dealing with these spirits involve the reconstruction of the
memory of past tragic events. Such memories also include the necessity of being aware
of the living landscape, such as neglected camps, storage platforms, mortuary scaffolds,
or rock art sites. The Evenki strive to appeal to these spirits through ritual engagement
and the creation of reciprocal relations. These interactions with spirits through rituals
are an important aspect of the Evenki way of mastering a negative influence and
dealing with misfortunes. Indeed, various spirits, monsters, and cannibals are part of
Evenki cosmologies and are linked to vernacular ideas of hunting luck, reciprocity, sin,
and health. At the same time, these beings are experienced as emplaced phenomenon
associated with different humans, monsters, spirits, animals, and landscape features
(such as log houses, hills, rocks, lakes, routes, or former labour camps). All these
landscape features are infused with bad memories, tragic events, and spooky
manifestations. They, as an ensemble, shape the Evenki experience of place. Today,
some of these beings have been displaced from the taiga places and re-localised in
villages, buildings, or neglected industrial sites or can be met wandering in the taiga.
Indeed, such Evenki perceptions of place can be seen as extending from a geographic
locale to the wider spatial and temporal field of relations, linking a place with histories

188
of colonial contact, global forces and markets, governments, and various forms of
industrialisation (Gupta & Ferguson 1997, see for Cree of Canada in Feit 2004, p. 94).
37 In the daily discourses, various cannibals and malevolent spirits are associated with
exploitative, dangerous, and greedy people who act disrespectfully toward animals,
spirits, and humans in the taiga. Furthermore, in some cases these beings can be seen
as representing the power of the state or those officials in charge of coercive policies
that destabilise relations between humans, non-humans, and the landscape. In an
environment where widespread accusations of spoilage/curses (Ru. porcha) and the evil
eye/black magic are frequent and where the competition for various taiga resources is
particularly intense, Evenki stories of cannibals stress the importance of the morality
and ethics of hunting and sharing and the need for communal cooperation. They also
warn of the possible revenge of spirits that may result from misbehaviour and
poaching. Narrating and participating in the stories, enable Evenki to assert some
predictability over their lives, especially their subsistence practices. It also allows them
to promote awareness of potential dangers while teaching appropriate moral
behaviour and judgements. These stories can also serve the need to protect one’s
possessions on storage platforms, taiga resources, domestic animals, and hunting and
herding territories.
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NOTES
1. When documenting the remnants of religious practices among the Evenki of Soviet Buryatia,
the Evenki ethnographer Shubin stated that most hunters had ceased to maintain the memory of
shamans and were mostly atheists (Shubin 1969, pp. 172-173). However, he also underlined that
young people were still ‘not free of their belief that the success in subsistence practices still
depends on the good will of spirits and they continued to perform traditional rituals’ (ibid.).
2. In Cincius’ Tungus-Manchu dictionary, the Evenki word odzhen is translated as “owner” or
“master” (Ru. hoziain), “ruler” (Ru. nachal’nik, pravitel’), and “master-spirit” (Ru. duh hoziain)
(Cincius 1975, pp. 437-438). Among Turkic speakers, odzhen means “mastery” and “power”,
referring to the quality of places, spirits, and humans (for eeze among Altaians, see Halemba 2007,
pp. 64-67, for eze among Mongols, see Humphrey 1996, pp. 85-86).
3. This research was supported by the Research Council of Lithuania (No. S-MIP-17-4) and by the
Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.
4. All italicized words are in Evenki unless otherwise noted.
5. This study is based on my long-term fieldwork among Evenki reindeer herders and hunters in
rural areas of the northern parts of East Siberia (villages Usugli, Tungokochen, Ust’-Karenga,
Zelenoe Ozero, Krasnyi Yar, and Yumurchen) Zabaikal region, the Republic of Buryatia (Bugunda,
Mongoi, Bagdarino, and Rossoshino), the Republic of Yakutia (Tiania and Kindygir), and the
Amur region (Ust’ Urkima).
6. These trade items include velvet antlers, the paws and gallbladders of bears, the penises of
reindeer, and the glands of musk deer.
7. The evil eye (Ru. zglaz) is seen as a negative influence on human activities that is passed on
unconsciously from a person who has “bad luck” to another. Curses (Ru. porcha) are understood
by local people as conscious magical attacks against other people with the aim to cause illness.
These notions are not unique to the Zabaikal region and exist among many old settler
communities in Siberia and northeastern Europe (for the old settlers of Chukotka, see
Hakkarainen 2007, for Komi see Il’ina 2008).
8. A prominent reindeer herder told me that a curse sent by villagers often comes to him in the
shape of a pack of wolves that preys upon his domestic reindeer.
9. In the comparative Tungus-Manchu language dictionary, the arenki can be referred to as a
malevolent spirit, devil, monster, or ghost (see Cincius 1975, p. 122). According to Lavrillier
(personal communication), arinkal can be derived from the Evenki and Even verb root ari- (to call,
to attract); hence, the Evenki of southern Yakutia and the Amur region and the Even of
Kamchatka and northern Yakutia say that these spirits can also call people into the middle of the
forest in order to steal their souls.
10. For the similar notion of zaayan (wandering souls of the dead), see Hangalov 1958,
pp. 482-496, and Hamayon 2006.
11. Shirokogoroff (1919, 1935, pp. 149-150, 190-198) vividly described how some spirits could
enter and exit different “placings” (Ru. vmestilishche) either at their own volition or by being

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invited or enticed by humans to enter certain objects, which were then kept and manipulated for
a person’s own needs. A “placing” was described as an embodied kind of spirit that also serves
the needs of humans. Any geographical location, tree, animal, human, crafted item, or part of an
organ can become such a “placing” (ibid.).
12. In the tsarist Speranskii code of 1822, the nomadic way of life was seen as backward and
Evenki were therefore classified as “wandering Tungus” (Ru. brodiachii Tungus) in administrative
documents and ethnographic literature. The “wandering Tungus” were described as having no
ties to land or understanding of the “mastery of the land” (see in Orlov 1858, p. 180). Their way of
life was therefore considered a relic of the past and the state called for an end to nomadism.
13. Similarly, some elders remember how Kalmyk deported to Siberia by Stalin were even
introduced to the local population as cannibals (Ivanov 2011, pp. 212-213).
14. A number of Evenki and non-Evenki hunters told me how they were attacked in real life and
then in dreams by the cannibal-bear, who was thought to be sent as a revenge for one’s
misbehavior. Indeed, in Evenki cosmologies, the bear can often be seen as a mediator or a
messenger between master-spirits and humans.
15. Similarly, Vasilevich (1969) noted that Evenki shamans could also eat human souls and other
spirits during healing rituals in the past.
16. Indeed, through telling different success stories the Evenki aimed to entertain spirits, which
might be generous to people and send them luck (see also Zelenin 2004, p. 27, Lavrillier 2008).
17. Folklorists assert that the Evenki and Even tales linked to the changit cannibals are
widespread not only in the Zabaikal region: instances have also been recorded among the south
and north Yakutia, Irkutsk, and Amur Evenki (see Varlamov 2009, 2011, Gabysheva 2012, for Even
see also Lavrillier & Matic 2013).
ABSTRACTS
In this article, I intend to show how the sociocultural changes that occurred during the Soviet
period as well as current challenges are creatively reflected and incorporated into Evenki
cosmology. Various malevolent beings to whom gluttony and, in some cases, anthropophagi have
existed in Evenki cosmology for centuries. Today, these beings are continuously encountered in
daily life and depicted in contemporary Evenki narrations. While references to the cannibalistic
features of indigenous peoples were widely employed by colonial powers, today the Evenki link
the influence of malevolent beings with past and current state policies, tragic events, ruptures of
ethical norms, the exploitation of resources, and personal misbehaviour. These narrations enable
the Evenki to promote awareness of potential dangers and teach other people appropriate moral
behaviour and judgements.
Dans cet article, je tente de montrer comment les changements socioculturels survenus pendant
la période soviétique ainsi que les défis actuels sont reflétés avec créativité et incorporés dans la
cosmogonie des Évenks. Les nombreux êtres malveillants existant depuis des siècles dans la
cosmogonie évenke et ayant pour attributs la gloutonnerie, et dans certains cas
l’anthropophagie, sont continuellement rencontrés dans la vie quotidienne et décrits dans les
récits contemporains évenks. Alors que les références au cannibalisme des peuples autochtones
ont été largement employées par le pouvoir colonial, aujourd’hui, les Évenks lient l’influence des
êtres malveillants aux politiques étatiques passées et présentes, aux événements tragiques et aux

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transgressions individuelles des normes éthiques et des règles de conduite. Raconter ou

participer à la narration, permet aux Évenks de promouvoir la conscience des dangers potentiels,
tout en enseignant les convenances en termes d’attitudes et de jugements moraux.
INDEX
Keywords: Evenki, reindeer herding, hunting, Transbaikal region, Buryatia, narrative, spirits,
monsters, cannibalism, morality
Mots-clés: Évenk, élevage du renne, chasse, Transbaïkalie, Bouriatie, récit, esprits, monstres,
cannibalisme, moralité
AUTHOR
DONATAS BRANDIŠAUSKAS
Dr. Donatas Brandišauskas is an Associate Professor of Social Anthropology at the University of
Vilnius, Lithuania. He has carried out ethnographic research in Southeast Siberia, where he
focused on ritual practices, human-animal relations, and place making among the indigenous
Orochen-Evenki reindeer herders and hunters of the Zabaikal region and Buryatia. He is the
author of a monograph on Orochen-Evenki notions of luck (Studies in the Circumpolar North,
volume 1, Berghahn Press, 2017). His current interests include Evenki land use, customary law,
and perceptions of rock art sites in the Amur region and South Yakutia. He is Honorary Research
Fellow at Aberdeen University in Scotland and an associate member of CEARC of the University of
Versailles (University Paris-Saclay) in France.
d.brandisauskas@gmail.com

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Tiger rituals and beliefs in shamanic

Tungus-Manchu cultures
Les rituels et les croyances liés au tigre dans les cultures chamanistes
toungouso-mandchoues
Tatiana Bulgakova
EDITOR'S NOTE
click here
click here
1 Tungus-Manchu shamanists1 venerate tigers because of their belief in the possible

possession of some tiger-individuals. Despite the fact that not all animals can become
possessed, people consider it dangerous to fail to show due respect to the animal in
case a powerful spirit occupies its body. The spirits are believed to be initially
independent from tigers, but later, after staying awhile in tigers’ bodies, they can
obtain some of the animals’ features. This makes them, as the shamanists consider,
temporarily visible, taking the form of tigers. Assimilating the properties of dangerous
predators like real tigers, the spirit-tigers help shamans to dominate other people in
the community and overpower foreigners. The spirit-tigers’ might and authority, along
with the fact that in certain situations even their master-shamans are unable to dictate
anything to them, shows their independence from the real animals whose shapes they
assume. Taking into consideration Tungus-Manchu shamanistic emic knowledge, we
question the popular idea that shamanic praxis is based on the adoration of nature and
affirm that venerating the spirits, not nature (that is to say, not animals as such), lies at
the heart of tiger worship in Tungus-Manchu shamanism.
2 Tungus-Manchu shamanists treat tigers2 as humans and worship them as distinctive
creatures with extraordinary mystical abilities. One might assume that the extreme

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strength and beauty of these beasts is what inspires people to attribute to them
abilities that go beyond physical laws. However, the Tungus-Manchu shamanistic
people themselves explain their mysterious power as being granted by certain spirits.
To understand this point, it is worth considering the extent to which spirits with a tiger
shape are, from the shamanistic perspective, separate and independent from the real
animals. This paper presents some examples of worshipping tigers and discusses the
ideas which lie at the basis of the Tungus-Manchu shamanistic beliefs in the ability of
tigers to behave like people and in their extraordinary spiritual power. First, the paper
presents the shamanistic belief that some tigers can be possessed by spirits: this raises
the question of why such a belief leads to the worship of all tigers, and not just the
possessed ones. Second, the paper considers those cases in which spirits originally
believed to exist independently of animals become temporarily visible in the form of
tigers and discusses the changeability of the spirits’ “material containers” in the
context of shapeshifting. Finally, we turn to the Tungus-Manchu shamanistic praxis of
communicating and cohabitating with spirits by interacting with possessed tigers or
with spirits that take on the appearance of tigers. Remaining within the limits of
anthropological research, we cannot question the very nature of the unusual abilities
attributed to tigers and the spirits associated with them. We can only summarize some
of the information known to us and the author’s own field data 3 in order to discover
how Tungus-Manchu shamanists themselves comprehend and explain the exceptional
properties of these beautiful and powerful animals.
Tigers as human-like creatures

3 Attitudes towards tigers are manifested in the following practices. Tiger hunting is
strictly prohibited (Titoreva 2012, p. 17): those who maintain a shamanic worldview
condemn hunters who kill tigers for money from contemporary Chinese buyers
(Bereznitskii 2005, p. 353). When a hunter meets a tiger in the taiga, he usually speaks
to it. “In order to make the tiger understand that the hunter does not intend to
interfere with the tiger’s hunting, the man must leave his rifle, putting it on the
ground, and address the tiger with a speech… The tiger is not supposed to understand
this word by word, because the tiger cannot speak, but by a special method of
penetrating into the very sense of the speech” (Shirokogoroff 1935). Nevertheless, if
someone is unlucky enough to accidently kill a tiger (for instance, in self-defence) or
find a dead tiger in the taiga, he or she has no other choice than to bury it.
Dismembering a tiger’s corpse (a common practice with bear carcasses) is strictly
prohibited (Titoreva 2012, pp. 17-18). Instead, people hold a funeral ceremony very
similar to that given to humans. The tiger’s body is buried in human dress. The Oroch
people put trousers and dressing gowns on the deceased creature, along with boots on
its hind legs, mittens on its fore feet, and a hat on its head (Petrov 1977). Tobacco, a
firesteel, and a pipe are placed near its head (Petrovich 1865). T. V. Melnikova has also
reported that the “Udeghe and the Oroch bury tigers in trousers, dresses, boots, and
mittens”; she adds that tigers are clothed in summer dress in winter and vice versa 4
(Melnikova 2005, p. 1845). Referring to the Chinese components of the Udeghe funeral
rituals for tigers killed accidentally or as a result of a vendetta 6, S. V. Bereznitskii notes
the ritual of burning red and gold papers over the corpse or saluting it with rifle volleys
(Bereznitskii 2005, pp. 256-257). A. Barvinok mentions that the “Udeghe and Oroch
bury tigers in special blockhouses called saktаmа (similar to a barn) on four vertical

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columns. Inside these blockhouses, they spread out some soft shavings (kuaptel’a) to
absorb the animal’s blood: the tiger is placed on top of these shavings. The rooves of
the blockhouses are covered with birch bark and poles. Long strips of shavings are
placed in the corners, denoting that this dwelling is the resting place of a dead
‘kinsman’. Special marks are made on the walls to let people know that this is a place
which one is forbidden to visit” (Barvinok 2010).
4 One might suppose that such unusual treatment is connected to the peculiar powers
and physical perfection of tigers. “It is difficult to find an animal on earth which is
comparably powerful and dexterous, beautiful and fearless [...]. A tiger’s influence on
human physiology is tremendous and, in many respects, mysterious. Simply being
aware that you can meet this striped monster in a particular place makes your heart
start beating more rapidly; your senses and attention become much keener”
(Kucherenko 2012, pp. 264-265). Trying to explain why people treat tigers like humans,
L. I. Shrenk argued that it is exactly the fear of tigers that induces people to devote
rituals to them and create images in their likeness. He also noticed that people do not
like to talk about tigers and avoid uttering the very word for fear of incurring the
animal’s anger, which could cause trouble and disease (Shrenk [2003] 2012, p. 116). One
can also find in the literature attempts to explain the tiger cult from a materialist
position. Thus, S. N. Skorinov writes that worshipping tigers can be explained by trade
priorities in the Lower Amur and Sakhalin regions. He argues that the emerging
markets of the Lower Amur and Sakhalin, which may have arisen as early as the end of
the 18th century, required the indigenous population to intensify the hunting of
valuable fur-bearing animals, which contributed to the growth of unflagging
indigenous interest in the taiga cult of the bear and the tiger (Skorinov 2005,
pp. 123-124).
5 To a certain extent, all these interpretations of the special relationship with tigers are
fair, but neither aesthetic attitude nor economic concern can explain the widespread
belief in the ability of extraordinary tigers to behave like people. The Oroch, Udeghe,
and Nanai consider tigers to be masters of the taiga with power over all other animals:
they can command an animal to dress in its expensive “coat” and rush into the trap of a
hunter. The Negidals, Ulchi, and Nivkh also believe that tigers, the masters of the taiga,
order animals to reveal their most vulnerable spots to hunters for a well-aimed shot
(Skorinov 2005, p. 97). If a hunter loses his way in the taiga, he can call upon the master
of tigers, who will come to him in the form of a tiger and show him the way out
(Bereznitskii 2005, p. 194). As the master of the taiga, the tiger is believed to be the
highest judge: it teaches people the laws and partly instructs them about the order of
the bear feast and blood sacrifice.
6 Explaining the unusual qualities attributed to tigers, shamanists affirm that tigers (the
real animals which live in the taiga) “are not just animals; instead they represent a
special species of humans7. This attitude is partly similar to the attitude towards bears,
as bears are not considered to be animals either, but humans” (Kaplan 1949, p. 61):
nevertheless, tigers are considered much mightier than bears. According to
Shirokogoroff, the famous expert on Evenki shamanism, people who practise
shamanism, believe that animals (like humans) can be possessed by spirits: “the Tungus
do recognise that animals may become dwellings for the spirits. If so, the animal may
also become ‘stupid’, ‘unreasonable’, or, if actually directed by the spirit, as clever as
the spirit itself” (Shirokogoroff 1935, p. 165).

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7 The Tungus-Manchu not only treat tigers as humans, but also call them “humans” (for
example, in Nanai the word nai – “human” – is used). This does not mean that the
Tungus-Manchu actually consider tigers to be people. When speaking about
particularly dangerous spirits, the Tungus-Manchu often use euphemisms: indeed, in
Nanai, the word nai means not only humans, but also spirits. If the Nanai want to refer
especially to a tiger, they use the aforementioned euphemism puren ambani
(“dangerous spirit of taiga”). Therefore, when calling tigers “people” (nai), the Nanai do
not mean the animals as such, but rather the spirits that have mastered those animals.
Tigers are considered living physical receptacles for disembodied spirits, and the
attitude towards them is somewhat similar to that towards figures depicting spirits.
People address tigers just like they address spirits, with pleas and spells: they also fear
damaging either of them (for instance, one should neither kill a tiger nor break a spirit
figurine, since both actions may deprive a dangerous spirit of its home).
8 Tungus-Manchu shamanists do not make exceptions for different individuals and treat
each particular tiger like a human. Based on this fact, one might think that all the
tigers are inhabited by spirits, but those who practise shamanism themselves are
convinced that very far from all the tigers they meet in the taiga are possessed.
Moreover, from the shamanistic point of view, a spirit is never constantly present in
the animal chosen as its physical vessel: from time to time, it leaves the body of the
animal, so the possessed tiger temporarily becomes an ordinary animal again. However,
it is extremely hazardous for a hunter if they do not treat a tiger in the proper way
during the special moment when the powerful spirit is still present in its body.
Therefore, the fear of making a mistake by failing to show respect for the animal when
it is possessed by a powerful and dangerous spirit makes people venerate all
encountered tigers.
Spirits which become temporarily visible in the shape

of tigers
9 In addition to tigers as possessed real animals, Tungus-Manchu shamanists also know
of initially incorporeal invisible spirits which sometimes сan become visible and appear
in front of people in the shape of a tiger. It is they that communicate with people in the
human rituals called shamanic “games8”. A. Lavrillier interprets these games with
spirit-tigers as an “entity conceptualizing the natural environment” (Lavrillier 2012,
p. 115). By invoking spirit-animals, shamans actually appeal not to the real animals and
nature, but to the intangible spirits that have only taken guise as animals. The spirit-
tigers to whom the Nanai shaman appeals in the following fragment of a Nanai
shamanic ritual are not real, physical animals:
My children tigers come, come!
From the foot of my sacral tree come to my body, come to my body!
Tigers! Appear by the foot of my sacral tree!
Shake yourselves off and stretch yourselves! (L. I. Beldy)
10 A. V. Smoliak wrote that Nanai tudin9 apparently return from the world beyond
mounted on the backs of tigers (Smoliak 1991, p. 49); equally, during shamanic battles,
shamans fight each other whilst flying on tigers (ibid., p. 61). However, in all these cases
the tigers become visible only for a few moments, which proves their spiritual nature.
Some spirits that cause sickness manifest themselves in the shape of a tiger; in order to

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free the patients from these spirits, shamans transport them from sick patients into
figurines or drawings of tigers. In 1981, in the Nanai village of Daerga (Khabarovsk
region), I had the opportunity to observe how a Nanai shaman carried “a tiger” from a
patient’s chest into a drawing of tiger on a moigan (a breast collar made of fabric).
During the ritual, she sang the following verses appealing to “the tiger:”
In order to wake up this moigan, to make it alive,
Stick to the moigan, revive it!
We have made your image as a body for you.
The tiger Kutu amban10, which has marked her [the patient]
and which has got stuck in her chest, biting her as if with iron!
Become satisfied with my rite-request!
Be incarnated into this moigan!
Be incarnated in this pictured tiger, in its eyes! (G. K. Geiker)
11 One might suggest that the images of tigers on the famous Sikachi-Alian petroglyphs 11
were probably used for similar purposes and that such rituals took place at the rock art
site, although there are no data remaining to prove this. The images of tigers on
shamans’ dresses are also used in the same manner. In all these cases, it is a question
not of the animal’s physical dimensions but of the spirits within: the only query is why
spirits so often take tiger shape.
Figure 1. Zinaida Beldy in the wedding dress made by herself
The skirts of the robe depict tigers as “ancestors” of her husband Beldy’s clan.
© T. Bulgakova, Village Troitskoe, Khabarovsk region, August 2007

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Figure 2. A fragment of the same wedding dress
© T. Bulgakova, Village Troitskoe, Khabarovsk region, August 2007
Love affairs with tigers

12 The answer to this question partly lies in the widespread Tungus-Manchu idea that
marriage is possible between a girl and a real physical tiger, which connects real tigers
with the spirits and raises their status to human. The Nanai clans of the Aktanka, Beldy,
and Samar, the Oroch clan of the Èminka, the Udeghe clan of the Kamandiga, and the
Ulch clans of the Dumsal and Udy believe that they are relatives of tigers due to the fact
that their girls have had or are having sex with tigers (Titoreva 2012, p. 19). Scholars
write about human-spirit cohabitation as one of the most noticeable characteristic of
Tungus-Manchu shamanism. Thus, the Russian ethnologist Lev Shternberg was the first
to elaborate the theory of sexual electiveness in shamanism, which he based on
information collected from a Nanai shaman. Referring to a shaman’s revelations,
Shternberg affirmed that a “spirit’s sexual preference for its chosen human” is the
main motif of the shamanic call and the fundamental basis of shamanism (Shternberg
1927, p. 1212). His informant confided that he “slept with one of his spirits as if with his
own wife” (Shternberg 1927, pp. 8-9). Furthermore, it is not only shamans who have
such experiences, but also many ordinary people. According to Smoliak’s data, every
Nanai woman has a spirit “husband”, known as a horaliko (Smoliak 1991, p. 74), who
takes the form of a tiger in dreams. In all matrimonial contacts, the tiger is obviously
not treated as an animal that is only visible from time to time, but as a spirit which can
take on different physical forms such as a tiger or sometimes even a human.
13 It should be noted that Tungus-Manchu shamanists are sincerely convinced that their
familial relation to tigers is not a fabrication, but a result of sexual intercourse either

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with real tigers or with spirits in the shape of tigers. Kira van Deusen, who recorded
traditional stories in the 1990s from the people of the taiga forest in the Russian Far
East, has stated that “marriage with tigers was being entertained as a real possibility,
not a vision” (Deusen 2001, p. 175). In her book Flying Tigers, she wrote that, upon first
hearing that the Ulch shaman-woman Anga was married to a tiger, she interpreted the
story “as happening in another reality – as a vision”. However, after talking to Anga
herself, it was clear that she perceived her marriage as real. Van Deusen writes: “It
seems possible from the following story that Anga had gotten pregnant from being
scratched by the tiger” (Deusen 2001, p. 171). Furthermore, she notes: “This is a
difficult problem for folklorists and ethnographers who enter a culture different from
their own – how to relate to things that seems impossible and yet are accepted as literal
truth” (ibid., p. 175). In comparison, we could also mention A. A. Popov’s similar
revelation about the Dolgan’s conviction in the veracity of their stories about marriages
with spirit-animals. He wrote that someone had once discussed with him the possibility
of human-bear cohabitation. In the presence of many other people, this person asked
Popov:
“Tell me, please, is it not true? You are Russian and probably do not believe in it?”
Being experienced through adversity about how useless it is to convince in such
cases, I answered: “Would you yourself try to go and live with a bear?” All of the
people present, who did not expect such an answer, confusedly fell silent. Looking
at their faces, I saw their internal strife; there was no laughing or any jokes. (Popov
1937, p. 14)
14 Again, it is not for us to reveal whether extraordinary tiger/human relations are reality
or fabrications. The only important thing for us is the natives’ full conviction in the
reality of these relations. The Nanai believe that if a tiger has kept an eye on a girl in
order to make love to her (as can be judged from her dreams), it is impossible to marry
her to a human. Thus, when T. K. Hodger was 12 years old (as she herself stated), she
was brought to an uninhabited island on the Amur River and left there for a night
because she “was intended to marry to a tiger. That night she met the formidable beast.
The tiger walked over to her, sniffed her and walked away, refusing to take a girl as a
wife” (not killing her). From this moment, it was possible to marry T. K. Hodger to a
common man (Maltseva 2007, p. 109). In the Nanai village Lidoga (Khabarovsk region),
people remember a girl who hung herself because her parents decided to marry her off
to a human without permission from a “tiger”. According to my informant E. Ch. Beldy,
the girl, upon learning of their decision, began to cry, “I am already married to a
tiger!”. She then said: “Why are you going to give me to a strange human?” She hung
herself outside, and a huge tiger came to her body. It sat near her for three days as if
guarding her corpse, and would not let it be taken away. People thought it was her
tiger-lover. Only after the tiger left could the corpse be removed. Later, the same tiger
was seen lying on the girl’s grave. V. Ch. Geiker, another informant, had a sister who
died young and was also “married to a tiger”. On the eve of the sister’s marriage to a
human, she suddenly died as they were sewing her dress and providing a dowry. V. Ch.
Geiker recollected:
What beautiful hair she had! Every morning I plaited her hair. That morning [when
she died], I woke up and saw that they had already put her body on the table. She
was lying there, and her hair was hanging down. My mother approached me and
said, “Daughter Verochka, your sister died. Go and plait her hair”. I was scared and
cried. She said, “Daughter, do not be afraid. Never be scared of the departed ones,
they will not harm you [...]”. I dried my tears and plaited her hair. (V. Ch. Geiker)

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15 However, the death did not bring an end to the family’s encounter with the tiger. As
one of their female relations was a tiger’s wife, the animal was their brother-in-law. All
the family continued dreaming of the tiger and the cubs which were supposedly born
from the marriage13. Geiker was certain that “the tigers [the relatives of her brother-in-
law] sometimes visit”, “trying to do the rounds”; “they are probably interested in how
their human family lives, whether they are sick or not”. Geiker’s family noticed that if,
in their dreams, the tiger’s attention in one of their relatives increased, that person
soon died. The tiger-relative’s influence on the family also manifested itself (or so they
believed) in similar dreams and illnesses: it was as if the family was subject to the same
spiritual ailment. I define this phenomenon as a collective clan disease (Bulgakova
2013, pp. 35-58).
16 In Geiker’s case, the tiger was perceived as an invisible spirit that only became
observable as a physical animal in certain circumstances. The ability of an invisible
tiger to become visible in reality is one of the most striking features of these cases. The
tiger-spirit either becomes temporarily visible or can only be seen by one person:
others cannot see it. Thus, Geiker emphasised that the tiger (her sister’s groom) was
visible only to her sister: “It was only her who could feel how this tiger entered the
house, how it lay under the table and slept there. We (the rest of the family) could not
see its body”. At the same time, however, the other members of the family dreamt of
that tiger. “All of us”, she said, “dreamt the same thing: the tiger was lying on the
zavalinka14 of our house”. K. van Deusen had a conversation with an Ulch shaman
woman who had had two tiger babies by a tiger: “Where did the tiger babies go?”,
“They are alive, they help me”. “Are they in the taiga?”, “They are here with me. You
don’t see them?”, “No”. “I see them” (Deusen 2001, p. 171). In other words, this Ulch
woman-shaman saw her children-tigers in reality, even though they remained invisible
to others.
17 This information about tiger/human marriage can help us discuss the important
question of indigenous ideas concerning how incorporeal invisible spirits become
visible. According to the shamanistic point of view, after residence in a particular
physical body, the intangible spirit obtains some of the features of that corporal
creature. In some exceptional cases, these material features can be perceived and seen
not only by shamans, but also by ordinary people. Generalizing the data on different
shamanic cultures, V. I. Haritonova terms such a phenomenon as the “temporary
exchange of worlds” (i.e. of the material and spiritual worlds). She writes that “a spirit
is not able to carry out its activities outside of someone’s body”; thus, it needs a person
or a shaman for this purpose. In other words, it is the shaman who is significant. He or
she is required as a particular form, a container for keeping a spirit in the world of the
living (Haritonova 2005, p. 34). Such containers can also be ritual sculptures, figurines,
drawings, etc. made with the special purpose of embodying spirits. Regarding real
tigers (as well as bears and some other animals), their bodies (and also human bodies)
can fulfil the same function for spirits, serving as their temporary dwellings.
Shamans who shapeshift into tigers

18 Tungus-Manchu shamanists hold that one spirit can simultaneously dwell in two or
more objects (for example, an animal and a figurine which depicts the animal), not just
one. This idea lies at the basis of the belief in shamans’ ability to shapeshift into tigers

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and other animals. People who practise shamanism affirm that the changeability of
shamans’ physical bodies and their temporal shapeshifting into animals can sometimes
be noticed even by ordinary people. Ornamenting a shaman’s costume in such a way
that it makes them look like an animal also relates to the shaman’s ability to join with
another being by means of a spirit, which can dwell in both of them. T. Iu. Sem
indicates that among the Amur Evenki, Daur, and Nanai, there was a special category of
shamans who were held to be tigers: either their clothing imitated tiger skin or they
had pictures of tigers on their chests (Sem [2015] 2017, p. 39). The connection of these
shamans with tigers was also emphasised in the method of their burials. Referring to
the archival materials of V. K. Arsen’ev, recorded at the beginning of the 20 th century,
S. V. Bereznitskii reports that one Udeghe shaman’s grave was covered with a shed of
boards: “the coffin was placed on a special stand, painted with black and red transverse
stripes”: “these stripes on the coffin carried great meaning, for they imitated tiger fur”
(Bereznitskii 2005, pp. 101-102). Despite the fact that the shaman and his or her spirits
exist independently to a certain extent, an observer might come to believe that “in the
Tungus mind both the shaman and the spirit are the same. This ought to be understood
in the following sense: there is no question as to the personal ability of the shaman, the
question is about the spirits which have been mastered by him; thus, the spirits are
nothing other than an alter ego of the shaman himself” (Shirokogoroff 1935 p. 373).
19 The widespread belief of Tungus-Manchu shamanists in the reality of shapeshifting is
connected to the idea of a close unity between shaman and spirit (or between animal
and spirit). Thus, the Udeghe who live near the confluence of the tributary Vahumbe
and the River Iman (the Amur basin district) try not to approach a certain rock with a
cave out of fear for the shamanic spirits which still occupy a place where, as they
believe, powerful Udeghe shamans with spirit-tigers physically turned into tigers in the
past (Bereznitskii 2005, p. 351). In order to comprehend how the Tungus-Manchu
themselves perceive shamans turning into tigers and other animals, it is useful to listen
to those shamans who affirm that they have had experiences of such transformations.
The Nanai shaman N. P. Beldy was once walking in the forest together with his mother,
father-in-law, and elder brother and ran a few steps ahead of his family. Then he
stopped and looked back at his family approaching through the heavy foliage. However,
when his relatives spotted him, they took fright and started running back. Later, his
mother explained to him: “It was not your face, not a human face, but a tiger’s muzzle
that was looking at us from the bushes, that is why we were so frightened”. N. P. Beldy
was convinced that this had occurred because he had a shamanic spirit-helper tiger
that he had inherited from his great-grandfather, a great shaman 15. Shamans can also
take on different hypostases while sleeping. The neo-shaman 16 I. Kile 17 assured me that
people who stayed overnight at her place often saw her either as a dog which jumped
right from where she was sleeping and attacked them or herself in an unusual dress
approaching them: throughout these incidents, Kile remained in bed. One of my Nanai
shaman informants explained the changeability of the shapes of a possessed person by
the fact that, as he expressed it, the “human body can become a container for spirits”.
To illustrate this statement, he told me about one of his patients, a young man who
“unexpectedly started putting on lipstick” and “running away from home”: his “eyes
from time to time became really terrifying”. Sometimes this patient even became
unrecognisable: “at night his eyes became different, but in the morning he became
himself again, and he could hardly remember what was happening to him at night”.
According to the shaman’s diagnosis, these occurrences were caused by an alien

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shaman who had settled a female spirit into the patient’s body. The shaman affirmed
that the possessed person had two distinct faces because the spirit which had possessed
him occasionally started manifesting itself, thereby pushing the host’s own personality
out of his body. There is nothing new in the idea of the changeability of a shaman or a
person possessed by a spirit. As long ago as 1927, L. Ia. Shternberg noticed that, in the
presence of “the creature” that had moved into a shaman, the shamans’ own
personalities completely vanished; they became, for a brief period, the supernatural
creature that had chosen them as a container. According to Shternberg, everything a
shaman says or does during this time is in fact an action of the spirit inside; the
shaman’s own personality has disappeared (Shternberg 1927, p. 28). Through the same
mechanism, this scholar also explained phenomena like a change in sex: the “shaman’s
personality is abolished upon being transformed into his or her spirit-spouse. Thus, a
shaman-man, at least for the time of the ritual, becomes a woman, and a shaman-
woman becomes a man. If a spirit choses a shaman’s body as its permanent dwelling, as
happens among the Chukchi, it is no wonder that [...] such a spirit, if it is of the same
sex as the shaman, openly demands from its ‘chosen one’ that they change their sex”
(Shternberg 1927, p. 30). When a spirit gets into a shaman, the latter obtains some of
the characteristics of that spirit. Thus, as Shirokogoroff explains, if a spirit takes a bird-
shape, the shaman can act like a bird; if the same spirit turns into a tiger, the shaman
can obtain the appearance of a tiger; and so on. In order to move around, hide from
enemies, etc., a shaman places a spirit which is able to turn into different animals into
himself: he therefore also obtains the ability to change and insert himself into different
objects, humans, and animals (Shirokogoroff [1919] 2005). Hence not only tigers but
also shamans can be vehicles for spirits.
20 It is not only the face of a possessed person that changes; as the shamans assure us,
even the appearance the spirit takes when it approaches the shaman can alter. In other
words, the same spirit can present itself in different forms in the face of a shaman. My
informant shaman L. I. Beldy told me about her own experiences of this phenomenon:
At night, they [the spirits] walk in the forest: I also “walk” there [while sitting at
home and beating the drum]. I walk around and watch [these spirits]. Nobody sees
them, only me. They are such creatures that you can see them [spirits] as animals
on four legs, but, after stepping a pace, they turn into humans. Nobody believes me.
How can I say that an animal turns into a human? How can humans get into the
forest at such a late hour? It is night! (L. I. Beldy)
21 According to the shaman who acted as Shternberg’s informant, his spirit-wife first
appeared to him as a beautiful woman half an arshin (0.355 m) in height. Later,
however, she came to him “in the likeness of an old woman, sometimes like a wolf – it is
scary to look at her – and sometimes ‘she’ comes as a winged tiger” (Shternberg 1927,
pp. 8-9).
22 The changeability of spirit-tigers and other shamanic spirits is usually expressed in
ritual figurines by combining the features of different creatures on one image. At the
basis of the changeability of the spirit’s image lies the mortality of those creatures in
which the immortal spirit dwells. When a spirit sequentially possesses several
creatures, it collects all their features. If the same spirit first possessed a tiger, then a
bird, and then a human, it would have the ability to appear in all these forms or as a
rider on a winged tiger (or a winged rider on a tiger). Thus, a shaman, upon making a
receptacle for his or her spirit, depicts it as a tiger with wings and a human on its back
(see Fig. 3). Moreover, non-ritual art works also combine the features of different

205
creatures (see Figs 4 and 5). This is why a shaman combines the features of different
animals in his or her spirit receptacle. In turn, the praxis of combining these features is
additional proof that indicates the spirits’ relative independence from these physical
bodies, which they can temporarily leave and exchange.
Figure 3. An image of a spirit seven used in traditional Nanai shamanic practice
The image combines the features of a tiger, a human, and a bird.

© R. Beldy, village Naihin, Khabarovsk region, October 2015

206
Figure 4. A fragment of carpet depicting a tiger, including elements of images of snakes
Made by the shaman O. E. Kile.

© T. Bulgakova, village Verhni Nergen, Khabarovsk region, August 2007

207
Figure 5. The work of the contemporary Nanai artist N. M. Digor
It connects the features of a tiger and a human. Such images produce the same impression on the
contemporary descendants of shamans as traditional images of spirits.
© A. Cherniak, village Condon, Khabarovsk region, summer 2015
Games of unequal partners

23 In shamanic praxis, a human and “a tiger” (that is to say, a spirit in the shape of a
tiger), despite their close interconnection, are certainly independent of each other;
furthermore, their interrelations are determined and, to some extent, predictable. In
the initial stage, such intercommunication is usually called “a game” (Na. hupiuri),
wherein a spirit-tiger involves a human in ever closer terms of intimacy. Thus, the
Nanai shaman M. P. Beldy informed me that when she was forced to perform a
shamanic ritual, it was as if someone was whispering into her ears: “Let’s go playing
[shamanising]!” During the process of becoming a shaman, a person can dream of
spirits which call out: “We played with your father, let us now play with you”
(Shternberg 1933, p. 77). Furthermore, it is not only the initial stage of shamanic praxis
and the performing of shamanic rituals that are called “playing”: this also applies to
cohabitation with a spirit18. “Playing” is also used to describe ordinary women’s
experiences of having “spirit-tigers” as “lovers” (horaliko). However, playing occurs
only in the initial stage; after a human has already been involved in particular
relationships to a certain degree, the spirit begins to dominate him or her. Thus, if the
person refuses to play with “a tiger”, or if a “tiger” unexpectedly becomes bored with
its human partner, the “tiger” can be really dangerous. Shternberg’s informant, a Nanai
shaman, stated that upon imposing cohabitation, his spirit-wife said: “If you do not
obey, you will be bad; I will kill you” (Shternberg 1927, p. 9). Smoliak wrote that if a

208
Nanai woman gets “a husband” in the spiritual world, she could become sick to such
extent that no shaman will be able to heal her: such women often commit suicide. “A
pasiku spirit [a gallows spirit] flies around with a rope and throws it about their [the
women’s] necks. The woman permanently feels it [the rope] on her neck, and she will
certainly hang herself” (Smoliak 1991, p. 77). The Nanai V. Ch. Geiker and her relatives
believe that her elder sister died on the eve of her wedding because she was killed by
her “tiger” spirit-lover, which became jealous and did not want the wedding to go
ahead. My informant, the Nanai shaman N., had had six husbands; all of them died, one
after the other. O. E. Kile, another Nanai shaman, explained that it was N.’s jealous
shamanic “spirit-lovers” who killed her human husbands: “Now she complains: Who
else will love me? I do not even have anyone to carry some firewood for me!’ It is
amban19 (her spirit-lover) which kills her husbands”. Those who practise shamanism
also believe that spirit-lovers can make attempts on the lives of the other relatives of
their human partners. I had the chance to be present at a shamanic ritual ordered by a
non-shaman woman. She complained to the Nanai shaman L. I. Beldy about her “tiger”
spirit-lover: “It torments me! My horaliko (spirit-lover) is very powerful; it was exactly
it that killed my husband!” L. I. Beldy answered her: “Such a creature really does kill
the husbands and children [of its women-lovers]”. The patient continued: “Now it is
going to kill my children. I have learned about it and came to you [to shamanise]. I am
here for that very reason. My kids can’t stand it anymore. Therefore, [my son] bought a
bottle of vodka [for the shamanic ritual]; he gave me some money and said: ‘Mother, go
to the granny [to the shaman L. I. Beldy]!’ It, the creature [the spirit-tiger], wants to
bury my children and therefore I came here crying”.
24 From the perspective of the shamans, the spirits can issue threats and dangers without
any perspicuous reasons. However, the most interesting cases are when shamans track
the causes of the troubles and indicate precautions. One of the forbidden deeds which
unavoidably leads to a “tiger’s” punishment is killing a real tiger 20. As was already said,
Tungus-Manchu tradition forbids slaughtering tigers21; however, if a tiger accidentally
falls into a trap set for a large animal or is killed because of a hunter’s error,
appropriate measures can be taken. Thus, it is forbidden to visit those places where
tigers have been killed or where tiger bodies have been found. People put special
markers around the area and never again hunt or pick berries there. The person guilty
of the tiger’s death is considered indebted to “the tiger’s clan” and is supposed to
compensate the damage via ransom (sacrifice). My Nanai informant Ch. D. Passar had
trouble with tigers, which was incomprehensible to her for long time. She said that she
often met tigers when gathering berries in the taiga.
“If you had a problem with a tiger, tigers will always follow you!” We went for
berries and a tiger began to follow us. How we ran away from it! My mouth became
dry, we breathed in such a way [...]. We did not have time to tie our bags; we just
grabbed them and ran. My daughter Lilka suddenly stepped on the rope dragging
from Zhenka’s bag; Zhenka fell on her back and spilled her berries [...]. Koshkina,
the Russian woman [...], said: “Look, it [the tiger] is pursuing us!” She began crying
[...]. Lilka said: “Let us shout! Animals are afraid of shouting!” [...]. We started
shouting, but the tiger became even angrier. It began growling in different voices.
How could we not be frightened! [...] I said to Koshkina: “Run behind me!” I was the
last one. Okay, I thought, let the tiger eat her. I was saving myself. She stood behind
me. I was saving myself: “Let it eat her!” [...]. Before we met the tiger, Lilka took off
her dress and hung it on a stick: “When we go back”, she said, “we will take it
away”. Nothing of the kind! We did not remember about the dress when we were
running [from the tiger]. We left the dress and got into our boat. (Ch. D. Passar)

209
25 Passar did not see any reason why tigers should pursue her family. However, she later
noticed that people met tigers only when her daughter Lilka accompanied them. There
were also some other details which suggested that Lilka was the person somehow
connected to tigers. For example, the day after they left Lilka’s dress while they were
running away from the tiger, Passar went to the forest to get it back, but it was badly
torn. As she explained: “The tiger found [the dress]; it spread it out right on the road,
unfolded it, and tore it up. It tore from the dress two strips, each approximately half a
metre long [...] and then carried those strips away somewhere”. The elders said that
Lilka must have owed something to the tigers: it was then that Passar remembered
that, several years ago, the hunter V. Geiker killed a tiger and gave her some money
from the payment he received upon selling its skin. With this money, Passar bought
some cloth and sewed a dress for Lilka22. After she remembered all this, she began to
understand the tiger’s persecution as revenge for a killed “tiger-kinsman”.
26 Blood revenge is when a person is forced to act against his or her desires and submit to
the inevitable necessity of killing a tiger. If humans delay in committing blood revenge
for a relative killed by a tiger, tigers supposedly continue to kill people. Barvinok
mentions (unfortunately without clarifying the details) the existence of a long-lasting
vendetta between people and tigers which lasted into the 1930s (Barvinok 2010). Blood
revenge on tigers, which is initiated after a tiger murders a hunter, starts with a
relative of the murdered person making a speech to the tiger containing complaints,
requests, and threats. Then a special shamanic ritual is performed: only after all these
“peaceful” activities do people kill the tiger (Arsen’ev 1949, pp. 188-189, 196, 203-204).
To restore peace with the tigers, the Udeghe once invited an experienced shaman
(Bereznitskii 2005, p. 123). At the same time, any person who has been wounded by a
tiger, along with his or her entire clan, is considered a “wrong” person by others 23.
They are not supposed to borrow any hunting and fishing equipment from people
“marked by the spirits”. To borrow something from such individuals means to receive
their curse along with the item. Nevertheless, if someone really needs an object which
is available only from “marked people”, he or she may borrow it only after performing
a special ritual to defend themselves against the evil fate of the “prohibited people 24”.
Tigers are also supposed to take revenge if they feel they have been insulted.
Bereznitskii writes about an Udeghe who, against all the rules, wanted to kill a tiger but
actually only managed to wound it. The tiger then sought revenge, eating eight of his
dogs and breaking his boat and his net: nothing of this kind happened to the other
hunters in the village (Bereznitskii 2005, p. 520).
27 If we compare the two situations (a human killing a tiger and a tiger killing a human),
we notice their asymmetry. Power and domination are always on the tiger’s side. If a
human has killed a tiger, he and his clan become indebted to the tigers; if, on the
contrary, a tiger has killed or injured a human, all the victim’s relatives become the
debtors of tigers. If these unequal relationships with tigers can be considered a game, it
is a game of unequal partners. Tigers (or, to put it more precisely, spirit-tigers)
dominate humans in both cases.
28 At the same time, the spirit-tigers, having obtained some qualities of dangerous
predators, nevertheless pass their power to shamans and thus allow them to dominate
other people in the community25. As E. V. Shan’shina points out, according to the Nanai
worldview the spirit-tiger does not persecute its human “relatives”; on the contrary, “it
helps them in their struggles for territory against their neighbours” (Shan’shina 2003,

210
p. 157). Such spirits are used in attacks; as Shirokogoroff noted, “for killing their
enemies, shamans sent their spirits in the forms of bears, tigers, and other dangerous
animals” (Shirokogoroff [1919] 2005). These spirits help them to overpower those who
are not “relatives” of the tiger. The power and authority of spirit-tigers and the fact
that humans are unable to dictate anything to them also shows that they are
independent of the real animals whose shapes they assume.
Conclusion
29 The Tungus-Manchu belief in the spirits’ ability to exchange physical bodies (animals
and humans) points to the relative independence of the spirits from the possessed
bodies. So, the unusual intelligence and mysterious abilities attributed to tigers in the
Tungus-Manchu world do not just derive from the admiration of real animals in the
context of general nature worship: they also derive from the veneration of the spirits
which can possess these animals and other natural objects.
30 This allows us to question a popular idea that makes shamanism look so attractive in
our time, that about the essence of shamanic praxis consisting of the harmonisation of
the relationship between humans and nature. If a scholar comes to the supposition that
the “shaman teaches how to interact with natural forces, to shift from consciousness
towards unconsciousness” (Sem 2011, p. 447), he or she would logically conclude that
the beast-like dress represents the shaman’s “zoomorphic double of the powers of
nature” (ibid., p. 442). Close to this is the concept of the alleged “archaic mentality” of
those who practise shamanism (e.g. Tarvid 2004, p. 101): according to this, a scholar
does not have to make any effort to perceive phenomena like transformations into
different creatures and the “absence of an insuperable wall which separates humans
from nature” (Kryzhanovskaia 2009, p. 201). None of these opinions take into
consideration that shamanistic rituals devoted to animals actually venerate the spirits
which have possessed these animals and acquired their shapes: equally, they
underestimate shamans’ conviction in the existence of spirits independent of any
material receptacle26. As we have already shown, from the emic perspective not all
animals are possessed and the tiger’s body is not a constant dwelling for a spirit, only a
temporary one. Thus, it is not nature as such that is “a partner for shamanic games”
(Lavrillier 2012, p. 115), but rather the spirits which dwell within it. The reason why
nature seems to be significant in traditional Tungus-Manchu shamanism is that, until
recently, shamanists lived almost exclusively in nomadic camps and settlements, places
close to the natural environment. However, contemporary neo-shamans in cities have
started to complain that computers, mobile phones, and cars occasionally begin to
“behave” as if they are also possessed and unmanageable. According to their
experience, some items of technology have begun to act like contemporary dwellings
for spirits. “If a spirit settles in a car, that car can go crazy, refuse to work, or run on its
own. The technological devices can gain their own will and go not where a human
sends them but where they themselves want” (I. Kile). Neo-shamanism is a relatively
recent phenomenon, and not enough material has been collected about it: thus we
cannot yet talk about shamanists worshipping complex technical devices. However, if
we consider the faith of shamans in the possibility of such devices being possessed by
spirits27, the development of such worship in the future cannot be excluded. This is
similar to how real tigers living in the taiga can become receptacles for disembodied

211
spirits in certain circumstances. Thus, when people worship a tiger, they are not
expressing their awe at the beauty of the mighty beast. Nor do they think it is actually a
human; rather, they are addressing the spirit inhabiting the animal because that spirit
is able to influence people’s circumstances via their mastery of the objectively
manifested world.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Informants
All the informants in this list are Nanai.
Ch. D. Passar = Chapaka Danilovna Passar (1916-2002), Daerga village, Nanai district, Khabarovsk
region. Work with the informant, 2000-2002.
E. Ch. Geiker = Evdokia Chubovna Geiker (1931-2010), Lidoga village, Nanai district, Khabarovsk
G. K. Geiker = Gara Kisovna Geiker (1914-1985), Daerga village, Nanai district, Khabarovsk region.
Work with the informant, 1981-1984.
L. I. Beldy = Lingdze Iltungaevna Beldy (1912-1994), Dada, Daerga villages, Nanai district,
Khabarovsk region. Work with the informant, 1991-1993.
M. P. Beldy = Maria Petrovna Beldy (1924-1993), Daerga village, Nanai district, Khabarovsk region.
Work with the informant, 1981-1992.
N. P. Beldy = Nikolai Petrovich Beldy (1927-1997), Naichin village, Nanai district, Khabarovsk
O. E. Kile = Olga Egorovna Kile (1920-2013), Verhniii Nergen village, Nanai district, Khabarovsk
V. Ch. Geiker = Vera Chubovna Geiker (1936-2011), Lidoga village, Nanai district, Khabarovsk
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modern view on the problem of shamanism: the psychology of the way of “knowing”], in
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origin of the Earth and man], in V. A. Turaev (ed.), Istoriia i kul’tura nanaitsev. Istoriko-
ètnografichesie ocherki [Nanai. Historical and ethnographic essays] (St Petersburg, Nauka), pp. 141-162.
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Shternberg, L. Ia. 1927 Izbrannichestvo v religii [Election in religion], Sovetskaia ètnografiia 1,

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1933 Giliaki, orochi, goldy, negidal’tsy, ainy [Giliak, Oroch, Gold, Neghidals, Ainu] (Khabarovsk, Dal’giz).
Skorinov, S. N. 2005 Mifotvorchestvo kak fenomen kul’tury tunguso-manchzhurov i nivhov iuga

Dalnego Vostoka Rossii XIX-XX vv. [Myth-making as a phenomenon of the culture of Tungus-
Manchu and Nivkhs of the Southern Far East of Russia in the 19 th and 20th centuries]. PhD thesis.
Moscow, Moscow State University of Culture and Arts.
Smoliak, A. V. 1974 Novye dannye po animizmu i shamanizmu u nanaitsev [New data on Nanai
animism and shamanism], Sovetskaia ètnografiia 2, pp. 106-113.
1991 Shaman: lichnost’, funktsii, mirovozzrenie. Narody Nizhnego Amura [The shaman: personality,
functions, worldview. The peoples of the Lower Amur], (Moscow, Nauka).
Tarvid, L. P. 2004 Zhenskoe iskusstvo narodov Priamuri’ia. Evolutsiia v kontekste mifologii [Women’s art
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Titoreva, G. T. 2012 Seveny. Katalog kul’tovoi skul’ptury iz sobraniia Habarovskogo kraevogo muzeia im.
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NOTES
1. It should be emphasised that the term “shamanist” does not imply the existence of an
organised religious system called: “shamanism”; the term is rather used here as a matter of
convenience to signify a member of a society in which shamans are the principal providers of
ritual and therapeutic services.
2. By 2016 in the territory of the Russian Federation, the number of tigers increased by 10-15%
when compared to 2005: this amounts to 523-540 animals, including 98-100 cubs (Barinova 2016).
3. The author uses materials on the shamanic culture of the Tungus-Manchu peoples, especially
those living in a tiger habitat (the Oroch, Nanai, Neghidal, and Ulch), and the author’s field
material collected among the Nanai between 1980 and 2017 in the Nanai district of Khabarovsk
region. Trying to understand the bearers of the shamanic tradition, who are fully convinced of
the trustworthiness of even the most unbelievable tales about the behaviour of tigers, we do not
take into account here folklore texts about tigers. Instead, we only consider informants’
discussions where they note either their own experience with tigers or the experiences of people
whom they know well.
4. In human funerals, they also clothe the departed in summer dress during the winter and
winter dress during the summer. Tungus-Manchu shamanistic people believe that it is summer in
the land of death when it is winter in the land of the living and vice versa.
5. I heard from my Nanai informants that an animal is dressed as a human at a funeral only if
sexual intercourse with a human has taken place while the animal was alive. I was told about a
hunter who caught a live musk-deer in the taiga and started “living with her as with a wife. For a
long time, he lived with her that way; when it died, for its funeral he put a female dress on it and
earrings in its ears and nose”.
6. A vendetta against a tiger (that is to say, the intention to kill one animal) is announced if a
tiger has killed a human.
7. M. A. Kaplan literally duplicates the Nanai word nai (“human”), which is a common euphemism
that often replaces the words for spirits or animals possessed by spirits.
8. One of the synonyms of “shamanising” in Tungus-Manchu languages is “playing”, and tigers
can be partners in such shamanic “games”.
9. A Nanai religious specialist (Na. tudin) who operates like a shaman but does not use a drum.
10. Kutu is a spirit’s nickname; amban in Nanai is a generic name for a group of dangerous spirits.
11. The Sikachi-Alian petroglyphs are rock carvings on the surface of massive basalt boulders
situated near the villages of Sikachi-Alian and Malyshevo in Khabarovsk region (Okladnikov
1971). The petroglyphs depict animals, human figures, and hunting scenes. The oldest of the
Sikachi-Alian petroglyphs is dated to 12,000-9,000 BC.
12. At the same time, as Anna V. Smoliak has shown, not all shamanic spirits are sexual partners
with the shaman (Smoliak 1974, p. 113).
13. My informants confirmed that, through spiritual “marriage” to a tiger, the woman Zaksor
gave birth to a baby tiger with a human face: many people saw the strange baby before it died.
14. Zavalinka is a Russian word used by my Nanai informants: it means an embankment along the
base of the exterior walls around the perimeter of wooden houses.
15. This great-grandfather, I was assured, had supposedly been able to ride a tiger.

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16. The term “neo-shaman” refers to those contemporary shamans (among the Nanai, such
shamans started practising from the early 2000s) who widely use eclectic occult techniques
learned from the mass media. Unlike my other informants mentioned in this article, I. Kile did
not consider herself to be a traditional shaman but a neo-shaman, because, in contrast to the
former, she belonged to the younger generation and used eclectic occult techniques freed from
their traditional cultural context.
17. Unlike other informants, I. Kile asked me not to mention her personal data, so the name used
here is actually her pseudonym.
18. For comparison with the Evenki, see Lavrillier 2012, 2013 and the introduction to this volume.
19. A tiger is usually called a puren ambani (“a dangerous spirit of a taiga”) or, in abbreviated
form, amban (“a dangerous spirit”).
20. In Tungus-Manchu folklore, there are famous stories about a bear or a tiger persecuting a
human who said something disrespectful about them. Usually, these stories name the exact
person who suffered this fate (Fetisova & Kile 2003, p. 265).
21. During the years of atheistic propaganda, the prohibition on killing tigers became less strict
and some tigers were killed for their skins.
22. This dress was not the one that was later left in the forest.
23. The same happens if someone is murdered by a bear or drowns in a river.
24. This ritual consists of the following. They make a small bow and arrow, break or cut off a very
small piece from the borrowed item, and tie it to the arrow. They then shoot the arrow in the
direction of the item owner’s domicile (Gaer 1984, p. 182).
25. Nanai shamans told me that their spirit-helpers are the most powerful and dangerous
predators (tigers, bears, wolves, serpents, and killer whales): “I would not take a deer as a
defender; it is not able to defend itself”, N. P. Beldy said.
26. As the Nanai shaman G. K. Geiker said, if she worried about making vessels for all her spirits,
she would fill her entire house, leaving no space for her family.
27. Compare this phenomenon with the possession of airplanes by spirits, as described by E.
Colson (Colson 1969, pp. 79-80).
ABSTRACTS
This paper proposes a comparative analysis across space and time of tiger rituals and beliefs
among the Amur Tungus-Manchu peoples. These shamanistic peoples treat tigers like humans
and believe that some extraordinary tigers have the ability to behave in similar ways to people.
According to these shamanic ideas, the behaviour of such tigers can be explained by the fact that,
as dangerous predators, they can easily become spiritually charged; thus, the bodies of some
tigers can serve as temporary dwellings for spirits. The spirits which possess tigers are believed
to obtain some of the animal’s external features. Given contemporary migration to cities, urban
Tungus-Manchu shamans have started believing that some items from urban culture may also be
possessed by spirits. It seems that it is not the external shape of the spiritually charged items
that is of interest to urban shamans, but the spirits they can contain.
Cet article propose une analyse comparative synchronique et diachronique des rituels et des
croyances liés au tigre chez les peuples toungouso-mandchous. Ces peuples chamanistes traitent
les tigres comme des humains et croient en leur extraordinaire capacité à agir comme tel. Selon

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les conceptions chamaniques, de tels comportements chez les tigres peuvent s’expliquer par le
fait que, en tant que dangereux prédateurs, les tigres peuvent aisément devenir
« spirituellement chargés ». Les esprits possédant les tigres sont censés obtenir certaines
caractéristiques de leur apparence. Longtemps après avoir quitté le corps des animaux, ces
esprits ont la capacité de se rendre visibles sous l’apparence de tigres. Avec la migration
contemporaine vers les villes, les nouveaux chamanes urbains toungouso-mandchous
commencent à considérer qu’en plus des éléments naturels, certaines composantes de la
« culture urbaine » sont aussi possédées par des esprits. Il semble que ce ne soit pas tant la
forme extérieure des éléments spirituellement chargés qui soit importante pour les néo-
chamanes, mais plutôt les esprits eux-mêmes.
INDEX
Mots-clés: Russie, Toungouse, Mandchou, chamanisme, néo-chamanisme, possession, animaux,
esprits, mythologie
Keywords: Russia, Tungus, Manchu, shamanism, neo-shamanism, possession, animals, spirits,
mythology
AUTHOR
TATIANA BULGAKOVA
Tatiana Diomidovna Bulgakova is a Doctor of anthropology and a Professor of the Institute of the
Peoples of the North at Herzen State Pedagogical University in St Petersburg. A fluent speaker of
the Nanai language, she has been conducting fieldwork among the Nanai and some of the other
indigenous peoples of Siberia on an almost annual basis since 1980. Her research was supported
by the Fulbright Program (US) and the European Science Foundation BOREAS: she has also won
scholarships at the Max Planck Institute of Social Anthropology (Halle, Germany) and the
Institute for Advanced Studies (Nantes, France).
tbulgakova@gmail.com

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The wild at home and the magic of

contact. Stories about wild animals
and spirits from Amudisy Evenki
hunters and reindeer herders
Le sauvage à domicile et la magie du contact. Histoires à propos d’animaux
sauvages et d’esprits chez les chasseurs et les éleveurs de rennes évenks de
Amudisy
Veronika V. Simonova
EDITOR'S NOTE
click here
click here
Introduction
1 In this paper, I ask why Evenki hunters need to bring wild animals into human places?
What does this practice mean for them? Through examining narratives and by
observing the contexts within which these narratives were gathered, I argue that
bringing wild animals to taiga camps is a local experiment of interaction with the world
of the wild. This interaction has two dimensions: the practice of taking wild animals
home1 to reindeer herders’ camps or log cabins and watching wild animals in dreams as
human spirits or souls that walk ahead or behind (Ru. perednik) a person. I suggest that,
through their perception of wild animals as intellectual beings (Ru. soobrazhaet – a
capability of imagination) that have souls and vanguard spirits, Evenki hunters and

218
reindeer herders create an indivisible forest world where the “natures of people”
(Ru. chelovecheskaia priroda2) and animals share certain similarities and have strong
relationships with the spiritual world.
2 “Attempts to tame” (Ru. priruchenie) animals among the Evenki are very hard to
observe and document. Remarkable stories about wild animals brought into human
worlds from the boreal forest (taiga) are one potential source, especially since they are
shared as bright and emotional experiences among local Evenki. The reason why I place
stories about wild animals in the context of animistic beliefs is rooted in the local
perception of a correspondence between the role of wild animals and spirits in the
human world. Understanding this role can shed light on these relationships.
3 This paper is based upon the stories I had the opportunity to hear during my month-
long expedition to the Zabaikal Evenki in Kalar district in 2013. I also documented the
context in which stories of this kind were told. Although stories about spying spirits or
those spirits which travel ahead of a person and those about taming wild animals might
look as if they belong to separate realms, in reality they do not. Both wild animals and
human beings share the single reality of a spying spirit, locally known as a “vanguard
spirit” or “the one walking ahead” (Ru. perednik). This fact is the core of the
ethnographical and anthropological analysis given here. Thus, a perednik and a wild
animal taken by Evenki hunters into their camps share the same characteristics: in
local views, a perednik is always a wild animal. Together, they constitute a network of
relations that has been left secret by local peoples. This network is an object of eternal
curiosity for the Evenki and a rich source of knowledge about the neighbourhood and
the ecology of animals, spirits, and humans.
4 We can recollect numerous contexts where wild creatures remain within so-called
human spaces: the zoo, for example, or the contemporary trend in Russian cities of
keeping foxes or owls as pets. Yet, I do not discuss this type of human-animal
interactions deeper. However, I would like to point out here that indigenous worlds
have a different dimension in relation to captured wild animals: they are not actually
pets. They are part of taiga diplomacy, an element in the relationship with
uncontrolled beings that possess their own logic. I shall also discuss here the meaning
of those spirits known in local beliefs as perednik. The Russian word perednik means
“vanguard” or “the one who arrived first3”.
5 The category of “wild” is relative within the taiga context (Brightman et al. 2006,
Willerslev 2009). For example, Evenki reindeer herders can call those domestic reindeer
which are hard to govern “wild”, and their behaviour is interpreted as more or less
independent (Ru. chto hotiat to i delaiut) in comparison to the rest of the herd. Like the
Evenki, I employ “wild” (Ru. dikie) when speaking about taiga animals, and my
ethnography relates only to examples showing how the contact between taiga people,
wild animals, and spirits named perednik emerges and develops in the field of cultural
interpretations. Priruchenie is distinct from domestication. Bringing an individual
animal home implies love and curiosity. I have to clarify that “love” does not mean
seduction (as studied by Willerslev 2007: a hunter seduces spirits in dreams and gets
kills in the real world; see also Kristensen 2007); in my case, “love” is more closely
connected with parenthood: a wild animal in a human space enjoys being taken care of.
Furthermore, bringing a wild animal home correlates with a certain expectation of him
or her to express sympathy to people. Wildness also implies a certain sense of
independence (for the captured animals) in my work.

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6 Although at some points I employ the term ‘personhood’ to describe the quality of
human-animal interactions, I follow Lavrillier’s discussion of the difference between
“individual” and “person” in her analysis of the spirit-charge phenomenon among the
Evenki of Yakutia (Lavrillier [2012] 2014, p. 114). She states thus: “I prefer ‘person’
concerning animals only when they are given a proper name by humans” (ibid.). She
bases her conceptual choice on the assumption that the terms “person” and
“personhood” have much to do with a “mask” or “social role”: it is difficult to disagree
with her standpoint. Indeed, there is a connection between a person and their mask or
social role, as noted in Mead’s symbolic interactionism and Goffman’s dramaturge
sociology (Mead 2009, Goffman 1959). Yet, my ethnography demonstrates that being
wild at home is not a social role, but a space for displaying personality and making a
network of relationships with people.
Methods
7 The process of bringing an animal in from the forest does not occur every day;
therefore, it is almost impossible for an anthropologist to observe and participate in
this practice as is normally demanded by disciplinary conventions. Indeed,
relationships between people and wild animals are very hard to approach via
participant observation, since it is very unlikely that a researcher can capture the
moment when a wild animal is taken into a reindeer camp or a village: luck is very
much required. Thus, anthropologists are dependent on sharing stories and memories
with people who have had experience of having wild animals to hand. This specificity
influenced my methodical strategies.
8 So, although I employed the core anthropological method known as “participant
observation” with the Amudisy reindeer herders in the Zabaikal region, I cannot claim
that this paper is based on the “authentic” version of this method as derived from
Malinowski; therefore, I have to clarify the nature of my method.
9 Firstly, I encountered narratives of bringing wild animals home in the Holodnaia
Evenki village in North Baikal, where I conducted fieldwork for my doctoral thesis. I
became very curious about these stories from the beginning, but they were not
numerous enough for me to approach them anthropologically: it was difficult to
consider them as a distinct theme and a cultural reality. I will however use these
narratives as a comparative element for the analysis of stories I gathered among Evenki
hunters and reindeer herders in the Amudisy area in Kalar District in June 2013.
10 This article is based on the ethnographical data I gathered within the expedition
supported by the Arctic Domus Project, which was led by Prof. David G. Anderson. This
small expedition consisted of three participants: Prof. David G. Anderson (University of
Aberdeen, UK), Dr Vladimir N. Davydov (Kunstkamera Museum, St Petersburg, Russia)
and myself. We had the principal tasks of documenting human-reindeer relations, the
history of Evenki camp sites, and the daily activities of the reindeer herders.
11 A wild animal does not remain long in the human world. According to the narratives of
my informants, wild animals encounter accidental deaths or they leave people after a
short while to go back to their habitats. Stories about local experiences of dealing with
wild animals are accompanied by other practices, such as domestic chores, cooking,
making rooms in a tent, working with reindeer, washing the dishes, and taking care of
the camp surroundings. In this regard, participant observation is mainly a way to

220
gather data rather than a “methodology” in the strict sense of the term. Thus, I kept a
diary and made audio recordings to document the narratives of reindeer herders both
in the village of Chapo-Ologo and in a herd in the mountainous taiga in Amudisy
belonging to the Gevan “clan community” (Ru. rodovaia obshchina).
Argument
12 Rane Willerslev describes human-wild animal relations as something similar to a

mimetic transfer between a hunter and an animal, which can occur either in dreams or
reality (Willerslev 2007). The border between the two thus disappears: people imitate
animals, while the latter appear in dreams like human beings who are willing to give
themselves to a hunter. Although this argument triggered my research, there is almost
no relationship between the two. Bringing wild animals into a camp has little to do with
the idea of hunting in Siberian indigenous contexts and therefore cannot be considered
as being close to the idea of mimesis in hunting. The former practice is extraordinary
and experimental: through it, both people and animals learn about each other in the
course of daily contact. People also learn about themselves and the spiritual world they
inhabit.
13 A wild animal in a human world is an “inside-out Mowgli”, something of the wilderness
put into a world ruled by unknown beings, humans. In the famous novel by Kipling,
Mowgli, an Indian boy, is left in the jungle and manages to survive, grow up, and finally
return home to the “right” space for a human being: this is a happy ending. “An inside-
out Mowgli” in the Siberian context also changes space at the conclusion of its journey;
however, the ultimate fate of a wild animal living in a human world is typically tragic.
14 The wild animal at home can therefore be viewed not as a mimetic strategy but as
contagious magic, according to Frazer’s classification of magic as a social institution
and following from Taussig’s discussion on mimesis as a sympathetic magic which is
based on the principle of similarity (Frazer [1922] 1993, Taussig 1993). In short,
sympathetic magic is about imitation and transformation. Contagious magic, in brief, is
a perception of a mystical character where a part is substituted for the whole (Taussig
1993). Thus, a wild animal substitutes its species, giving an idea not only of
communication with an individual animal, but also with the entire species. The
vanguard spirit here serves as a magical bridge linking the human, animal, and
spiritual realms. As I will show later, the vanguard spirit of people is believed to be a
wild animal.
15 Human engagement with wild animals is not limited to hunting: bringing separate
individuals into the human world also plays an important role in acquiring knowledge
about animal species in general. However, even if taking a wild animal home is a matter
of entertainment, the practice is not limited by this attitude. I shall show that keeping
“the wild at home” is a magical act of maintaining contacts with the world of the wild
and obtaining knowledge about human nature at the same time. I shall look at this idea
through the lenses of my fieldwork and the theories of mimesis in Siberia convincingly
provided by Taussig.
16 Finally, I shall discuss how the link between the perednik and “the wild at home”, a taiga
animal brought into a human camp, can be considered as contagious magic inside out.
Thus, the classical concept of contagious magic is inverted by replacing the “whole”
with the “part”. My research shows that the magic of contact is based on a vice-versa

221
principle that switches the “part” with the “whole”. I imply here that a wild animal
brought into a camp represents a part of a world of wild animals and that people
conceptualise their knowledge about wild animals and design their perception of a
taiga life with the help of one individual animal.
Fieldwork site
17 Kalar district is very rich in minerals, including iron, uranium, and gold. This set of
resources makes the region attractive for industrial activities. Unsurprisingly,
therefore, it became the focus of state interest during the Soviet period. As a result, the
geological settlement of Chena was founded in the mountains, which allowed for large-
scale geological exploration.
18 The research route started in the village of Chapa-Ologo in Kalar district. The name of
the village translates from Yakut as “squirrel nest”. The Evenki of the Zabaikal region
have strong links with the Evenki of Yakutia: some of the local reindeer herders can
speak three languages (Evenki, Russian, and Yakut) fluently. The legend behind the
village’s name tells of a rich Yakut merchant whose name was “squirrel” (Evk. chapa):
he established (Ya. ologho) his business in this area and therefore it inherited his name 4.
Figure 1. Amudisy
© Vladimir N. Davydov, Amudisy, June 2013
19 Amudisy translates from the Evenki language as “constellation of lakes” or a “bunch of

lakes”. It is located amidst the larch taiga, although one can also encounter other types
of trees, such as elfin wood, spruce, or pine. Before we moved to Amudisy, we stayed in
the house of Spiridon Nikolaevich Gabyshev, the head of the “Rainbow (Evk. gievan)
reindeer” clan community. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, he did not give up
traditional reindeer herding and tried to restore reindeer breeding in the local
mountainous taiga. He organised a reindeer herding clan community where there are
now around 800 reindeer belonging to the Gabyshevs. Spiridon runs two herds and is
currently considering whether to create another for his younger son. The two brigades
consist of 10-12 members altogether. We worked with herd number one, which is
located approximately 100 km from Novaia Chara, a town-like settlement (Ru. posëlok
gorodskogo tipa).
How prey becomes a companion

20 One may assume that a hunter is expected to view his or her prey as a potential kill and
not bring a wild animal home. However, this expectation cannot be attached to Evenki
clan communities alone, and it will be contextualised and interpreted according to
different localities and communities. Here I will examine some ethnographic accounts,

222
which testify to the experimental character of the Evenki people not only as hunters
but also as observers. I shall show how prey may change its role in hunting contexts
and become a companion.
21 I encountered this for the first time in North Baikal among the Kindigir Evenki in
Holodnaia village. The fact that some wild animals received names alerted my curiosity,
and I started to concentrate more on this. Hunters appreciate it if an animal displays
curiosity and interest in the human world and welcome such relationships. Although
similar animals may be brought in as prey, an animal that demonstrates an intention to
interact with people is approached as an exception. This animal might be granted a
name. Social relationships with wild animals in North Baikal are relevant only for small
animals, such as muskrats, ermine, and chipmunks; however, in Amudisy, reindeer
herders experience interactions with hares, deer, and moose 5. These particular
interactions will be addressed in the next paragraph.
22 The tradition of taming wild animals is occasionally documented in Russian
ethnographic accounts. For example, in their description of the Selkups, Levin and
Potapov provided a picture of a Selkup man feeding a tamed eagle (Levin & Potapov
1956, p. 671). This illustrated some broader ethnographic examples of how and why the
Selkups tamed wild animals:
The Selkups bred the puppies of Arctic foxes. They took them in the spring time,
kept them in special cages, and fed them during the summer. In late autumn, right
before the hunting season, they slaughtered them. According to the narratives of
some elderly Selkups, earlier people had tamed bear cubs as hunting bears. These
cubs were kept in chum [cages] and had the name man iamy – my son. Other names
made these bears disobedient and angry. Bears that grew up in such conditions
became good hunters for the wild of their own kind and had much better chances of
winning battles with them. Wild geese and ducks were also kept in chum. Geese
were very easy to tame. Even if they flew away for water, they always came back
home. In the autumn, people slaughtered them, too. Nutcrackers and cuckoos were
also among tamed birds. The roots of the desire to tame these types of birds are
probably in totemistic beliefs, since the nutcracker is believed to be a founder of the
Kossyl’-tamdyr clan and the cuckoo has a reputation as a shaman-bird. (ibid., p. 669)
23 We find similar examples in Zelenin’s work or that of Kreinovich (Zelenin 1936,
Kreinovich 19736). Shirokogoroff gives us an interesting approach to indigenous
relations with wild animals (and animals in general) in his famous book, Psychomental
Complex of the Tungus. He gives us a detailed description of the Tungus as excellent
observers, generalisers, and experimenters (Shirokogoroff 1935, pp. 76-86). The
Tungus, as the scholar wrote, possess much greater knowledge about animals than
Europeans. The Tungus observe wild animals in their natural habitat and study them
anatomically, doing both without any particular aim. The Tungus always make
hypotheses and are happy to spend a great deal of time observing and experimenting
with animals. This is especially relevant for wild animals taken to human places: “the
experiments in the domestication of wild animals are very clearly connected with these
experiments” (ibid., p. 76).
24 During my field research in Amudisy Lake in Kalar district, I documented a similar
attitude to bringing a wild animal home. However, I have to emphasise the difference
in attitude when it comes to taming either small or large animals. Taming small
animals demands less concentration and happens spontaneously; in most cases, it
happens on the initiative of the animals themselves. Taming large animals, such as
moose, is another type of process. The Evenki consider it a serious enterprise

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undertaken on the initiative of people. In both cases, however, principles of reciprocity

are central. There are expectations of mutual benefits, such as knowledge or practical
outcomes relevant for forest life. In this paragraph, I focus on the first type of
relationship: I will consider the other variant shortly.
25 In the winter of 2008, I was sitting with two reindeer herders in a hunting cabin
(Ru. zimov’e) and asked something really obscure about forest life. After a short pause,
one of the herders started vaguely recollecting: “We lived in a zimov’e and started to
note that an ermine was visiting us regularly. He got used to us and we domesticated
(Ru. priruchili) him. He even took food from our hands. He was jumping from shelf to
shelf and we shared food with him from one plate. We enjoyed his company, he
deserved his meal. He was a good hunter. He ended all the mice in our zimov’e. You
know, mice are very dangerous in the forest: they might bring serious diseases, but we
did not have a single one!” I stared at him impatiently, waiting for him to go on. I was
taken aback by this unexpected and fantastic story.
26 Another herder was listening to his comrade very carefully. Once the talk ended, he
took the conversation forward: “This is a common thing! We also had an ermine, well,
even two. They liked eating boiled fish. We fed them and they took it with pleasure. We
also fed them with the flesh (Ru. tushkami) of muskrats. I remember how we gave them
the whole body of a muskrat, but our ermines could not gnaw at it normally. So we cut
it into pieces for them, for them to finish the meal in comfort. We named them Pet’ka
and Vas’ka. Wild animals get accustomed to people very quickly. I have heard that
other hunters do the same thing with minks and chipmunks. Our ermines learned to
understand when people came. After the winter had set in, they hibernated”.
Figure 2. Displaying kills
© private archive of Lubov’ Malafeeva, Holodnaia, 1980s

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Figure 3. Tonia and Lësha calling for chipmunk companions
© Veronika V. Simonova, Holodnaia, 2008
27 An analogous case happened in Holodnaia village when local teenagers brought a

muskrat to the “green corner7” of the local kindergarten. Evenki teenagers not only
learn to hunt within the school curriculum, but also actively engage in the practice.
They hunt squirrels, chipmunks, and muskrats. Thus, they consider muskrats as a prey;
however, Sasha Ganiugin, a local teenager, talked about a “tamed” muskrat. He
discussed this animal in the way urban teenagers usually reserve for their beloved cats.
He explained how much the pupils cared for him: they changed his water, fed him, and
tried to get rid of his fleas. They did more than their best to keep him comfortable.
When I asked Sasha why he was so emotionally attached to an animal which he
normally hunts, Sasha replied: “Do not compare [them], he was smart, he understood
everything”.
28 In Amudisy, it was also the practice to bring chipmunks and ermines into the human
world. According to Gennadii, chipmunks emerge when people imitate their sounds by
whistling: they are even capable of recognising their names. Gennadii had a chipmunk
named Vasia, but dogs killed him. Gennadii Kuz’min also remembered that ermines
visit people quite often in log cabins (Ru. zimov’e) or tents in the forest. They eat meat
and hunt mice:
Ermines are cheeky. Once you fall asleep, they start running around, paying zero
respect to people. They sometimes live in villages; I remember that one used to live
in a closet when I was a child.
29 Volodia, a reindeer herder, remembers that he had a duck and a sable that lived in a
cage when he was a child. His father brought them for him from the forest. The sable
lived for around a half year; when it became ill, Volodia’s father killed it. Volodia also
had a raven. The raven could imitate people’s voices and she knew her name: Karkusha.
She lived in the village during the summer and flew away in the autumn.

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30 The pragmatic goals of wild animals might be irritating for people. Every time my
interlocutors told me about animals that visited their log cabins just to steal food
(showing zero interest in humans), it evoked negative emotions and attitudes. This
kind of interaction is classified as total disrespect by Evenki hunters. In such cases, an
animal exhibiting its interests and personality in a manner that is too explicit is in
danger. For example, Gennadii Kuz’min remembered:
Once I was hunting in Kabikan spring. I got (Ru. dobyl) a musk deer (Ru. kabarga). I
left meat outside near [some] logs. That night it was snowing lightly (Ru. poroshka),
and when I went out and stayed near the logs, I realised that something was
missing. In a minute I understood that my meat was gone and there were no traces
of it around. I got scared. I thought that it was a spirit of the zimov’e (Ru. domovoi)
which took my musk deer. These thoughts made me feel really uncomfortable. I
went for water and suddenly saw that something was being dragged away, I looked
more carefully and realised that the spirit appeared to be a sable. And the sable
stole my musk deer, my meat, and filched it into the forest. I was very upset. The
sable was so cheeky, it was not afraid of humans at all and it badly scared me. I
trapped it the day after.
31 The last case demonstrates that companionship is distinguished from parasitism. Not
only do ermine use human spaces, but they also contribute to the household: they hunt
mice. Chipmunks are treated like pets as they entertain people. Thus, “economic” or
“emotional” mutual benefits are required. Sables only use people and thus produce a
kind of negative reciprocity; therefore, they are not companions in the taiga. An animal
taken by people to their places, which I call “wild at home”, should open its personality
in a positive manner readable for people.
32 Thus, the perednik and the “wild at home” share the same nature, which becomes
evident through the contacts that take place between taiga peoples, wild animals, and
spirits. Together, they constitute a network of relations that has been left secret by
local peoples. This network is an object of eternal curiosity for the Evenki and a rich
source of knowledge about the neighbourhood and ecology of animals, spirits, and
humans.
Legèi
33 Gennadii and I were sitting in a tent preparing dough for bread. Gennadii is a 63 year-
old reindeer herder and has been living in Amudisy for a long time. He used to live in
Tiania, Yakutia, and gladly shared stories with me over the course of my stay in
Amudisy. His main duty in the camp was to cook and look after the tent. As he pointed
out: “I am a tent worker here” (Ru. chum rabotnik). I helped him with his duties: this was
the first time I had ever baked bread. Gennadii was teaching me. He watched every
single action very carefully and supervised every step of the process. Suddenly, he
laughed and said:
—What an anecdote! A Evenki man is teaching a Russian woman to bake bread 8!
Why did your grandmother not teach you?
—Well, she tried. She said that this kind of knowledge had to come by itself and the
only thing I could do was to observe the way she baked. I was not talented, really.
—So, this is the first time you have baked bread yourself. Well, we will see what the
flour says. It knows humans (Ru. muka cheloveka znaet).
—What do you mean?, I asked, not without surprise.
—The flour tells what kind of road to expect in the future. When somebody is
baking bread for the first time, he or she should watch the dough. If it rises quickly,

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a person’s road will be good. If it comes up slowly – bad. I wonder what the flour
will tell you, we will see it very soon.
I asked about what kind of road Gennadii was referring to, and he said surprisingly:
—Everybody has a road, life is a road and the flour speaks with people about it. I do
not know if this conversation is reliable, our elders used to believe it, at least.
—Interesting, but I was about to ask you about wild animals. I have heard that the
Evenki tried to tame some of them, like you spoke about an ermine yesterday. Any
more stories about that?
Gennadii looked left and upwards, as he usually did when he wanted to remember
something; after a short pause, he took his cigarette and continued:
—Yes, I think I know a story you will really like. This story is my present to you.
This happened in Tiania (Yakutia), near the Torgo River in Bagaev’s camp
(Ru. fazenda Bagaeva). A wild animal gets accustomed to people very quickly. Once
we found a moose calf (Ru. sohatënka). We killed his mother and saw that the calf
was little: we decided to take him to our camp. He got used to people very quickly.
He became like a dog, although he only lived a month with us. He had a really good
appetite. When we fed our dogs, he stole their food, but the dogs did not object. He
was big and strong. We named him Legèi9. Legèi in Yakut means somebody who eats
a lot (Ru. obzhora). He really did! This moose was a clever animal; he learned to
recognise his name. I remember how we used to scream “Legèi! Legèi!” and he ran
to us immediately, and we petted him or gave him some food. We allowed him to
move freely, but he preferred staying and walking close to us. We planned to ride
him when he grew up, to teach him to be a riding moose like a normal riding
reindeer. We planned that when he became an adult, we would allow him to go out
to the forest in the autumn to find a girlfriend, and we were sure he would come
back to us. So we expected him to be free and hoped he would chose to stay with us
and enjoy living a free life at the same time. We thought of finding a horse saddle
for him, a reindeer one would not fit, too small, but it never happened. We thought
it would be good for Legèi to become more independent. We took him on a boat and
sailed to an islet. We covered him with a jacket, saying, “Legèi, be quiet and
behave”. On the way to the islet, the police (Ru. militsiia) stopped us for an
inspection. We got scared, we had meat, our clothes were covered with blood, and
we had Legèi at the bottom of the boat. A policeman started asking questions, but
he did not seem to check our boat in the usual way, just questions. We said that the
blood on our clothes was from the past. At that moment, Legèi stood up and began
moving backwards and forwards. The policeman asked in surprise why the jacket
was moving. We just shrugged our shoulders, saying nothing in reply. Luckily, he
was not very prying and thought maybe that it was a dog or an item that moved due
to the water tossing about. He did not stop us. So we reached the islet and left Legèi
there. We did not tie him up, we wanted him to feel free and eat the grass and
bushes. In the evening, we came to the islet to take Legèi back but he was absent.
We started seeking him and finally found him dead in the water. We forgot that he
was not wild anymore! And that was our fatal error. Once he stayed alone, he got
scared and followed us but we did not hear his swimming. He would have survived
if he had not reached the steepest part of the river bank, and he was not smart
enough to swim back to the islet and wait for us there. He died trying to get out of
the water. We felt so sorry for him; we could not predict such an accident. He was a
very good moose… Why are you writing all the time? Look at your dough, it is
waiting!
Gennadii is talking
34 The story about Legèi is touching, tragic, and seems absolutely unique. However,
similar stories emerge from time to time in the narratives of hunters and reindeer
herders from Evenki societies. Taking moose or Manchurian deer into the human world

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is an actual practice that is very hard to classify and approach. Before attempting to
interpret the story about Legèi and the phenomenon of wild animals at home, I would
like to give some ethnographic details regarding similar incidents that I learned about
in Amudisy and Chapo-Ologo.
35 Gennadii also remembered that a moose calf named Kuzia lived in the herd in Yakutia.
He drank milk from a bottle like a baby. The wife of the head of the reindeer farm fed
Kuzia, but he refused to migrate with the reindeer herd and stayed in the forest.
Another version about Kuzia’s decision suggests that it was hard to train Kuzia to move
according to human needs, unlike Legèi; thus, the reindeer herders decided to abandon
him in the forest, hoping that he would survive by himself.
36 The history of this practice is very hard to trace. According to the image below, taken
by Vahrusheva (2011) under the supervision of Ivshina, people brought wild moose
home in the 1930s. Vahrusheva was a student at school number 47, Ozernoe village,
Yeniseisk region, Krasnoiarskii region (Ru. krai). The photo was prepared for a
competition between regional schools. The work, entitled “Sym station: the territory of
life?”, is devoted to local reindeer herding. This picture was taken as evidence of the
presence of reindeer in Sym in 1930, and is accompanied by the comment: “People had
quite a lot of reindeer in their households in the 1930s. However, anthropologists and
other specialists working with cultures of reindeer herding in Siberia may easily
recognise a moose calf instead of a reindeer calf in the image below”.
Figure. 4. A little “Mowgli-moose” from the 1930s
Found in Vahrusheva’s work.

© Vahrusheva
37 In Sul’ban, Maksim Poliakov took a Manchurian deer calf (Ru. iziubrënok). She knew her
name, but she recognised it only if Poliakov’s sister called her. She moved in and out of
the pen freely when her master was calling her name. She had a female name, but
Gennadii could not remember which one.
38 Gennadii Kuz’min from Chapa-Ologo used to work for many years in Amudisy. He told
me that around 1965 they stayed near the Unkur River. A moose passed by with two

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calves: one was a year old while the other had just been born. Dogs stopped them.
Gennadii’s uncle got (Ru. dobyl) the year-old calf and the moose ran away, leaving the
newly born calf. The dogs surrounded the calf and barked at him. The hunter took the
calf to his camp, where it lived among the reindeer. However, Gennadii’s uncle knew
that, according to the law, keeping a wild animal in a domestic herd was illegal and he
was afraid of being punished. The children, however, loved the wild calf and wanted
him to stay for good; nonetheless, Gennadii’s uncle decided to get rid of the calf and
killed him while the children were sleeping.
39 Hence, we learn from Legèi’s story and others that bringing wild animals home
constitutes a flexible and delicate boundary between two realms: wild animals and
humans. This boundary is a risk for both but, at the same time, has a magical
temptation and attracts people and wild animals to experience being in each other’s
lives.
40 Gennadii Kuz’min told another story about a family of Astrahantsevy whose occupation
was game management. The family lived in Old Chara village (Ru. Staraia Chara): in
1967, they took a Manchurian deer calf from the forest. They kept it like a dog and
named it “Baby boy” (Ru. malysh). Malysh could move freely. It walked into the forest to
feed itself and came back home in the evening, like a cow. The people of Staraia Chara
got used to it and allowed it to wander around the centre of the village. People loved it,
petted it, and fed it. Malysh became a local pet and never tried to escape. It recognised
its name and ran to everyone calling it. It had a reindeer bell but was never marked
(Ru. zakleimën). Initially, the people in Staraia Chara were very curious and excited by
Malysh and its habits, but they later became accustomed to it. For them, it was
undoubtedly a domestic animal, similar to a cow. It spent one year in the village; after
that, his masters decided to move it away to the zoo in Chita because they were kindly
asked to do so. Malysh was totally “domestic” (Ru. ruchnoi) and communicative; it loved
people.
41 I also learned a legendary story from Gennadii Kuz’min. He said that somewhere down
by the Chara River, nearby Southern Yakutia, an old man kept a moose and used him
for riding. He heard about this only briefly, but believed that it was possible and that
maybe the old man is still keeping the animal. This was the only mention of a successful
long-term engagement between a wild animal, a wild animal-person, and a human-
person.
42 Thus, I argue that the attempt to surpass the delicate and risky boundary between two
realms is similar to getting in touch with a legend. The stories of short-term
interactions with wild animals sound as if people are challenging themselves to try and
act as communicators. Stories of success are scarce, and nobody granted me a clear
picture of where and how I can find people who managed with their wild animals very
well.
Perednik, or when spirits come first

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Figure 5. Gennadii talking
© Veronika V. Simonova, Amudisy, June 2013
—Come and see our fridge, what are you going to cook today? I think pea soup
would be a good solution. We need reindeer bones. Guess where the fridge is.
Gennadii liked to make me guess about household stuff as a prank. I saw nothing at
all among the larch trees and bushy taiga grasses and finally gave up. Gennadii
laughed and pointed out a fallen larch tree. The fridge appeared to be an icy place
under the larch roots. We took meat and sat on the tree for a couple of minutes
because Gennadii wanted to smoke. I always took every opportunity to ask
questions and this was a good chance for a new conversation:
—Gennadii, I was wondering, what does the scar on the tree behind the fence mean?
The last time you spoke about trees made me very interested, can you please tell me
little bit more about them?
—Trees are like people, they have their own spirits, avacho 10 and perednik, like
animals. What else can I tell you about trees?”
43 I remembered that from the very beginning my companions spoke about the perednik, a
soul-vanguard-spirit that arrives before a person appears at a camp. Olga Ulturgasheva
investigated a similar phenomenon among the Eveny people and approached it as a
local metaphor for how young Eveny people understand the future (Ulturgasheva 2012,
2016). She investigated the belief in a forerunner spirit which, in the local language,
sounds like djuluchen: she argued that a forerunner spirit helps to control one’s life by
giving information about the distant future11.
44 A perednik in Amudisy, however, is considered to be an energetic human soul: it is
similar to a guardian angel, which has the duty of warning its human master about
dangers in the very near future. A perednik is not an angel, it is part of human nature: a
person holds a perednik within themselves. So, the person does the work of a guardian
angel by him or herself. We spoke about peredniki a day before my interlocutors
demonstrated how this might work. The next day, dogs were barking on the empty
road near the camp and my companions expected visitors: they said “the builders 12 will

230
come soon”, which they indeed did. Once I remembered the comments about peredniki, I
forgot about trees and used Gennadii’s good mood to speak about this subject.
—Gennadii, how come the trees have peredniki like people and animals do, are they
the same?
—They all are the same. They have their own evil spirits, avacho, that harm them,
and peredniki. If we want to slaughter (Ru. zabit’) a reindeer and he has a perednik, he
will try to escape, so it will be hard for us to get him. Wild animals have the same.
And people have peredniki, which are wild animals. If I see in my dream a bear, that
means that Spiridon will come very soon. I wish you had a perednik, you would not
get ill. Maybe yours is lazy and walks behind…
45 The perednik is a local philosophy of communication that removes the boundaries
existing between people, wild animals, and spirits. The perednik appears in dreams as a
wild animal and never as domestic reindeer or dogs (or at least as far as I learned from
other interlocutors in Amudisy and Chapa-Ologo). Gennadii Kuz’min, whom I met in
Chapa Ologo before we moved up into the mountains, told me that once he saw a wild
boar in his dream that was aggressively chasing him: the day after, his friend visited his
camp. Gennadii laughed and said to him: “You were chasing me all night long! Your
perednik visited me last night, now I know you are a wild boar (Ru. kaban)”.
46 The perednik also corresponds to the ability of animals to stay linked with each other,
signal one another, and make people aware about the power of their solidarity.
Gennadii told me a story about the way this linkage can work within human-animal
interactions. Prokopii Nikolaev, the head of a reindeer community in Tiania, Yakutia,
received a free ticket to a resort in Bulgaria from the sovkhoz. He took that opportunity
to rest on the beach13. As a part of the holiday programme, he visited a local zoo. Upon
approaching the bear cage, the animal started roaring aggressively. The workers in the
zoo were surprised: the bear had never behaved in this way before. Moreover, the bear
was interested only in Prokopii and paid zero attention to the other spectators.
Prokopii interpreted this from the prospect of success in hunting. He is a good hunter
who had caught a lot of bears; therefore, all bears know of him through their spiritual
linkage, since they immediately signal each other when a good bear hunter
(Ru. medvezhatnik) approaches them. These relationships are thus relevant not only in
the taiga, but also around the globe.
47 Gennadii told me this story as an illustration of how a bear perednik might work. A day
before, I joined the brigade together with David Anderson and Vladimir Davydov to fix
a bear trap. I was a passive observer in the process, as it was a male-only occupation. I
did not object at all. Volodia, a reindeer herder, asked politely whether I was bored of
watching them. In reply, I stated a common proverb that there are three things one can
watch and never get bored of: fire, water, and how others work. Volodia laughed. When
they managed to uncover the trap, a bear skeleton emerged. I wanted to have its teeth
as a souvenir and Volodia kindly undertook the “work of a dentist”. Right after
Gennadii finished the story about Prokopii’s adventure in Bulgaria, he remembered
that I had recently harvested bear teeth: “You can make a locket out of those teeth,
beautiful. No, better not. You see, bears are connected through a spirit we know
nothing about; we can just observe and learn from people who encountered it, like
Prokopii. On the one hand, bear fangs and teeth serve as a guardian amulet; on the
other, they may attract bears’ anger. Let Indians wear them and boast. Bears might
chase you everywhere they exist, even in the zoo”.

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48 Not only bears have “the spirits of the species”: wolves also have a similar natural-
spiritual connection. They know when people speak about them badly or boast about
how many wolves they have killed. In these cases, wolves will take revenge: they will
chase people or destroy a herd of reindeer. Wolves are vindictive. As Gennadii said, if
dogs kill a wolf puppy, the wolves will take revenge and kill dogs. When people
encounter problems with wolves, this may be interpreted as an offence triggered by
people and their impolite narratives. Wolves can be dangerous for people and reindeer
in many other situations as well (for example, when their packs grow large). In both
cases, rituals should be performed to restore the peaceful neighbourhood of people,
reindeer, and wolves.
49 I learned that from Oleg Pavlovich, a Russian dweller in Ikabia village (a neighbouring
settlement to Chapa-Ologo where Spiridon Nikolaevich lives with his family) who works
as a truck driver. Oleg Pavlovich has been living in the area for 30 years. He came from
the Altai region and stayed permanently. He said that he learned a lot from the Evenki.
Many of them became his mentors, friends, and hunting companions. While Oleg
Pavlovich was driving us to Amudisy, I learned many stories from him. In particular, he
told us that he visited a Evenki camp in Yakutia in the 1990s. He saw how his hosts took
an animal skin (he did not remember which particular animal) and left from the camp
straightaway. In a couple of hours, they returned, declaring that everything was all
right and the wolves would not harm their herd. Oleg Pavlovich added expressively:
“They did a ritual that should have been kept hidden from outside eyes. Imagine, a lair
of wolves was located almost in the middle of the reindeer pastures but the wolves
never touched the reindeer! Marvellous!”
50 Animals (especially wild ones) are naturally more advanced than people in sensory
terms: they hear, run, and smell much better than people; however, their visual
capabilities may vary. According to local narratives, wild animals are more advanced in
spiritual communication, too. Not only do they have peredniki, but they also possess a
sort of “spirit of species solidarity” which controls the connection between individual
animals around the world. People cannot boast of having a similar “clan or social
perednik” which warns them about important things relevant for the whole species. So-
called human peredniki are constituted by an individual’s ability to accommodate the
spirit of an animal that typically manifests itself in the dreams of other people. A
person who has a perednik may not be aware of that ability, but is “lucky”. This “luck”,
however, is very hard to trace with a common logic. Having a perednik facilitates a
person’s life choices. As a result of its presence, people can make the right choices and
avoid serious problems. Thus a perednik works hard to analyse the future while its
master (or human-body-rational part) is sleeping: it provides the correct solution to a
problem in the morning.
51 Perednik activity in the human world is not limited to the realm of dreams, but can
expand into the sphere of real life. Its appearance becomes evident through the
reaction of dogs, which can recognise the movements of spirits along empty roads.
They can do the same for evil spirits (Evk. avacho), devils (Evk., Ya. ichi), or when people
hear some sounds typical of a person when nobody is present.
52 Uncle Sania, a reindeer herder, told me that it is hard to know whether it is a perednik
or an ichi that is visiting the camp. He told me about how his friend encountered a taiga
devil, ichi, instead of a perednik: “A friend of mine heard his dogs barking very loudly
and he saw a man riding two white reindeer. He screamed but the unexpected visitor

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did not react at all and my friend understood that he was an ichi. He took his rifle and
put a piece of coal in instead of a bullet, as people should do in such situations, and shot
the ichi: the ichi disappeared”.
53 A perednik is occupied with espionage. It must spy out the future and bring knowledge
back to its master. It usually walks ahead of a person, but can also walk behind. This
latter possibility means that people or dogs can continue to hear the sounds of
someone’s presence when they have already left the camp. In this case, a perednik is a
kind of trace doing its job in a different or even incorrect manner.
54 Travin, who worked among the Evenki of Yakutia as an ethnographer from 1925-30,
made a note in his diary that speaks eloquently about the tradition of peredniki in
Evenki societies: although he did not employ the term perednik, he gave an example of
its agency in his notes (Travin 1927, p. 99). It testifies that the Evenki used to have a
system of communication in the forest that could be interpreted as mystical (a logically
impossible cause-effect situation for a representative of another society in a Evenki
cultural context) by an outsider. Moreover, according to my observations, people in the
forest very creatively combine taiga signs (Simonova 2012, 2013), dreams, and
established consensuses on travelling in the forest. Thus, when they met someone in
the taiga, all these skills come together to enrich and enforce each other: the ability to
predict someone’s arrival in the forest is the result of mutual work by human and non-
human skills and targets. Travin’s notes relate the successful results of such predictions
as documented by a scholar of the beginning of the twentieth century: “An old Tungus
man emerged […] the Tungus men who had stayed here before somehow knew
perfectly precisely the day of his arrival and waited for him on this particular day”
(Travin 1927, p. 99).
55 A perednik is always a wild animal belonging to or accommodating itself within a part of
human nature (chelovecheskaia priroda), as my interlocutors told me. Thus, an
understanding of the qualities of wild animals is embedded into human personalities;
moreover, these qualities condition the road taken by humans, a metaphor for life and
destiny. Gennadii felt sorry that my perednik was not active enough, although he also
mentioned that only one person in our team had an active perednik – Vladimir.
Gennadii told me that, the day before our arrival, he had a dream about a fox. When
Vladimir appeared with his red beard and orange sweater, Gennadii concluded that the
fox from his dream belonged to him: “He has a perednik, it is a fox or he is a fox
himself”.
Conclusions
56 The ethnography of bringing wild animals home along with the ethnography of
vanguard spirits, which are always wild animals, together constitute a realm which is
hard to explain. In Siberian ethnography, especially as represented by Willerslev’s
works, relationships between wild animals and people in indigenous hunting societies
are typically approached as predator-prey relations and placed into perspectivism
theory. It is important here to distinguish “perspectivism” from “the perspectivism”, as
Humphrey suggests in her paper devoted to perspectivism of shaman’s mirrors in
Mongolia (Humphrey 2007, p. 174): “I do not suggest that the shamans mirror reveals
the perspectivism of the Mongols along the lines of the integrated mythical
cosmological system as described by Viveiros de Castro (1992) for Amazonia […] What I

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discuss here is, rather, a specifically shamanic perspectivism, which coexists with
several others”.
57 This distinction seems to be relevant terminological apparatus. Perspectivism is a
broad philosophical view drawing from Plato (1986), Leibniz ([1714] 2017), and
Nietzsche (1966), who argued that all evaluations of reality take place from a particular
perspective. Many conceptual schemes can be employed to understand a reality, which
does not exist as a thing-in-itself. So-called reality is dependent on the qualities of the
individual who tries to understand it and creates a certain viewpoint.
58 In the theory of art, for example, “the perspectivist movement rejected the
homogeneity of space and it made the radical assertion that there are as many realities
as points of view…a perspective which is perfected by the multiplication of its
viewpoints” may be intuitively intelligible to many anthropologists. If they add the
adjective “cultural” to the term “perspective”, the arguments of aesthetic
perspectivism will appear to be close to the principles of cultural pluralism or
relativism (Kwon 2012, p. 61). Furthermore, Kwon (ibid., pp. 62-63) gives us a brilliant
excursion on classical anthropologists (among the Pleiades of great philosophers of the
last century) who employed perspectivism as a dynamic interaction between
contrasting principles of social order: Evans-Pritchard (1940), Leach (1954), Mauss
(1975), Strathern (1988), and Bourdieu (1990). Viveiros de Castro is discussed by Kwon
as a specific figure who introduced his own perspectivism for hunting societies: “Here,
the Amerindian world comprises in multiple realities populated by various separate
groups of vital subjects (animals and humans; the living and the dead) and has a
pronounced notion of ‘trans-substantiation’ [sic] or metamorphosis across different
subjectivities”. In his earlier work, Viveiros de Castro described how the Arawete
warriors of the Brazilian rainforest can transform into and “become” enemies who they
had slain in the past through singing for the latter (Viveiros de Castro 1992,
pp. 238-251). For the Arawete, by this account, being a subject means having a
particular point of view, and all important social activities such as marriage, hunting,
and warfare involve the risk of transubstantiation; that is, becoming the other. As a
result, what is apparently potential prey to a hunter may turn out to be a spirit and be
identified as such ritually.
59 Hence, we observe that perspectivism exported to circumpolar and sub-Arctic hunting
societies becomes the perspectivism – a theory describing multiplicity of points of view
in culturally formulated predator-prey relations and contexts. Therefore, the
perspectivism, along with mimesis, are the theories best suited to describing such
relations.
60 Nevertheless, ethnography from Kalar district and Lake Baikal obviously adds
supplementary discussion to human-animal relations in Evenki societies since it
discovers a realm of network between wild animals, taiga spirits, and what my
informants think of as human nature (chelovecheskaia priroda). Here it is important to
distinguish the relations between the Evenki and the “wild-at-home”, as reflected in
perednik beliefs, from the concept of “grateful prey”, well developed by Brightman from
Cree ethnography (Brightman 1995). His argument (ibid., Tanner 1997) that Cree
representations of human-animal relations are chaotic, arbitrary, and unsystematic,
being displayed in the ambivalent areas of cooperation and competition, is not
identical to what is relevant for Evenki hunters. The “wild at home”, which is in contact
with people, does not create a predator or prey game, but emerges as a representative

234
of a world of wildness expected to become closer to people than others of his or her
kind. Furthermore, as a part of humanity, a guardian vanguard spirit is believed to
share the quality of that alien-person. Thus, perednik beliefs systematise human-animal
relations in a principle, which cannot be fully discovered by perspectivist and mimetic
theoretical lenses. Below, I try to suggest a theory of a contagious magic, instead of the
perspectivism and sympathetic magic (mimesis), as a possible framework to describe
these complex and delicate relationships between human people, wild animal people,
and spirits.
61 The main question of this paper is why the Evenki hunters need to bring wild animals
into their camps. Why are they so interested in observing the ways in which a wild
animal exposes its wildness? These questions bring new ethnographic material to
anthropology and also places certain theoretical assumptions devoted to human-
animal relations on different foundation. Why are human and animal “characteristics”
(e.g. in Russian priroda, as my informants stated) similar in local spiritual beliefs, as
represented by the concept of perednik?
62 My attempt to answer these questions takes its initiative from Taussig’s interpretation
of mimesis as a sympathetic magic (Taussig 1993). Although the practice of bringing
wild animals home has certain similarities with the mimetic strategies initially
analysed in Amerindian anthropology by Taussig and later adapted to Siberian
anthropology by Willerslev (2007, 2009), it should be approached from a slightly
different angle. Mimesis is a sympathetic magic, an argument brilliantly unfolded in
Taussig’s (1993) theory of mimesis in Latin American colonial contexts. Magic is thus
the play between object and subject, the self and the other; it is protection and control
made possible by imitating the object of danger or desire. We may accept, after all, that
magic is no doubt both a sense and a way of thinking. This sense-thinking is based on
two great laws we know from James Frazer’s ([1922] 1993) classic work: the law of
similarity and the law of contact or contagion. Taussig draws on the idea that the magic
of mimesis consists in copying (Taussig 1993, pp. 47-48): this is the belief that imitation
has transformative powers and that, in the process of imitating, the subject acquires
both the qualities of what is being imitated and the ability to control it.
63 I propose that, for Amudisy reindeer herders and Evenki hunters in North Baikal, the
practice of bringing a wild animal into the home has logical links with another magical
law which focuses on contagion: the idea of eternal contact between a “part” and the
“whole”. This is perfectly illustrated by the story about Legèi: learning one animal-
individual enriches human knowledge about the entire species, moose in this case.
64 Contagious magic is basically “infection” by definition, as we learn from Frazer ([1922]
1993). It is an eternal link between separated parts or between objects that have never
experienced contact with one another before. Having a wild animal at home allows this
magical law to act: a part of the wilderness once placed into a human camp resurrects
the whole network of taiga interactions, including humans. Perednik here is wild
animal-spirit constituting a part of human nature (chelovecheskaia priroda) and a
corridor to the world of the wilderness. Thus, contagious magic is sense-thinking about
an eternal contact that happens once and for all: the experience of an encounter with
an animal individual becomes a story shared among communities.
65 Willerslev has fruitfully appropriated the concept of mimesis to explain human-animal
relations in hunting among the Yukaghir (Willerslev 2004, 2007, 2009). However, I do
not think that employing either mimesis or perspectivism would give us a perfect

235
explanation about why people bring wild animals home or about the beliefs related to
peredniki in the Amudisy area. The reason behind my doubt is that, at their core, these
theories are externally oriented: mimicry and perspectivism are about either copying
or taking as a model something outside the subject’s nature. The perednik, however,
shows that human persons can allow a space for animal persons. Human nature
(chelovecheskaia priroda) is believed to be, in part, a wild animal acting akin to a
“guardian angel”, but it is not a guardian angel in the image we are accustomed to in
Euro-Christian or Orthodox tradition, since the latter is an external being taking care of
its protégé(e) but not a part of him or her. Therefore, I suggest that both mimesis and
perspectivism may be applied to Siberian ethnographies only to a limited extent: none
of these approaches explains the complexity of the perednik and the “wild animal at
home”; however, they do provide an explanation of the predator-prey dimension in
human-animal relations.
66 Mimesis does not explain the heart of human-wild animal relations outside the hunting
agencies still relevant for the Evenki hunters in Amudisy and North Baikal. The perednik
and the “wild animal at home” are part of hunting culture but not hunting itself, a key
practice in the taiga. The “wild animal at home” is not prey; the perednik is not a
predator. I employ “contagious magic” instead of “mimicry” to understand the practice
of bringing some individual animals to human places in the taiga. Contagious magic is a
theory of contact, not imitation. Below, I argue why mimicry is not relevant for the
Amudisy Evenki hunters in their relations with wild animals taken into their camps.
67 Mimesis is a method of deceiving prey by imitating its sounds or appearance and
seducing its spirit in dreams: this persuades the prey to sacrifice its animal-body for
the sake of human needs and prosperity. Mimesis is a lie that is shared as part of a
game by all actors and has no negative connotations in cultures where it is practised.
Sympathetic magic is a set of rituals that makes this lie obvious and manifest. For
example, we can consider a dream where hunters take the identity of an animal-person
in order to seduce animals and take their bodies in real life (take them as kills). Animals
also take the identities of people, so the border between humans and animals in
mimetic dreams is obscure. However, the purpose of hunters is clear: to get the spirit
unavoidably implies getting the animal. Animal-spirits follow the hunters imitating
them, allowing the latter to both seduce them in dreams and kill them in reality
(Willerslev 2009).
68 If the core principle of sympathetic magic is falsehood, the core principle of a
contagious magic is contact (Frazer [1922] 1993, Taussig 1993). In this regard, the
perednik belongs to or unifies two natures: wild animal and human. Here, it is
impossible to avoid a discussion about the theory of perspectivism, which gained
popularity among some anthropologists interested in human-animal relations in
indigenous contexts. The perspectivist approach shows us the so-called prey
perspective from animals to spirits: people see animals as prey (although predators see
people as prey) and spirits see people as prey, so spirits reach the top of the hierarchy
and appear as top predators. Those humans who see other people as prey may either be
cannibals (Evenki folklore stories14) or shamans (human soul-cannibals) (Stépanoff
2009). If we set aside the analysis of the ethnocentric and animistic conditions of the
perspectivist approach offered by Viveiros de Castro (1998), this theory explains game
relationships where only two basic statements are really true: the perspectives of
predators or prey.

236
69 However, the practice of bringing wild animals home is not about predator-prey
perspectives. Animals do not see people as predators, but “accept invitations” to stay as
guests/captives in a human place. People do not see these wild animals as prey but as a
chance to establish relationships uncommon between prey and hunters. People expect
the wild animals to open up their characters and individuality to humans and domestic
animals: the humans, in turn, recognise that their subjectivity is different from that of
domestic animals.
70 Here I have to turn back to some of the ethnographic examples I gave in the body of
this paper and explain their “magical theoretical links” in order to show why mimesis
and perspectivism cannot be fully employed for understanding the practice of taking
wild animals home or the perednik beliefs. Mimesis is, after all, the “magic of becoming
and transformation”. Perspectivism is the “rationality of personhood”. Both are about
the transformative capabilities belonging to human and non-human actors. The wild
animal at home is a practice that involves contacting the world of the wild through
constantly learning about and recognising an animal-individual, and this is a
completely different thing.
71 The story about Legèi clearly shows how people bestowed upon a moose the status of a
person, complete with a full assortment of human rights: free movement, free
competition, and freedom of choice. At the same time, people assigned this wild animal
intellect, intuition, and the ability to learn about the human world and become
accustomed to human spaces. The idea of using him as a riding animal was never a
pragmatic one. It was an intellectual effort and a hope for the possibility of establishing
more intimate contact with a wild animal-person. If the enterprise had been successful,
it would have become a token of potential long-term contact with the world of the wild
for taiga people.
72 And this type of contact is the desired result: a wild animal constitutes a part of the
human soul, known as a perednik. Hence, the perednik is not an external spirit, but an
internal quality of human nature (chelovecheskaia priroda), a sort of super-sense that
might be compared with the Euro-Russian version of “intuition”. This super ability that
allows people to spy upon the future is a link with a spiritual world manifested as a wild
animal. Chelovecheskaia priroda is, therefore, partially wild. Thus, the contact between a
wild-animal-person and a wild-human-person in this context does not require any
mimicry or shifting predator-prey perspectives, but certain compromises that are
comfortable and pleasant for both sides: as my interlocutors believe, the wild-
individual also enjoys staying in a human world. Finally, the magic of contact is
contained within an experiential understanding of the world of the wild: it is the lens
through which a wild individual and the secrets of the human ability to see the future
are comprehended.
Post Scriptum
73 Gennadii stopped smoking, which signalled we had to return with the meat and cook. I
tried to avoid dispelling the conversation or making Gennadii tired of my questions.
However, I could not resist the temptation to ask: “Gennadii, if animals and trees have
peredniki, how might the latter look?” He seemed to become bored of the topic, but
replied politely: “Who knows? Maybe they see us in their dreams”.

237
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NOTES
1. I approach “home” not only as a dwelling place (Ingold 2000), but also as a physical and
culturally cultivated taiga. Just as with Brandišauskas’ notion of the “life place” (Brandišauskas
2017) or camp (Evk. bikit), my approach to home in the taiga is not limited to the architecture of
dwellings and necessary household buildings. Indeed, home in the taiga is a sense and experience
at the intersection of signs, interrelations with animals, and movements: it is charged with
spiritual meanings. “Home” also relates to dreams that accommodate a certain imagined space in
which different actors such as spirits might interfere or be invited.
2. I employ chelovecheskaia priroda (e.g. “human nature”), an emic expression belonging to my
informants, without any relation to the theoretical discussions in philosophy and anthropology.
My informants used this expression in common dialogical situations to explain how wild animals,
human beings, and their abilities to see the future are connected and act together in the taiga.
3. Unfortunately, my interlocutors did not use an Evenki name for the vanguard spirit.
4. Probably from chape, which means “a squirrel hollow” (Vasilevich 1958, p. 515), and Ya. olohtoo
(“squirrel nest”).
5. I never heard any stories, similar to those about other animals, about bringing wolves or bears
into human worlds. However, I have to share one observation I made on Sakhalin Island (the
Russian Far East, 2013) among one Nivkh family, indigenous fishermen and hunters. A bear
started wandering close to a family house, which they accepted as a sign of its intention to
interact with people. Thus, they regularly left rotten fish for him: if they forgot to do so, the bear
“became very upset and started roaring and digging at the place where the fish usually were”
(Ru. psihovat’ nachinal). As was explained to me, giving food is a sort of diplomacy with any animal
that wishes to become acquainted with humans. Thus, it is possible to hypothesise that the
principles of establishing relationships with wild animals through invitations into human spaces
may be found throughout indigenous communities in Siberia; however, detailed research is
needed. It is also well known that the Nivkh have a special relationship with the bear, as
mentioned in the footnote below.
6. Kreinovich described bringing of a bear cub among the Nivkh people on Sakhalin Island for
ritual reasons. A bear was kept in a special cabin for two years to be ritually killed at the feast of
the bears (Ru. medvezhii prazdnik).
7. The “green corner” (Ru. zelënyi ugolok) is a place in schools or kindergarten where different
plants and decorative animals (aquarium fish, little birds, turtles, and the like) are placed for
entertainment and education.
8. It is a historically recognised fact that, at the time of the first contacts between the Evenki and
Russians, the latter brought the idea of bread into Evenki society and culture. Kuftin, who headed
an expedition to the North Baikal Evenki in 1927, documented in his diary a name given to
Russians: those “who always keep bread in their mouths”. Thus, for Gennadii, it was abnormal to
know a Russian woman who had no idea about how to bake bread.
9. The names granted to both people and domestic animals in Evenki culture have numerous
meanings, from the social and pragmatic to the sacral (see, for example, Shirokogoroff 1935,
Sirina 2012, Vasilevich 1969). Unfortunately, the practice of giving names to wild animals in
everyday life (apart from the bear “clan” name, Evk. Amako, Amikan meaning “grandfather”,
which is related to the belief that calling a bear by its original name will bring bad luck and the
anger of a powerful animal) was not documented in earlier ethnographic accounts. Along with

240
the name, the latter receives a position in and an affiliation with the human world, as well as
recognition of their subjectivity and personality.
10. Avacho in Evenki is an evil spirit living in the forest. In North Baikal, it is sometimes described
as a female with a bird’s beak instead of nose.
11. A djuluchen can belong to both people and animals according to Ulturgasheva’s research.
However, there is a significant difference between a djuluchen and a perednik. A djuluchen does its
work under the control of its human or non-human masters. Someone can send a djuluchen and
get a picture of the distant future in their minds. This is clearly described by Ulturgasheva,
especially in her informants’ narratives (Ulturgasheva 2016). She gives us a definition of the term
djuluchen: “A djuluchen is an inherent component of human and animal personhood, whose literal
translation reads ‘a shadow that falls or runs ahead of a person’. It is a nomadic concept
signifying a partible component of human personhood (referred to by some locals as one’s
‘traveling spirit’), which departs ahead of its owner and arrives at the destination prior to the
owner’s actual appearance” (ibid., p. 57). The same definition can be employed in the analysis of
the term perednik. However, a perednik is not consciously controlled by its master. By way of
contrast, it leads its master through various emotional states, helping them to avoid the wrong
decisions that might be made in the near future. A perednik walks without any orders ahead of a
person or an animal while they are dreaming. It might walk ahead while its master is awake, but
the latter will unlikely be aware of his or her perednik. The nature of the djuluchen is reminiscent
of a person’s shadow and may bear his or her features and movements: this is a significant
contrast with a perednik, which is always a wild animal.
12. “The builders” is the nickname of Vladimir Nemerov, son-in-law of Spiridon Gabyshev, and
his friend Roman from the Ural region. Their summer task was to build a hunting cabin and
sauna (Ru. bania) in Amudisy, 5 km from the reindeer herders’ camp.
13. This practice was typical of Soviet social policy. All citizens had the right to receive either
free or discounted travel ticket to resorts across the Soviet Union and other Soviet-bloc
countries.
14. Stories about taiga cannibals are present in Evenki oral literature (Varlamova 1996, Pinegina
1950-1960, see also Brandisauskas this volume). Cannibal historical-folklore groups are called
Evk. diaptygir or Evk. Chanyt, a clan name. During my fieldwork in the Zabaikal region, Uncle Gena
and other Evenki interlocutors told me numerous folk stories about cannibals who lived in the
past and came from the north. According to them, cannibals ceased to exist at the beginning of
the last century.
ABSTRACTS
This paper is about human-animal spiritual relations among Amudisy Evenki hunters and
reindeer herders of Kalar district (Zabaikal region) in Siberia. Based on narratives describing the
practice of bringing wild animals into human places, this anthropological study examines the
network of relations between human and non-human actors in an attempt to answer the
following questions: why do Evenki hunters bring wild animals into their camps? Why are they so
interested in observing the ways in which animals expose themselves and become a part of a
human world? Why do “human nature” (chelovecheskaia priroda) (as it is called by our informants)
and wild animals share certain similarities in local spiritual beliefs? By creating a dialogue
between ethnographic examples and the theories of mimesis and perspectivism, this paper shows

241
that this complex subject should be approached in terms of a “magic of contact”. This is also true
of local perednik beliefs, where the human and animal worlds coincide: in such beliefs, human
nature (chelovecheskaia priroda) is held to be partially constituted by an animal spirit. The analysis
of data as well as writing up was sponsored by RSF grant 14-18-02785.
Cet article porte sur les relations spirituelles entre humains et animaux chez les Évenks
chasseurs et éleveurs de rennes d’Amudisy, dans le district de Kalar (région de Zaibaikal) en
Sibérie. Basé sur l’ethnographie de récits et de souvenirs recueillis auprès des éleveurs de rennes
de cette région, présentant comment des animaux sauvages ont été rapportés sur les lieux
d’habitation des humains, cet article examine un réseau de relations entre des acteurs humains
et non-humains, et tente de répondre aux questions suivantes : Pourquoi les chasseurs évenks
ont-ils besoin de rapporter un animal sauvage sur leurs campements ? Pourquoi sont-ils tant
enclins à observer la façon dont un animal sauvage se dévoile et devient une partie du monde
humain ? Pourquoi, ce que les informateurs appellent « la nature des humains » (chelovecheskaia
priroda) et les animaux partagent-ils des similarités dans les représentations locales ? En
proposant un dialogue entre des exemples ethnographiques, la théorie de la mimesis et le
perspectivisme, cet article montre que cette complexité doit être appréhendée comme une
« magie du contact ». C’est également le cas des représentations locales concernant le perednik,
où monde des humains et monde des animaux coïncident : dans ces conceptions, la « nature des
humains » est tenue comme étant en partie constituée par un esprit animal.
INDEX
Mots-clés: Évenk, Russie, élevage du renne, chasse, animaux, sauvage, récit, relations humains-
animaux
Keywords: Evenki, Russia, reindeer herding, hunting, wild, animals, narrative, human-animal
interactions
AUTHOR
VERONIKA V. SIMONOVA
Veronika V. Simonova completed her PhD in social anthropology at the University of Aberdeen,
UK: she also holds a PhD in social sciences at the Russian Academy of Science. Currently she is a
post-doc at the biology department of St Petersburg State University. She is also the director of
the Centre of Arctic and Siberian Exploration, the Sociological Institute of the Federal Center of
Theoretical and Applied Sociology of the Russian Academy of Sciences and a research fellow at
the European University in St Petersburg. She is an associate member of the CEARC of the
University of Versailles (University Paris-Saclay). She has worked with the Evenki in the North
Baikal and Zabaikal regions and with the Sami in the Kola Peninsula. She has also conducted
extensive field research in South Yakutia, Khabarovsk, Sakhalin Island, and Kamchatka
Peninsula.
v.simonova@socinst.ru; vsimonova@eu.spb.ru

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Varia
Varia

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An exploration of a Tibetan lama’s

study of the Pythagorean theorem
in the mid-18th century
L'introduction du théorème de Pythagore au Tibet au milieu du XVIIIe siècle
Lobsang Yongdan
This paper was supported and written during my staying, as a Visiting Postdoctoral Fellow
between September 1 and December 31, in 2016, at the Max Planck Institute for the History of
Science, Berlin, Germany. I really enjoyed the experience. I want to thank Dr. Dagmar Schaefer
and DEPT. III for giving me this opportunity. I also want to thank Gina Grzimek and Helen for
their support. I also want to thank Dr. Lewis Doney and Dr. Gurung Kalsang for reading the text
and giving me helpful suggestions and comments. As usual, I want to thank Mary Liza and
Cynthia Col for polishing the English and giving me helpful comments; I would also like to thank
the two anonymous reviewers. Finally, I would like to thank Professor Charles Ramble for his
interest in this topic and many of his valuable suggestions and comments.
Background
1 The fact that Akya Lobzang Tenpai Gyaltsen (a kyā blo bzang bstan pa'i rgyal mtshan)
studied the Pythagorean theorem and was able to transmit it to Tibet was not a
historical anomaly. His work took place within the broader framework of Tibetan
astronomical traditions and Tibetans’ desire to seek new knowledge. Importantly, this
knowledge reached Tibet after the Qing rule had changed its attitude towards Jesuit
scholars, who were instrumental in introducing European science to China and,
consequently, to Tibet. The Pythagorean theorem was one of large European topics of
scientific knowledge studied by Tibetans and transmitted to Tibet by the Qing court
during the 18th and 19th centuries.
2 In the 6th century BCE, Pythagoras demonstrated that the square of the hypotenuse of a
right triangle is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides. This geometric
theorem was included in the first book of Euclid’s Elements and became known as the

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Pythagorean theorem. The book became one of the most important mathematical and
logical texts in the world. In the 4th century CE, a Greek scholar known as Theon of
Alexandria produced an edition of Euclid. In 800 CE, the Arabs translated the Elements,
which they received from the Byzantines, into Arabic. Although it was known in the
Byzantine Empire, until 1120, it was virtually unknown to Western Europe. Then an
English monk known as Adlard of Bath translated it into Latin from an Arabic
translation. The first printed edition appeared in 1482 in Europe and has since been
republished many times and translated into all the main European languages.
3 Mathematics was an integral part of Chinese culture. Before Euclidean geometry was
introduced in China in the 17th century, the method of measuring the right triangle
known as gougu (勾股) already existed in China. It was this work known as the Zhoubi
suanjing 周髀算經 which mentions the gougu theorem. The author of the compilation is
unknown, but it is believed to be composed sometime between 100 BCE and 100 CE. The
next important mathematical text is known as the Jiuzhang suanshu 九章算术 ( Nine
chapters on the mathematical art). This work was compiled during the Han dynasty (late
3rd century BCE to early 2nd century CE). According to the preface, it was written by two
Han-dynasty scholars, and included ideas that were similar to the Pythagorean
theorem (Swetz & Kao 2001). However, official scholars such as Xu Guangqi (1562-1633)
considered that Chinese gougu was more of a general concept than a theorem;
furthermore, it had not been proven in the Euclidean sense (Needham 1959, p. 21).
4 In the 16th century, European Jesuits, driven by religious conviction, came to China to
spread Christianity. In their efforts to proselytise their religions, Jesuit scholars
translated and disseminated a substantial number of European scientific texts into
Chinese, alongside their religious works. Impressed by their scientific expertise,
particularly in astronomical and calendrical science, the imperial court often employed
them as mathematicians, map-makers, and astronomers (Dunne 1962, Mungello 2009).
In 1607, the Jesuit missionary Matteo Ricci (1552-1610), with Xu Guangqi, translated
some of Euclid’s Elements into Chinese, and these sections included the Pythagorean
theorem (Engelfriet 1998).
5 During the Qing dynasty, Emperor Kangxi (1654-1722) showed great interest in
European science. Between 1670 and 1674, the emperor learned some aspects of
Western mathematics from a Flemish Jesuit, Ferdinand Verbiest (1623-1688); when King
Louis XIV (1638-1715) sent French Jesuits to Beijing in 1685, the emperor’s interest in
Western mathematics increased. He appointed French and Portuguese Jesuits as his
tutors to teach him astronomy, mathematics, and geometry (Jami 2012), and their
lectures resulted in the printing of new versions of Euclid’s Elements in both Manchu
and Chinese (Engelfriet 1998, p. 136).
6 Tibet also had a long history of studying astronomy and mathematics. As early as the
8th or 9 th century (Khang 2012, p. 23), Tibetans had translated large numbers of
astronomical and mathematical works from India and China. In the 11 th century, the
Kālacakra system of astronomy was introduced from India. This system provided
practical mathematical methods for calculating the distance of the planets and the
movements of stars and eclipses. Astronomy studies flourished and many books were
written on the subject (Henning 2007). Moreover, Tibetan scholars devised and
produced several calendrical systems; these included the best-known Puk (Phug) and
Tsur (Tshur) traditions (Schuh 2012, Yamaguchi 1989). Tibetans were one of the earliest
peoples to use this Hindu-Arabic numeral system. For example, the scholar Jikme Rikpe

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Lodrö ('Jigs med rigs pa'i blo gros) (1910-1985), commonly known as Tseten Zhabdrung
[tshe tan zhabs drung]) stated that he had seen a handwritten text by Zhalu Lotsawa
Chökyong Zangpo (Zhwa lu lo tsā ba Chos skyong bzang po, 1441-1514), a translator
from Zhalu monastery in Central Tibet, in which the numbers were transcribed using
this numerical system (tshe tan zhabs drung 2007, p. 353).
7 Desi Sangye Gyatso (1653-1705), the regent of the Fifth Dalai Lama, was a scholarly
layman. He established a medical college on a hill-top site called Chakpo Ri (Iron
Mountain) where students could study several aspects of astronomy, mathematics and
medicine (Gyatso J. 2015, 114). He also wrote extensively on many different topics;
among these are influential astronomical works such as Bai dkar (The white beryl) and
gYa’ sel (The eradication of rusting).
8 By the early 18th century, some Tibetan scholars had become aware that their own
systems of astronomy and mathematics were not providing sufficiently accurate
information, and they began to seek new information. They found that the Jesuits’
approaches provided suitable new methods and techniques to reform and update
Tibetan time reckoning systems. The Tibetans encountered European mathematical
and astronomical traditions at the imperial court in Beijing. In the early 18 th century,
under Emperor Kangxi, Tibetan and Mongolian scholars translated a large of number of
the European astronomical texts into Mongolian and Tibetan, under the title The
Tibetan translation of the Kangxi emperor Chinese astronomical works (‘Jam dbyangs bde ldan
rgyal pos mdzad pa’i rgya rtsis bod skad du bsgyur ba), or in short The great Chinese
astronomical compendium (rGya rtsis chen mo). Among these translated texts were: sKud pa
brgyad kyi ngos 'dzin (The identification of tables of the eight line), a trigonometric work and
tables by Johann Schreck (1576-1630) (Schreck 1715). Moreover, sometimes Buddhists
were also involved in surveying and mapping the Qing empire (Yongdan 2015)
9 In the mid-18th century, Tibetans were actively involved in making calendars at the
imperial court in Beijing; this involved their studying the Jesuits’ modern calendrical
science. In subsequent years, some of these lamas secretly transcribed private imperial
calendrical manuals into Tibetan. Consequently, in Amdo, the country’s northeast
region, Tibet adopted the Jesuits’ calendrical system (Yongdan 2017). In the 18 th and
19th centuries, Tibetans studied and transmitted Jesuit astronomical works into
Tibetan. This enabled them to reform their calendar and update their geographical
information about the world. This new knowledge led to many new scholarly
arguments and debates about various aspects of European mathematical, astronomical,
and geographical issues. Within this framework of Tibetan and Jesuit knowledge
transfer through the Qing court, the Pythagorean theorem was introduced to Tibet.
A polymath at the imperial court in Beijing

10 The Tibetan who studied and introduced the Pythagorean theorem to Tibet was Akya
Lobzang Tenpai Gyaltsen (1708-1768) or simply Akya Loten. He was not only a Tibetan
trulku (sprul sku), or reincarnation, but also a Qing imperial Gongme Tamka Lama, “seal-
holder lama”. These lamas provided Buddhist teachings, religious rituals, and prayers
to emperors and imperial court in exchange for economic, military, and, often, political
assistance. They were not servants or officials in the secular sense; according to Tibetan
Buddhist traditions, they were viewed as enlightened human beings whose purpose was
to serve people living in samsāra (cyclic existence). This relationship was conducted

246
through the rituals, norms, and politics of chö-yon (mchod yon), which is often translated
as a patron and priest relationship. Since the Manchu had had extensive contacts with
Mongols, who were Tibetan Buddhists, they adopted this religions tradition. Later on,
Qing rulers invited a group of Tibetan lamas to Beijing. Many of them served in this
religious capacity at the court, and they also acted as envoys, translators, and map-
makers.
11 Akya Loten was one of these imperial seal-holder Lamas in Beijing; he was also an
important trulku in Tibet. He was born in 1708, in a village near Kumbum monastery,
one of the largest monasteries in Tibet and the birthplace of Tsongkhapa (1357-1419),
who founded the Gelugpa tradition of Tibetan Buddhism. This area had been a
crossroads for several civilisations, and was inhabited by diverse groups of people. This
diversity is reflected in his name, Akya Lobzang Tenpai Gyaltsen. There are two
opinions about why he was called Akya, or a kyā: the first opinion asserts that he was
the reincarnation of Tsongkhapa’s father, Lumbum Ge (Klu 'bum dge), and was
therefore called “Akya […] as father is known as Akya in the Amdo dialect” (Rinpoche
2010). The second opinion asserts that Akya is formed from two words: the Tibetan 0F 68
and Chinese kya, Jia 家, meaning that he came from the A, which is a Tibetan syllable
family (Mi nyag mgon po 1997, 526). Historically, Amdo had a mix of ethnic groups and
languages, so it was common to use Chinese terms to describe family lineages. In any
case, he was identified at a young age as the reincarnation of Akya Sherap Zangpo, an
influential lama from Kumbum monastery. Accordingly, he was first taken to this
monastery for training and then, as was customary, he was sent to study at Sera
monastery in Lhasa when he was older. In 1735, on his return from Lhasa, he became
the abbot of Kumbum monastery’s Tantric College. He also established a retreat center
called Senggé Khar Gyi Ritrö (Seng ge mkhar gyi ri khrod [The Lion’s Fortress Retreat]),
where he spent most of his time.
12 In 1735, driven by filial piety and his belief in Tibetan Buddhism, Emperor Qianlong
(r. 1735-1795) established the Tibetan Gelugpa monastery known as Yonghegong
(Ganden Jinchak Ling [dga’ ldan byin chags gling] in Tibetan). In 1744, Qianlong asked a
Tibetan Buddhist polymath at the imperial court, Changkya Rölpé Dorjé (1717-1786), to
invite lamas and teachers from Tibet to the monastery to teach monks from Mongolia.
Subsequently, he invited eighteen Tibetan scholars with the qualification of geshe (dge
bshes), the highest degree in the Gelugpa tradition of Tibetan Buddhism, to teach in the
monastery (Tuken 1989, p. 220). Akya Loten was among the invited Tibetan scholars,
and he stayed for three years. It is easy to see why he was appointed. As well as being a
Tibetan scholar trained in the Gelugpa monastic tradition, he also appears to have been
multilingual, speaking Chinese and Tibetan – it was common for Tibetans born Amdo to
speak several languages. While living in Beijing, he also travelled to many parts of
China. In 1762, he was sent by imperial order to travel through the Kham regions of
Tibet to Lhasa, to enthrone the eighth Dalai Lama. He was known as a great scholar
during his lifetime; he not only trained many important Buddhist lamas in Kumbum
monastery, but also wrote extensively on many different subjects. His writings include
influential astronomical notes and dates. After his death at Kumbum monastery in
1768, his collective works (sungbum) was carved as a Tibetan woodblock print and can
still be seen at his official residence, Akya Nangchen, in the monastery.

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Akya Loten’s work in astronomy and mathematics

13 Akya Loten’s body of work covers a wide range of topics including Buddhist philosophy,
rituals, prayers, and grammatical commentaries as well as letters, poetry, and history.
These reflect his life as a scholar and his own interests. While many of his works
derived from existing Tibetan knowledge systems, they include some completely new
information gained from Chinese sources – including a piece about the dating of
Buddha’s birth and death. For centuries, there had been extensive debates about this
issue, and Akya Loten put forward a new method of dating. Because his method was
based on some Chinese sources, it differed from the existing Tibetan chronology. Many
scholars, including the modern Tibetan scholar Tséten Zhapdrung consider this
information very valuable (tshe tan zhabs drung 2007, pp. 7-9).
14 The most interesting and relevant of his texts is the fifty-page version of the Tibetan
work known as ma hA tsi na'i byang mtha' rgyal khabs chen po pe cing gi gtso bor gyur pa'i
byang phyogs kyi yul 'khor la 'os pa'i dus spyor gyi rnam bzhag pad+mo'i tshal rab 'byed pa'i nyi
ma gzhon nu (Commentaries on the time lines of those centered by the great Chinese city of
Beijing and its northern territory known as the Youthful Sun of Lotus Bloom). This is a
collection of personal notes and various commentaries on mathematics, astronomy,
and trigonometry that he had studied China during his staying in Beijing, and it
includes some European astronomy, mathematics, and trigonometry. However, the title
is misleading because it refers to just one commentary in this work; in fact, it contains
twenty-six commentaries and notes on various mathematical issues and astronomical
calculations, as well as historical issues.
15 While Akya Loten wrote most of these texts himself, at least one of the articles was
written by someone else: the timetable chart known as o’i rod kyi yul du ’os pa’i dus sbyor
gyi re’u mig (The timetable in the land of Oirat), produced by Hubila Gen Rabjampa Gun
Pandita, also known as Sonam Chojo Hubil Lagen. It is difficult to determine this
scholar’s ethnicity – he could have been a Mongol or a Tibetan. However, since he was
given the honorific titles Rabjampa (rab 'byams pa, a degree from a Gelugpa monastery
such as Kumbum) and Pandita (one who has mastered five subjects), he must have
studied in Tibet. In any case, he was probably one of the Tibetan Buddhists who was
trained by the Jesuits to be mathematicians and surveyors. He was one of two main
translators of the Jesuits’ astronomical works into Tibetan in 1715 (Yongdan 2015,
p. 181). The fact that Akya Loten included this time-chart in his work suggests that he
considered it an important text.
16 From these mathematical notes and commentaries, it is clear that Akya Loten had been
influenced by some of the mathematics and astronomy of the Jesuits when he was in
Beijing, although he does not mention them or their country of origin; stating that the
new methods of study were Chinese. In fact, they were the European forms of
mathematics and astronomy brought to China by the Jesuits. The Jesuits’ influence on
Akya Loten is particularly evident in his assertion that the Earth was spherical but,
instead of mentioning its European provenance, he used this statement to raise
questions about certain astronomical views on Naktsi (nag rtsis) astrology. After
criticising the long-held Tibetan historical account that the elemental divination
known as Naktsi came from China, via Mañjuśrī, a bodhisattva associated with prajñā in
Mahayana Buddhism, he made several points to argue that Naktsi was not Chinese.
Instead, he suggested that it was more likely to be a Tibetan invention. He also gave

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specific details about the differences in China’s calendrical science from that of Tibet.
At this point, he introduced the idea of a spherical Earth, without any reference to the
Jesuits:
'jig rten chags pa'i sa 'di zlum po la nyi zla gza' skar phal che ba zhig steng 'og tu 'khor zhing
'gro bas bgrod tshul gyi dbang gis nyi ma zla bas sgrib pa dang zla ba sa gzhi rnams nyi ma
rnams thad kar drang bor bab pa na sa gzhi'i grib pa zla ba phog pa'i dbang gis zla 'dzin
byung ba yin zer
This physical Earth is spherical and the sun, moon and other planets are orbiting
around [it]. Because of the movements, the moon blocks sunlight. When the sun,
Earth and moon are aligned together, the Earth’s shadow covers the moon, and thus
the lunar eclipse occurs. (Blo bzang bstan pa'i rgyal mtshan, p. 42a)
17 He describes the Earth as spherical by using the Tibetan term zlum po. Although Tseten
Zhabdrung implied that it was a heliocentric (sun-centred) model (tshe tan zhabs drung
2007, pp. 37-72), this is clearly not the case because Akya Loten’s version depicted the
sun, moon and other planets orbiting around the Earth, rather than the Earth and
other planets orbiting around the sun. Thus, Akya Loten probably described the
Tychonic system rather than Copernican model. Although some Jesuits introduced the
Copernican model to China (Sivin 1973), the Qing court accepted the Tychonic system
as its official position. This was not the first Tibetan work to mention that the Earth
was spherical; The Great Chinese Mathematical Compendium, had made this claim.
However, as far as I know, Akya Loten was the first Tibetan to discuss this in his own
writings. We also can see from these types of works that he was willing to consider new
theories and to advocate change. For example, many Tibetans had previously relied on
ancient Indian Tantric works like the Kālacakra to determine the time in specific
locations. Khedrub Norsang Gyatso (mkhas grub nor bzang rgya mtsho) (1423-1513), an
important astronomer, had used the Kālacakra tantra to assert that there were thirty-
six hours in the equivalent of a day in Tibet’s longest summers 1, and slightly less in
China (Gyatso K. N. 2016, pp. 134-135). However, Akya Loten believed that this system
could not measure time and location accurately; instead, he suggested that periods of
observation should be used to measure time:
da lta dus tshod brtag byed kyi 'khor lo tshad ldan sogs kyis legs par brtags pa na rgya nag
gi pe cing du dbyar nyi ring mtha'i tshe nyin mo chu tshod so bdun yod pa mngon sum du
grub pa 'di gnyis kyi 'gal ba ji ltar spongs smra dgos so/de'i phyir bod yul du yang dbyar nyi
ring mtha'i tshe nam langs lag ris mthong ba nas nyi nub lag ris mthong ba'i bar la dus
tshod brtag byed kyi 'khor lo sogs brtag thabs du mas chu tshod ji tsam 'dug legs par brtags
pas shes par 'gyur gyi/ rgyud nas gsung sgras zin ji lta ba bzhin du bkod pa'i da lta'i dus
spyor gyi yi ge 'di dag la yin brtan dka'am snyam mo
Nowadays if we use a standard period of watching to observe and measure time, we
find that the longest days in summer in Beijing are thirty-seven hours. This is a
directly perceived fact. So how can we solve this contradiction? Instead of relying
on the words of Tantra and some contemporary works on measuring time, [we]
should be using good measuring practices like watching to observe time from
morning to evening, when people can see their hands clearly, even in the longest
summers. (Blo bzang bstan pa'i rgyal mtshan 2000, p. 43a)
18 Here he was challenging the authority of the Kālacakra and some contemporary works
on astronomy. His work is full of notes and commentaries on mathematical and
geometric calculations, including ways to calculate a square root, to measure distances
and heights, and so on. It is beyond the scope of this article to cover all the aspects of
this book. Still, it is certainly one of the earliest Tibetan texts in which we can find such

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traces of European astronomical and mathematical influence, alongside Tibetan

reactions and responses to them.
The Pythagorean theorem

19 Without mentioning its historical background or significance, Akya Loten introduces
the Pythagorean theorem in this text:
mi mnyam pa byung tshe ngos ring shos dang 'bring gru gsum ngos gsum2 dang thung ngu
gsum las 'bring dang thung ngu gnyis la brten nas ring shos gzhal na/' bring dang thung
ngu gnyis kyi tshad dang sor sogs kyis gzhal te/ tshad gyi grangs gang byung ba de so sor
rang nyid kyi grangs kyis bsgyur/ bsgyur pa rnams mnyam du bsres/ de la phing h+phang
gis bgos pa'i nor gyis ring shos tshad rnyed par 'gyur ro/ dper na gru gsum ngos ring shos la
khru lnga/ 'bring la khri bzhi/ thung ba la khru gsum yod pa zhig gi ring shos kyi ngos gzhal
tshe/ 'bring gi khru bzhi bzhi nyid kyis bsgyur/ thung ngu'i khru gsum gsum gyis bsgyur/
snga ma la bcu drug dang phyi ma la dgu byung mnyam du bsres nyer lnga 'byung/ de'i
mthar tshon gyi don thig gcig/ de'i mthar phun gyis don du thig gcig te thig le gnyis bgod/de
la phing h+phang gis bgos pa'i nor la lnga 'byung/ de ni khru lnga yod pa'i don te ring shos
kyi tshad rnyed pa yin no
If a triangle has a long, medium and short side, the size of the longest side can be
determined by using the medium and shortest sides. To do this, the medium and
short sides need to be measured, and each number then squared. After the two
numbers are added together, the square root of the sum will produce the size of the
hypotenuse. For example, if a triangle has a long side (hypotenuse) of 5 cubits,
middle side of 4 cubits, and short side of 3 cubits, square the middle number 4 to
become 16 and the small number 3 to become 9. The sum of these two numbers is
25. After that, in representing tshon (cun?), a zero needs to be added and after that,
in representing phun (fen), another zero needs to be added. If we take the square
root of this (phing h+phang), the sum will be 50. This means that the hypotenuse is
5 cubits. (Blo bzang bstan pa'i rgyal mtshan 2000, p. 52a)
20 The very simple terms he used make it easy to follow his explanation. For example, he
used gru gsum ngos gsum to represent a right triangle, which literally means three edges
and three vertices. He used rang nyid kyi grangs kyis bsgyur for “squared”, which means
to multiply by its own number. Using (phing h+phang), which is a Chinese term 平方
(píngfāng), he says that the square root needs to be taken. Because of its utilitarian
character, it is not surprising that Akya Loten also used this right triangle of 3.4.5 to
show how it works. An equation suffices to identify the Pythagorean theorem for a
particular case of the right triangle of 3.4.5. Using modern mathematical symbolic
notations, this would be written as:
21 Akya Loten does not mention explicitly that this triangle is a right triangle. However, it
must be a right triangle, otherwise the Pythagorean theorem would not apply to it. In
bSnan pa'i ngos 'dzin gyi 'byung khungs ri mo brjod pa (The descriptions of sources of the
illustration of the adding tables), a graphic mathematical text in rGya rtsis chen mo (The

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great Chinese astronomical compendium) with graphical illustrations, there is a discussion

of zur gsum (triangles) (Anonymous 1715, p. 3b). In this discussion, the text describes
the measurements of right triangles. The explanation the text provides is different
from Akya Loten’s use of gru gsum ngos gsum (three edges and three vertices) to describe
right triangles. Nevertheless, the meaning is essentially the same, as both texts
describe a triangle that is a polygon with three edges and three vertices.
22 The clear indication that the triangle is a right triangle is his use of tshon (Chinese, cun
寸) and phun (Chinese fen 分) and adding two zeros to 25. According to the unities of
Chinese measurements, one chi is divided into ten cun or Chinese inches, and one cun is
divided into ten fen. Since he does not mention that zeros come after decimal points,
after adding two zeros 25, it becomes 2500. Then without mentioning 2500, he says that
the square root of this number is 50. This 50 appears to be the total sum of sides of a, b,
and c right triangles:
23 As he indicates, the hypotenuse must be 5. If it were a right triangle, the sum of the
squares of three sides could not be 50 and the hypotenuse could not be 5. This is the
clearest indication that it is a right triangle.
24 After this proposition, he moves on to describe how to measure the circumference of a
bundle of incense and how to calculate the units of coins and silver if they are thrown
on the ground. Then he comes back to the Pythagorean theorem and describe how to
solve this equation:

251
25 He writes the following:

sngar gyi gru gsum mi mnyam pa de'i ring shos dang 'bring gnyis rnyed nas thung ngu'i
tshad tshol na/ring shos dang 'bring shos gnyis kyi tshar so sor rang gis grangs nyid kyis
bsgyur te so sor gnas pa la/nyung bas mang pa la sbyangs pa'i lhag ma gang byung de la
phing h+phang gis bgos pa'i nor gyis thung ngu'i tshad rnyed par 'gyur zhing
As described earlier, if we want to find out triangle’s shortest side after knowing
hypotenuse and the medium size, the numbers of hypotenuse and the medium are
squared and, subtract small numbers from big number and then the number needs
to be square rooted, and its sum is the size of shortest side. (Blo bzang bstan pa'i
rgyal mtshan 2000, p. 53a)
26 Following this, he also describes how to find the medium size of a triangle. He writes:
de bzhin du ring shos dang thung bu'i tshad rnyed nas 'bring po'i tshad 'tshol na yang ring
thung gnyis kyi tshad so sor rang gi grangs nyid kyis bsgyur te nyung bas mang pa la
sbyangs pa'i lhag ma gang byung ba de la phing h+phang gis bgos pa'i nor de nyid 'bring po'i
tshad yin no
Like this, if we want to find out a triangle’s medium size after knowing the
hypotenuse and the shortest size, the numbers of hypotenuse and the shortest are
squared. After subtracting squared numbers from big number and then its number
need to be square rooted, its sum is the size of medium size. (Blo bzang bstan pa'i
rgyal mtshan 2000, p. 53a‑b)
27 As far as I understand, before Akya Loten, no Tibetan scholars mention the square root
of the numbers. He did not translate the term “square root” into Tibetan; instead, he
uses (phing h+phang), which is a Chinese term 平方 ( píngfāng). This is interesting
because it suggests that the Tibetan language might not have included the concept of a
square root; thus, he used the phonetic term píngfāng as a substitute. Earlier in this
text, he had clearly described its meaning through his detailed explanation of how to
find the square root of 49 and why this is seven (Blo bzang bstan pa'i rgyal mtshan
2000, pp. 16a-17b). Although the Chinese had known some aspects of the square root
for a long time, the term píngfāng was a modern term that was first used by Matteo
Ricci and the Ming official-scholar Li Zhi Zao (李之藻, 1565-1630) in Tongwen Suanzhi 同
文算指 (Rules of arithmetic common to cultures) (Siu 2015) and expanded on by scholars
like Xu Guangqi (Needham 1959, p. 65, Engelfriet & Siu 2001, p. 304).

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Where did he learn mathematics?

28 Since Akya Loten did not provide any background to his texts, it is difficult to pinpoint
where he learned mathematical concepts. When Akya Loten arrived in Beijing, the
glory days of the Jesuits were over. However, it was still the height of cultural activities.
Qianlong established one of the largest Tibetan monasteries in Beijing and gave some
tasks of making the official calendar to monks at Yonghegong (Yongdan 2017, p. 99);
moreover, he was also involved with many translation works from Tibetan into
Mongolian and Manchu. As an imperial court lama and the abbot of Yonghegong, as
well as close to Changkya Rölpe Dorje (Lcang skya rol pa'i rdo rje) (1717-1786), a close
confident of the Qianlong emperor, Akya Loten could have had access to a range of
works and scholars. In fact, according to a biographical account of Changkya Rölpé
Dorjé, written by his brother, the third Chuzang Ngakwang Tupten Wangchuk (Chu
bzang ngag dbang thub bstan dbang phyug) (1725-1796), Rölpe Dorje and Akya Loten
studied astronomy together in Beijing (Chu bzang ngag dbang thub bstan dbang phyug
2015, pp. 57b-58a). This is significant because Changkya Rölpe Dorje was more than just
a scholar; he was the principal Buddhist teacher at the Qing court and a close confidant
of the Qianlong Emperor. This would mean that they would have had access to any
teachers they required, including Jesuits and Chinese scholars.
29 This raises questions about where he might have learned about these concepts and
from whom. As mentioned earlier, he could have had access to a whole range of
European works in Chinese, Manchu, and Tibetan as well as in Mongolian. Importantly,
since he could read Chinese, it was certainly possible that he could have read all
European mathematical and astronomical works that European Jesuits translated or
complied in the 17th and early 18 th centuries. Some of these works were not only
available in Chinese, but also in Manchu, Mongolian and Tibetan. For example, under
Kangxi’s order, the French Jesuits known as the King’s mathematicians gave lectures on
Euclid’s Elements and translated it into Manchu in the later 17 th century, and this
effectively replaced Ricci and Xu Guangqi’s translations and the French geometry gave
different proofs from the Ricci-Xu’s translation (Elman 2009, p. 152). In addition to
Euclid’s Elements and Tongwen Suanzhi, Xu Guangqi also worked on book called Gougu yi
勾股义 (The principle of gougu) (Xu Guangqi & Sun Yuanhua 2011. This work was written
by Xu Quangqi with his student named Sun Yuanhua in 1612. There are 15 problems on
gougu in this work, and in the first proposition, the author describes how to find the
hypotenuse of a right triangle when the lengths of other sides are known (Engelfriet &
Siu 2001, pp. 294-295). It also uses the 3-4-5 right triangle. This is similar to what Akya
Loten writes:
30 If a triangle has a long, medium and short side, the size of the longest side can be
determined by using the medium and shortest sides. To do this, the medium and short
sides need to be measured, and each number then squared. After the two numbers are
added together, the square root of the sum will produce the size of the hypotenuse.
31 In particular, in The Great Chinese Mathematical Compendium, there is a text known as
sKud pa brgyad kyi ngos 'dzin3. This is a trigonometric work. It was translated from the
Geyuan baxian biao 割圓八線表, written by Jesuits (Iannaccone 1998). It includes a
graphical presentation with descriptions of how to calculate the trigonometric
functions of tangent, secant, cotangent, cosecant, sine, cosine, versine, and coversine
(Chen 2015, pp. 495-497).

253
32 However, if we could dive into these questions, there are several possible sources. First
of all, it is quite possible that his source could be Zhoubi suanjing. This “piling up the
rectangles” proceed involved with a triangle having side lengths of 3, 4 and a diagonal
length of 5, and it also provides a diagram showing the measurements (Joseph 2010,
pp. 248-249). With this description, it might be easy to assume that Akya Loten’s usage
of numerals such as 3, 4, and 5 perfectly matches the Zhoubi suanjing.
33 It is also possible that the work of Minggatu (明安图1692-1763) was the source of Akya
Loten’s work. Minggatu was a Mongolian mathematician. Historians have regarded him
as one of the “outstanding native mathematicians”. He expounded on Pierre Jartoux’s
(1668-1720) geometrical works Ge Yuan Mi Lü Jie Fa 割圜密率捷法 (The Quick Method for
Obtaining the Precise Ratio of Division of a Circle Ge) (Jami & Gernet 1990, Martzloff 2006,
pp. 31-32, Elman 2009, p. 152).
34 Similarly, the many texts by Mei Wending (1633-1721), another renowned Chinese
mathematician, (Jami 2012, pp. 81-101) could have provided him with information. This
scholar compiled ancient mathematical material and discussed a number of almost
forgotten topics. In his work 'Gougu juyu 勾股举隅 (Illustration of the right triangle), he
talks about the Pythagorean theorem and provides two forms of evidence for it as well
as other applications of the theorem (Liu & Dauben 2002, p. 300). Moreover, when he
was in Beijing in the mid-18th century, he may have had access to several
knowledgeable persons, including European Jesuit missionaries such as Michel Benoist
(1715-1774) and Jean Joseph Marie Amiot (1718-1793).
35 However, it is safe to assume that many of Akya Loten’s writings, including his work on
the Pythagorean theorem, were not based on Chinese scholarship; rather, they draw on
European mathematical traditions transmitted to China by Jesuit missionaries. First, if
we look at this text as a whole, as exemplified by Tycho Brahe’s cosmological models, it
is clear that that he had access to some of the new cosmological and mathematical
knowledge that the European Jesuits brought to China. So, it can be argued that he had
range of options and choices. Secondly, in this particular case, Akya Loten uses terms
such as gru gsum ngos gsum to describe the right triangle or Sānjiǎo 三角 in Chinese, and
the term was introduced first into Chinese by Matteo Ricci and Li Zhizao (李之藻) (Feng
2006, 52). Thirdly, his usage of the square root or píngfāng indicates that Akya Loten’s
source must be one of the Jesuit’s works which they translated or written in Chinese.
Again, this term was coined and used as a modern mathematical term by Matteo Ricci
and Li Zhizao, in Tongwen Suanzhi 同文算指.This work was compiled by Matteo Ricci
and Li Zhizao in 1613, and it is based on the Epitome Arithmeticae Practicae from 1583 by
Christopher Clavius (1538-1612) (Li & Ricci [1613] 1993). It was not entirely a work of
translation; rather it is considered as a hybrid work in which Li Zhizao attempted to
integrate some European mathematics with traditional Chinese mathematics (Siu 2015).
36 However, it is fairly certain that his information might have come from one of these
European sources, which were translated or transmitted by European Jesuits. Usage of
Western concepts for words like triangle and square root suggests that Akya Loten’s
source is likely to have been one of the Chinese mathematical works that were
translated or derived from European works by European missionaries. Therefore, Akya
Loten’s method of determining that the square of the length of the hypotenuse of a
right triangle equals the sum of the squares of the lengths of the other two sides is
probably the Pythagorean theorem. In any case, it is probable that Akya Loten had
multiple ways of learning the Jesuits’ forms of mathematics and astronomy. First, in

254
addition to Tibetan translations of Jesuits’ texts, he may have had access to some of
their original books and commentaries in Beijing. Second, as an important Tibetan
trulku and an official at the Qing court, Lama Akya Loten lived and worked in the
cosmopolitan Buddhist Qing world. Unlike most people, he could have had access to
mathematical texts and knowledgeable persons. Having gained this knowledge from
multiple sources, he expressed his ability to understand it by writing a series of notes
and commentaries about it.
Conclusion
37 While it is not easy to identify Akya Loten’s exact sources, he most likely drew on
European sources translated into Chinese and contempory discussions of the equation
for the Pythagorean theorem. The intellectual history of Tibet, in particular the Euro-
Tibetan intellectual encounter, is very much a neglected field. To my knowledge, there
are very few works available on the subject. Diving into this uncharted intellectual
history is quite a daring experience, and, no doubt, mistakes will be made in the
process. In spite of the challenges, looking at the Euro-Tibetan intellectual encounter
raises several interesting and important questions about Tibet and the Jesuits’ mission
to China. First, as I have mentioned elsewhere, historians studying the Jesuits’ mission
to China have focused on a two-way exchange: that is, how the Jesuits introduced
European science to China and how China was then introduced to Europe. However,
this two-way model does not fully represent the Jesuits’ history in China. Not only the
translations of the Jesuits’ astronomical and mathematical texts into Mongolian and
Tibetan but also the reformation of calendars in the 18 th century suggest that impacts
and influences of the Jesuits were more extensive and far reaching than previously
thought. Thus, academics researching the Jesuits’ impacts on the history of science in
Asia in the future should also consider their impact on Inner Asia and on Tibet in
particular.
38 Secondly, the arrival of the Jesuits’ scientific knowledge in Tibet needs to be studied
within the broader framework of the history of astronomy during the Qing dynasty.
During the Kangxi reign, the Jesuits played an important role in reforming and
implementing new forms of calendrical science, and the emperor himself was
interested in all aspect of the Jesuits’ work, including trigonometry. However, the
Jesuits influence declined from the beginning of the 18 th century. Scholars who have
studied the period suggest that this was largely due to changing imperial attitudes
towards the Jesuits and the rise of Chinese scholars such as Mei Wending 4. It appears,
however, that Mongols and Tibetans may have been the greatest beneficiaries of the
Jesuits’ science. In light of the fact that Tibetans and Mongolians had begun to take on
the Jesuits’ astronomical responsibilities, did this influence their power in the court?
39 Third, without any deep analysis or understanding of Tibet’s intellectual history, it has
been widely assumed that Tibetans did not know about – or were not interested in –
European science until the British and Chinese brought it to Tibet in the 20 th century.
The example of Akya Loten’s explanation of the Pythagorean theorem clearly
demonstrates that Tibetans were already engaging with some aspects of European
mathematical and astronomical science two centuries prior to this. The idea that Tibet
was the most isolated place on Earth and did not have any modern scientific influence

255
until the British and Chinese introduced them betrays a lack of understanding of
Tibetan intellectual history.
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NOTES
1. Before modern watches and clocks were introduced into Tibet, time was measured by water
clocks, and the Indian hour is one-fifth of a khyim, which is 24 minutes (Das 2004, p. 419, Henning
2007, p. 12).
2. Akya Loten clearly uses gru gsum ngo gsum for “triangle” in the cited text. As I mentioned in
this article, literally, gru gsum means “three edges” and ngos gsum means “three vertices” and the
expression denotes a triangle; gru gsum ngos ring shos here signifies the hypotenuse of the
triangle.
3. I plan to engage with this important trigonometric work in due course.
4. Changing imperial attitude towards the Jesuits and the rise of Chinese scholars such as Mei
Wending, for more details see Jami 2012.
ABSTRACTS
Although ancient civilisations like India and China had their ways of dealing with the right
triangle, one particular method attributed to the Greek mathematician Pythagoras (570-495 BCE)
was introduced to China in the 17th century by the European Jesuit Matteo Ricci (1552-1610). In
the 18th century, when Tibetans began to take an interest in European astronomical, geographical
and medical science, Euclidean geometry was one of the mathematical ideas brought into Tibet.

258
According to most academics, European science did not reached Tibet until the 20 th century. In
contrast, this article describes how the Tibetan scholar Akya Lobzang Tenpai Gyaltsen
(1708-1768) studied the Pythagorean theorem in Beijing and disseminated it in Tibet two
centuries earlier.
Bien que les civilisations anciennes comme l'Inde et la Chine aient eu leurs propres façons de
mesurer les triangles à angle droit, une méthode particulière attribuée au mathématicien grec
Pythagore (570-495 av. J.-C.) fut introduite en Chine au XVIe siècle par le jésuite européen Matteo
e
Ricci (1552-1610). Au XVIII siècle, lorsque les Tibétains commencèrent à s'intéresser à
l’astronomie, à la géographie et à la médicine européennes, la géométrie euclidienne fut l'une des
idées mathématiques apportées au Tibet. Cet article décrit comment le savant tibétain Akya
Lobzang Tenpai Gyaltsen (1708-1768) étudia le théorème de Pythagore à Pékin et le diffusa au
Tibet, deux siècles avant la date d’introduction de la science européenne au Tibet généralement
donnée par les spécialistes.
INDEX
Keywords: Jesuits, China, Tibetans, lama, Beijing, Qing, Pythagorean theorem, science, Europe,
mathematics, exchange
Mots-clés: jésuites, Chine, Tibétains, lama, Beijing, Qing, théorème de Pythagore, science,
Europe, mathématiques, échange
AUTHOR
LOBSANG YONGDAN
Lobsang Yongdan is a postdoctoral researcher at the Department of Mongolian and Tibetan
Studies, Bonn University; he has also worked as a visiting postdoctoral fellow at the Max Planck
Institute for the History of Science, Berlin. His research interest is the intellectual history of
Tibet and in particular Euro-Tibetan intellectual encounters. Recent publications include a study
of the introduction of Edward Jenner’s vaccination to Tibet in the early 19 th century, published in
the journal Archiv orientální (ArOr).
lzyd2007@gmail.com

259
Comptes rendus
Book reviews

260
Barstow Geoffrey, Food of Sinful

Demons. Meat, Vegetarianism and the
Limits of Buddhism in Tibet
New York, Columbia University Press, 2017, 289 pages,
ISBN 9780231179966
Katia Buffetrille
REFERENCES
Barstow Geoffrey, Food of Sinful Demons. Meat, Vegetarianism and the Limits of
Buddhism in Tibet, New York, Columbia University Press, 2017
1 According to a widespread cliché, Tibetans, being Buddhist, do not eat meat. In this
book, the first in-depth study of vegetarianism in Tibet, Geoffrey Barstow highlights a
question that is currently being discussed in many countries as well as in Tibet itself,
just as that of the status of the animals and the slaughter conditions. In fact, contrary
to China where “by the fourth century, vegetarianism has become common among
Chinese monks” (p. 28), most Tibetans monks ate (and liked) meat.
2 With this book, the author has a dual purpose: “to demonstrate that vegetarianism not
only existed in Tibet before 1950 but was also an important aspect of Tibetan religion
since at least the 10th century. The second goal is to situate the practice of
vegetarianism in its broader religious and cultural context (p. 2, 184).”
3 The author, defining vegetarianism “not as a particular diet but as any practice that
involves the intentional rejection of meat in one way or another” (p. 7), concentrates
his study on the place of vegetarianism in Tibetan religion.
4 The book is composed of six chapters divided into two broad sections and includes an
epilogue dedicated to contemporary Tibet.
5 In chapter 1, the author presents “A brief history of vegetarianism”, and the texts on
which anti- and pro-vegetarians rely. He shows that if there is an Indian influence, the

261
Chinese literature on vegetarianism does not seem to have had any impact in Tibet
(p. 29). Regarding Indian sources, the meat-eaters quote mainly the ’Dul ba gzhi (The
Foundation of the Vinaya) in which the Buddha, being criticized for eating meat, lays
down the rule of the threefold purity, namely that meat is allowed if one has not seen,
heard, or suspected that the meat was prepared especially for the eater. As for the pro-
vegetarians, they cite, among other Mahāyānasūtras, the Laṅkāvatāra Sūtra, which
explains that the “rule of threefold purity […] was an expedient means used to help
those who were unable to maintain a fully vegetarian diet”. He then makes a record of
the mentions of vegetarianism he found in Tibetan literature. One appears as early as
the 11th century (PT 126), but “the first detailed critiques of meat emerge by the
13th century”. He notices a decline of these mentions between the 16 th and the
18th century followed by an upsurge in the 19th.
6 The three following chapters (2. “Meat in the Monastery”, 3. “The Importance of
Compassion” and 4. “Tantric Perspectives”) deal with vegetarianism according to the
three sets of vows that Buddhists make (monastic vows of individual liberation,
compassionate vows of bodhisattva and vows of tantric practitioners) following the
structure used by Tibetan authors when writing on the question of meat. A surprising
formulation appears on this subject: “Many of these authors, particularly those who
examine the question of meat at length, divide their own works precisely as I have
done” (p. 44). Would it not have been better to say: “I divided my work following these
authors...”? Barstow points out that these three sets of vows, often taken
simultaneously by religious Tibetans (p. 45), could contradict one another on the
question of meat eating. As for the vows of individual liberation (pp. 44-69), there was a
debate between those who considered that meat was allowed under certain conditions
(like Kedrubjé, pp. 57, 801), and those who thought that vegetarianism was essential to
fully ordained monks (Jigten Sumgön or Ngawang Lekpa, p. 51), but also on the exact
meaning of the words of the Buddha (Gorampa Sönam Sengé, p. 57), or the reasons
which prevented one from being vegetarian (p. 60), etc.
7 The second set of vows, the vows of the bodhisattva, is the object of chapter 3. Centred
on compassion, they are “the driving force behind vegetarianism in Tibet” (p. 70). Since
they take precedence over those of individual liberation, “meat was forbidden to
devout Buddhists, regardless of their ordination status” (pp. 85, 88).
8 Chapter 4, “The Tantric Perspectives”, addresses the problem of tantric commitments
and the need to consume meat in certain rituals, and the different strategies advocated
by the adepts of vegetarianism to answer this question. The Nyüngné fasting ritual
(pp. 107-111) is discussed at some length.
9 Chapter 5, which starts the second section, deals with meat “As a necessary evil”. The
author rightly recognizes that meat (which was expensive) was more a dietary
supplement than a staple. As is well known, the majority of the lay and religious
population ate meat when they could, and monasteries were not the last to participate
in the feast. One of the best examples I am aware of is given by George Patterson, a
Scottish missionary who was in Khams in the 1940s. One day, arriving in Lithang, he
saw “the steaming carcasses of freshly slaughtered yaks […], it was the monastery that
had ordered the slaying of the animals to supply the monks with meat for food, and
also to stock against future profitable trade. Three hundred yaks were being
slaughtered every day and the butchering had already gone on for several days 2”.

262
10 An important point put forward by Barstow is that the idea that meat was necessary to
be healthy and strong was not only very widespread but was also supported by Tibetan
medical tradition (pp. 123-125). Moreover, due to climatic conditions, growing
vegetables was difficult. This explains why even the proponents of vegetarianism
allowed meat in some cases like illness or old age, warning, however, against eating
meat for its pleasant taste.
11 It happens also that meat might be conceived as “A Positive Good” (chapter 6,
pp. 134-167). The author highlights two cultural patterns prevalent in Tibet in which
meat is perceived as something very positive. The first concerns economic gain and the
display of wealth in order to improve one’s social position; the second is the ideal of
heroic masculinity.
12 Having identified three patterns concerning meat consumption – the first centered on
ethical Buddhist norms, the second respecting these norms but admitting the idea that
meat is necessary for good health, the third based on cultural models that highlight
wealth and heroic masculinity – Barstow describes in the last chapter (“Seeking a
Middle Way”) the various strategies developed by the pro-vegetarian lamas to solve the
tensions that surround meat-eating, for example saying prayers before eating an
animal.
13 The book ends with an epilogue on vegetarianism in contemporary Tibet, which is,
according to the author, “almost mainstream” and “strikingly widespread”. The main
figures at the source of this movement are presented: Jigme Phuntsok, Tsultrim Lodrö,
and Rasé Könchok Gyatso. Barstow raises the issue of the controversial aspect of
vegetarianism, quoting my article “A controversy on vegetarianism” in which I have
included the translation of an article written by the feminist Amdowa writer Jamyang
Kyi. Unfortunately, a misunderstanding made him write that: “In Buffetrille’s analysis,
this vision of pure Buddhist ethics is opposed by a discourse, supported by the Chinese
state and influential lay Tibetans like Jamyang Kyi, that emphasizes economic development
and assimilation” (p. 207). This is a misinterpretation. In my article I do not say that
Jamyang Kyi supported the Chinese state’s discourse on “economic development and
assimilation” which, of course, she doesn’t. It is well known that she was arrested in
2008, in the context of the 2008 unrest and spent 21 days in jail, a detention of which
she later gave a day by day account in her blog3.
14 In the epilogue again, another confusion is caused by an error on my part. Misled this
time by my own mistake, Barstow writes: “In the end, Buffetrille notes, Tibetan
themselves are choosing between these visions of Tibetan culture, with the popularity
of vegetarianism suggesting that many tend towards the religious vision”. In fact, the
sentence referred to by Barstow in my published article4 results from the conflation
between two sentences that read initially “Of course, it is Tibetans, always eager to
peacefully assert their collective identity and values, who are the agents of the cultural
resistance to the state’s policy. Nevertheless, with their call for a generalized vegetarianism
and a respect for the new set of Ten Virtues, clerics ask Tibetans to reform their way of life
which explains the heated debate on the Web”. I am fully responsible for this error, and
wish to correct it here since it is at odds with the central argument of the article.
15 The phenomenon of vegetarianism in contemporary Tibet is a new field of research. By
focusing on the history of this phenomenon, by showing that it was debated among
members of the monastic elite, Barstow opens a new window on a little-known aspect
of Tibetan culture. Thus, this book is an important contribution. Nevertheless, what is

263
detrimental to the scope of this book is the author’s tendency to generalize certain
facts in order to accentuate the importance of vegetarianism and the debate around it
among Tibetans. This is expressed through a lack of precision, as in the following
examples:
• p. 23 “Few [scholars] were willing to accept the idea that concern over meat eating was
widespread in Tibet”. The author could have been more precise by simply adding “among
the monastic elite and some ascetics”.
• p. 52: According to Barstow, between the 12th and the 20 th centuries, “dozens of individuals
who adopted vegetarianism at the same time they became monks” are recorded in the
literature. However, this figure doesn’t seem very high if we compare it with the percentage
that represented the monastic community in Tibet: around 7.5% of the population. The
author adds: “And these of course represent only those whose life stories were written
down. There must have been hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of others who also adopted
vegetarianism as part of their monastic vows”. This is of course a possibility, but it
disregards another possibility: that only a relatively restricted number of clerics decided to
stop eating meat.
16 Speaking about Kedrubjé, Barstow highlights the fact that this well-known Geluk
scholar accepted the meat that has “threefold purity” (p. 57, 60) and that he made a
clear distinction between eating meat that has been purchased and killing the animal
for its meat (p. 80). He adds that “in other places, Khedrubjé is strongly critical of
meat” (p. 16), since he wrote that “it is not suitable to eat meat under power of desirous
craving for its taste” (p. 61). From this, the reader understands that for Kedrubjé eating
meat was acceptable under some conditions. This explains why it is problematic to find
Kedrubjé’s name in a list of “major figures in the history of Tibetan Buddhism” who all
are strongly pro-vegetarian5 (p. 61).
17 Also, in a book dedicated to this subject, one would expect that the author should have
some clear ideas on the diet of the Tibetans: cf. p. 23 where one reads, “There can be no
doubt that meat in one form or another is one of the central staples of the Tibetan diet”
versus pp. 118-119, where Barstow, based on authors from different periods (Tashi
Khedrup, Bell, Naktsang Nulo), asserts that “meat, while present, was more of a
supplement than a dietary staple”. Again, a lack of precision leads to contradiction.
While tsampa was the staple food of farmers, it is more than likely that meat was more
than a supplement for prosperous nomads.
18 As for Tibet today, things appear to be more nuanced, and qualifying the present
phenomenon of vegetarianism in Tibet as “almost mainstream” and “strikingly
widespread”, is an overstatement, giving the impression that the population of the
whole Tibetan plateau shares the same craze for this movement. My own fieldwork in
Amdo, carried out during multiple stays over many years, leaves me in no doubt that
this movement is far from being popular in the region. One can hear fierce opposition
to Tsultrim Lodrö’s speeches from Tibetans of all backgrounds. Lastly, Barstow
considers that vegetarianism in today’s Tibet “should not be understood as a cultural
import, whether from China, India or the West” but as “the flourishing of ethical norms
and ideals that have long been present on the plateau but which have, for just as long,
been overshadowed by other, competing concerns” (p. 209). However, while I think that
the attitude of Chinese Buddhists towards vegetarianism has a great influence on the
current movement in Tibet, the heated debate around it among Tibetans is proof at
least that the “flourishing” of such norms is still a very contested subject.

264
19 However, this confusion and lack of precision are outweighed by the work’s merits,
making Barstow’s book a valuable contribution to this new field of research.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Patterson, G. N. 2005 Gods and Guerrillas. The International Collusion to Sacrifice Tibet (Lesmahagow,
The Long Riders' Guild).
NOTES
1. A forthcoming article by Nyangshem Gyal deals with Kedrubjé’s attitude relative to meat
eating (2018, “Tibetan Vegetarianism”, Journal of Tibetology (Bod rig pa’i dus deb), vol. 19).
2. Patterson 2005, pp. 15-16.
3. I have spoken with the author, and this mistake will be corrected in the paperback edition,
which will be released in February 2019.
4. “Of course, it is Tibetans, always eager to peacefully assert their collective identity and values
who are the agents of this process, with their incitement to a generalized vegetarianism and
respect for the new set of Ten Virtues” (p. 207).
5. The forthcoming article by Nyangshem Gyal emphasizes the role of Kédrubje in the debate
around vegetarianism.

265
Braae Christel, Among Herders of

Inner Mongolia. The Haslund-
Christensen Collection at the National
Museum of Denmark
Aarhus, Lancaster & Oakville (CT), The Carlsberg Foundation’s Nomad
Research Project/Aarhus University Press, 2017, 617 pages,
748 illustrations, ISBN 978-87-7934-395-5
Isabelle Charleux
RÉFÉRENCE
Braae Christel, Among Herders of Inner Mongolia. The Haslund-Christensen Collection at the
National Museum of Denmark, Aarhus, Lancaster & Oakville (CT), The Carlsberg
Foundation’s Nomad Research Project/Aarhus University Press, 2017
1 Ce splendide et volumineux ouvrage sur la collection Haslund-Christensen du Musée

national du Danemark est bien plus qu’un catalogue ; il constitue aujourd’hui l’étude la
plus complète et la plus documentée en langue occidentale de la culture matérielle
mongole du début du XXe siècle depuis le catalogue Die Mongolen, Haus der Kunst édité en
1989 par Walther Heissig et Claudius C. Müller (Heissig & Müller 1989). La collection
ethnographique de Copenhague – une des plus riches d’Europe et surtout une des
mieux documentées – acquise principalement lors de deux expéditions danoises en
Mongolie-Intérieure entre 1936 et 1939 était connue jusque-là principalement par deux
publications de référence portant sur les costumes et sur les bijoux 1.
2 La vie de Henning Haslund-Christensen (1896-1948), collectionneur, explorateur et
écrivain, et l’histoire des expéditions danoises sont retracées dans le premier chapitre.
Parti après une formation militaire avec Carl Krebs (1889-1971) établir une ferme-
colonie danoise dans le Nord-Ouest de la Mongolie en 1923 (actuelle province Hövsgöl),

266
Haslund-Christensen se passionna pour les Mongols. Il eut l’occasion d’être recruté

comme caravanier dans l’expédition sino-suédoise de l’explorateur géographe Sven
Hedin (1865-1952) de 1927 à 1929, et fut ensuite invité à rester cinq semaines chez les
Torgut des Tianshan (Xinjiang). Il y enregistra soixante chants « folkloriques » sur des
cylindres de cire (conservés à Stockholm) et collecta des objets ethnographiques pour
le Riksmuseet de Stockholm.
3 Le deuxième chapitre, « Scandinavian explorers in Mongolia » retrace la contribution
scandinave aux connaissances sur la Mongolie (quelques autres objets mongols du
musée viennent d’autres explorateurs danois). C. Braae décrit minutieusement le
« réseau scandinave » en Mongolie et Mongolie-Intérieure aux XIXe et début du
XXe siècle – explorateurs, missionnaires, aventuriers, scientifiques, hommes d’affaires,
utopistes –, ainsi que leur réseau mongol, et s’attarde particulièrement sur les
expéditions Hedin, qui inspirèrent celles de Haslund.
4 Le troisième chapitre est dédié aux deux expéditions scientifiques montées par
Haslund, qui nécessitèrent d’âpres négociations avec les autorités japonaises. La
première, en 1936-1937, était une mission de reconnaissance dans le Xing’an (Kingγan),
le Barga (Barγu), la Mandchourie et chez les Solon et Dagur. La seconde, en 1938-1939
avec le linguiste Kaare Grønbech (1901-1957) et l’archéologue Werner Jacobson
(1914-1979) sous les auspices de la Société royale de géographie du Danemark, avait
trois objectifs : philologique, archéologique et ethnologique. Cette expédition
scientifique à Hohhot, Kalgan et Chagan khuree sume (Caγan kürije süme, ancien
temple devenu « résidence d’été » de Frans August Larson, 1870-1957) dans le Caqar en
Mongolie-Intérieure, avec des sous-expéditions depuis Chagan khuree, bénéficia de
l’aide de missionnaires suédois, et tout particulièrement de Georg Söderbom
(1904-1973), collègue des expéditions Hedin. Il s’agissait de missions de sauvetage d’un
patrimoine matériel et immatériel qui risquait de disparaître à jamais dans les conflits
du début du XXe siècle. Alors que les expéditions précédentes collectaient au hasard, la
collecte était ici méthodique. Les Mongols coopérèrent volontiers à la collecte comme à
l’étude des objets, venaient de loin pour lui en apporter, et l’un de ses amis et
assistants, le lama Lodai (un réfugié qalqa), réalisa à la demande d’Haslund un
magnifique carnet de dessins aujourd’hui conservé au Musée national du Danemark.
5 C. Braae nous fait revivre les expéditions dans le détail, leur route, les moyens,
l’organisation, les difficultés, leur lot d’espoir et de découragement, les aspirations
scientifiques, les méthodes de collecte, l’équipement, et l’excitation des découvertes.
Elle replace les expéditions danoises dans le contexte plus général des grandes
expéditions commençant au XIXe siècle en lien avec la construction des musées
ethnographiques en Europe.
6 Fin connaisseur de la culture et de la langue mongole, respectueux des coutumes, grand
amateur de musique et de légendes qu’il notait au coin du feu, Haslund montra toujours
une profonde admiration et beaucoup d’empathie pour ce peuple. Sa véritable passion
était la musique2 et il chercha à établir des liens culturels entre les différents groupes
mongols en comparant leurs chants et légendes. Il se voyait comme un écrivain et non
comme un savant, mais sut s’entourer de chercheurs spécialisés pour étudier sa
collection. Grâce à ses livres3, très populaires au Danemark et traduits dans de
nombreuses langues, et ses conférences dans tout le pays, il devient une figure publique
renommée en Suède et au Danemark et le départ de sa première expédition fut un
événement national. Ses conférences étaient de « l’ethnographie vivante » combinant

267
exposé ethnographique et performance musicale (une assistante habillée en mongole

faisait semblant de jouer du luth et de chanter. Après la deuxième guerre mondiale,
Haslund embarqua dans une nouvelle expédition en Asie centrale mais décéda à Kaboul
en 1948 sans en récolter les fruits.
7 Pour reconstituer minutieusement la vie de cette petite société, l’auteur utilise une
grande variété de sources – quelques 2 500 documents d’archives dispersés (mémoires,
lettres personnelles, rapports, factures, livres d’achat, journaux de voyage des
différents membres du réseau) et des ouvrages publiés. L’ouvrage est illustré de
nombreuses photographies d’époque longuement légendées, C. Braae ayant mené une
véritable enquête pour identifier les protagonistes, lieux et monastères photographiés.
Le lecteur y trouvera nombre d’informations et d’anecdotes fascinantes, sur la
construction du télégraphe, les enregistrements effectués par Haslund dans une prison
du Mandchoukouo, ou encore le mauvais sort attaché à un costume de chamane dont
on se débarrasse en le désinfectant. Un certain nombre de questions demeurent, sur la
raison pour laquelle Halsund n’a pas participé aux expéditions suivantes de Hedin, ou
encore sur ses activités commerciales (et peut-être d’espionnage ?) en Inde en
1929-1930.
8 Les objets acquis par les deux expéditions danoises étaient destinés au nouveau Musée
national de Copenhague. Haslund et ses collègues achetèrent également des
« doublons », c’est-à-dire un équivalent de chaque artefact, à la demande et avec le
support financier de O. H. Bærentzen, ancien consul du Danemark à Nice. Ces
« doublons » formèrent la « collection parisienne », qui fut transférée au Musée de
l’Homme à Paris en 19464.
9 Les objets du Musée national du Danemark ont été remarquablement étudiés depuis
leur acquisition jusqu’à leur installation, comme C. Braae le montre dans le quatrième
chapitre. Haslund et ses collaborateurs notaient minutieusement l’origine, l’histoire et
les circonstances d’acquisition de chaque objet dans des livres d’achat. Une fois arrivés
au Danemark, les objets furent catalogués et classifiés par « tribu » mongole, avec un
système de fiches comprenant leur photographie, puis furent incorporés dans des
expositions5 et même mis en scène (des membres du musée se déguisant en chamanes
ou mettant les costumes des « tribus » et jouant de la musique pour une performance
intitulée « An evening in Mongolia »). Malgré la stricte séparation entre collectionneur
et conservateur-savant qui avait cours, l’expertise d’Haslund fut utilisée dans la
présentation des collections mongoles dans la nouvelle aile du musée en 1947.
10 La « collection Haslund-Christensen » compte un total de 2 276 « objets » (en fait, plus
de 3 800, puisque par exemple la yourte avec tout son mobilier compte pour une
entrée). Aux artefacts des deux expéditions danoises s’ajoutent 224 objets entrés avant
(voyageurs individuels) et après les expéditions (achats). La grande majorité sont des
objets ethnographiques ; mais la collection comprend également quelques 800 objets
bouddhiques et chamaniques, dont 176 thang ka, environ 500 photos de Haslund-
Christensen et 500 de Grønbech (plus environ mille d’autres voyageurs), les carnets de
voyage de Grønbech, 213 enregistrements audio, et 3 000 spécimens archéologiques.
Seuls quelques objets sont actuellement exposés dans une salle du musée. Des costumes
sont exposés sur des mannequins dont le moulage du visage fut effectué par Haslund-
Christensen sur leurs anciens propriétaires. Grønbech avait également acheté 568 livres
manuscrits et imprimés et cartes qui sont conservés à la Bibliothèque royale de
Copenhague6.

268
11 Les chapitres 5 à 14 présentent et analysent une sélection de 930 objets

ethnographiques (dont 800 du Musée national du Danemark, le reste venant de la
collection de Paris et d’autres donateurs danois) qui documentent la vie quotidienne
d’une société pastorale en pleine mutation dans les années 1930. Ne figurent pas dans
ce volume les costumes et les bijoux et coiffes, publiés séparément, et seule une petite
sélection d’objets religieux est incluse. Les objets sont groupés par thèmes : campement
et habitat (chapitre 5), production et consommation de nourriture (chapitre 6), élevage
(chapitre 7), artisanat domestique (chapitre 8), chasse (chapitre 9), trois jeux virils
(chapitre 10), jeux et jouets (chapitre 11), médecine traditionnelle (chapitre 12),
possessions personnelles (chapitre 13) et comptabilité des caravanes et sceaux
(chapitre 14). Les objets proviennent de dix-huit groupes mongols, principalement de
Mongolie-Intérieure ainsi que de réfugiés qalqa venant de Mongolie.
12 Les introductions aux chapitres, basées sur les notes d’Haslund et de ses collègues
d’expédition, les notes et publications d’autres voyageurs et des sources
ethnographiques contemporaines, sont d’excellentes synthèses documentant les
différents aspects de la vie quotidienne. Les notices reproduisent des notes des
explorateurs (« collector’s note »), notamment la description et les histoires attachées
aux objets et à leur utilisation, des informations sur les artisans, les prix parfois, la
date, provenance et circonstances d’acquisition, le propriétaire précédent et des
anecdotes. Plusieurs des fiches de Söderbom, avec les noms de l’objet écrits en chinois
et en mongol ainsi qu’un dessin en montrant l’utilisation sont reproduites (pp. 270, 386,
428, 400 – dans cette dernière il s’excuse d’écrire au crayon car il est en prison, détenu
en 1939 par les Japonais). Le catalogue est illustré de photographies d’époque, souvent
mises en scène, tel Lodai se déguisant en lama jod (tib. gcod) (p. 213).
13 Le lecteur découvrira la richesse de la culture matérielle mongole – certes en partie
produite par des artisans chinois –, avec de nombreuses variations selon les différents
groupes (« tribus »). Nombre de ces objets, notamment les ustensiles de cuisine, ne sont
plus utilisés aujourd’hui. On y apprend par exemple qu’une liqueur médicinale chinoise
empêche les pieds de sentir fort (p. 309) ; comment les caravaniers chinois font boire
les Mongols pour qu’ils vendent tout ce qu’ils ont (p. 321) ; comment les marchands
chinois truquent leurs balances (p. 424) ; comment traiter la colique du chameau
(p. 406) et réhydrater leur nourriture en urinant dans leur gamelle, et de nombreux
détails sur les techniques du corps (les bonnes manières d’uriner et de déféquer dans le
Caqar, pp. 221-222).
14 C. Braae a fait le choix de laisser les transcriptions utilisées par Haslund et ses
collaborateurs, mais les mongolisants rétabliront aisément la plupart des termes, et les
linguistes devraient être intéressés par les terminologies et variantes dialectales.
15 Ce remarquable catalogue qui met en valeur la contribution des Danois aux études
mongoles est une source essentielle pour les spécialistes de la culture matérielle
mongole, du patrimoine et de la fondation des collections et musées ethnographiques
en Europe.

269
BIBLIOGRAPHIE
Boyer, M. [1952] 1995 Mongol Jewelry (Copenhague/Londres, The Carslberg’s Foundation Nomad
Research Project/Rhodos International Science and Art Publishers/Thames and Hudson).
Dupaigne, B. (éd.) 1983 Mongolie-Mongolie, traditions de la steppe (Paris, Musée de l’Homme,

présentation des collections du Musée national d'Oulan-Bator et du Musée de l'Homme du 2 mars
au 23 mai 1983).
Hansen, H. H. [1950] 1993 Mongolian Costumes (Copenhague/Londres, The Carslberg’s Foundation

Nomad Research Project/Rhodos International Science and Art Publishers/Thames and Hudson).
Haslund-Christensen, H. 1932 Jabonah (Copenhague, Gyldendalske Boghandel/Nordisk Forlag).

1934 Tents in Mongolia (Yabonah). Adventures and Experiences among the Nomads of Central Asia,
traduit du danois par E. Sprigge & C. Napier (Londres, Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co.).
1935a Zajagan (Copenhague, Gyldendalske Boghandel/Nordisk Forlag).
1935b Men and Gods in Mongolia (Zayagan), traduit du danois par E. Sprigge & C. Napier (Londres,
Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co.).
1945 Asiatiske strejftog (Copenhague, Gyldendalske Boghandel/ Nordisk Forlag).
1949 Mongolian Journey, traduit du danois par F. H. Lyon (Londres, Routledge & Paul Kegan).
Heissig, W., assisté par Charles Bawden 1971 Catalogue of Mongol Books, Manuscripts and Xylographs
(Copenhague, The Royal Library).
Heissig, W. & C. C. Müller (éds) 1989 Die Mongolen, Haus der Kunst, I-II (Frankfurt/Innsbruck,
Pinguin/Umschau).
NOTES
1. Boyer 1952 et Hansen 1950, tous deux réédités respectivement en 1995 et 1993.
2. Lors de sa première expédition Haslund partit dans le Xing’an avec un volumineux
gramophone et 300 disques de laque dans 14 boîtes lourdement chargées. Les 113 chants
enregistrés furent étudiés dans un volume de la Sino-Swedish Expedition (vol. 21/8), mais il ne
publia pas d’étude sur la musique enregistrée chez les Torgut en 1928-1929.
3. Notamment : Jabonah en 1932, traduit en anglais en 1934, sur ses premières années en Mongolie
avec Krebs ; Zajagan en 1935, traduit en anglais la même année, sur sa participation à l’expédition
Hedin chez les Torguts ; Asiatiske strejftog en 1945, traduit en anglais en 1949, sur ses expéditions
(Haslund-Christensen 1932, 1934, 1935a, 1935b, 1945, 1949).
4. Voir le catalogue Mongolie-Mongolie, 1983 auquel ont contribué F. Aubin, L. Delaby et
B. Dupaigne (Dupaigne 1983). Au Musée du Quai Branly, où elle se trouve depuis 2004, la
collection est cataloguée sous le nom de « Mission Bærentzen », et comprend 249 objets (MH
46.42.1-MH 46.42.255).
5. En 1970, l’exposition « Buddha’s Ways » à Copenhague présenta plus de 2 000 objets de la
deuxième expédition.
6. Ils sont catalogués dans Heissig (assisté par Charles Bawden) 1971.

270
AUTEURS
ISABELLE CHARLEUX
GSRL, UMR 8582, CNRS - EPHE, PSL, Paris (France)

271
Teleki Krisztina, Introduction to the

study of Urga’s heritage
Ulaanbaatar, Mongolian Academy of Sciences, Institute of History and
Archaeology & International Association for Mongol Studies, 2015,
496 pages, 119 illustrations, ISBN 978-99973-0-748-4
Isabelle Charleux
RÉFÉRENCE
Teleki Krisztina, Introduction to the study of Urga’s heritage, Ulaanbaatar, Mongolian
Academy of Sciences, Institute of History and Archaeology & International Association
for Mongol Studies, 2015
1 Cet ouvrage est le fruit d’une étude du patrimoine matériel de l’ancienne « capitale »
mongole, Ih hüree ou Da hüree, connue en Europe sous le nom d’Ourga (du mongol
örgöö, « palais ou tente d’un khan ou d’une personne de haut rang », en l’occurrence le
Žavzandamba hutagt). Fondée en 1639 comme campement monastique par le grand
Öndör gegeen Zanabazar (1635-1723), Ier Žavzandamba hutagt, Ourga évolua pour
devenir la plus grande ville monastique de Mongolie moderne et, après vingt-huit
déménagements, se fixa en 1855 sur la rivière Tuul. En 1912, sous le gouvernement
autonome du Bogd haan (VIIIe Žavzandamba hutagt), elle fut renommée Niislel hüree,
et en 1924, le gouvernement socialiste la rebaptisa Ulaanbaatar.
2 En 2011, K. Teleki a publié une monographie sur l’histoire religieuse d’Ourga (Teleki
2011), à partir de sa thèse de doctorat (voir http://journals.openedition.org/emscat/
1657, consulté le 17 décembre 2018) et d’une mission (réalisée avec sa collègue Zsuzsa
Majer) en 2005 et 2006. Commanditée par le Arts Council of Mongolia, cette mission
avait pour objectif de recenser les monastères et palais anciens et récents de la capitale
(voir le site bilingue anglais-mongol : http://www.mongoliantemples.org/index.php/
en/, consulté le 17 décembre 2018). Le présent ouvrage, né d’un projet financé par le
Fonds de la Recherche Scientifique de Hongrie (2011-2014), documente le patrimoine
bouddhique de la ville qui a survécu après la destruction massive des temples en 1937

272
et 1938. K. Teleki conjugue méthodes ethnographiques – collecte de souvenirs de (très)

vieux moines ayant connu la période antérieure à 1936, interviews avec des
conservateurs – et recherches dans les fonds de bibliothèques et d’archives. Très
modestement, l’auteur appelle ce monumental catalogue « introduction » au
patrimoine matériel bouddhique d’Ourga (p. 10).
3 Le premier chapitre décrit l’histoire de la ville monastique, inventorie ses principaux
monastères et palais, et donne des informations sur l’art et la littérature, et sur les
destructions de la fin des années 1930 (la quasi-totalité des 1 100 sites religieux
répertoriés furent détruits, 17 000 moines exécutés, et les objets et livres religieux
furent confisqués ou détruits). Cinquante-et-un sites majeurs sont ici décrits dans le
détail, en précisant leurs différents remplois pendant la période socialiste : école,
baraquement militaire, hôpital, musée... (une carte actuelle de la ville aurait été utile
pour permettre au lecteur de les localiser précisément). Le chapitre résume également
les souvenirs de quatorze moines nés dans les années 1910-1920 et interrogés dans les
années 2000, avec des détails sur la vie monastique, les rituels, les examens, les moines
célèbres et moins célèbres, les titres et rangs monastiques, les divinités protectrices de
chaque département, mais aussi le commerce, la monnaie, les lieux de dépôt des corps,
les fonderies, les étrangers, les purges… (près de 450 entretiens sont transcrits en
mongol sur le site internet : http://www.mongoliantemples.org/index.php/en/
component/domm/?view=oralhistories&Itemid=186, consulté le 17 décembre 2018).
4 Le deuxième chapitre présente la création des musées, archives, bibliothèques et
instituts scientifiques au cours de la période socialiste, et détaille les collections
actuellement conservées dans quinze institutions publiques – bibliothèques, archives et
monastères de la ville dont : la Bibliothèque nationale de Mongolie, les Archives
nationales de Mongolie, les Archives de cinéma, photographies et enregistrements
sonores, le Palais-musée du Bogd haan, le musée des Beaux-Arts Zanabazar, le
monastère Gandantegčenlin1. Ces collections se composent de textes bouddhiques et
documents d’archives (certificats impériaux, décrets du Bogd haan, arbres
généalogiques, documents sur l’histoire d’Ourga…), d’objets bouddhiques (statues,
appliqués, peintures, masques et costumes de cam, objets rituels, blocs d’impression…),
d’objets personnels de Zanabazar, du Bogd haan, de sa reine Dondogdulam et du Čojžin
lam, de photographies et de films. Bien que les inventaires ne soient pas exhaustifs, le
travail est monumental et méticuleux ; les objets sont présentés sous forme de
catalogue avec, lorsqu’ils sont connus, leurs dimensions, matériaux, auteur, date,
numéro d’inventaire et références pour ceux qui ont été publiés. Suivant le point de
vue muséal, les objets religieux sont ici considérés comme des « œuvres d’art » et un
certain nombre d’entre eux sont classifiés « chefs-d’œuvre précieux de la nation
mongole ». K. Teleki relève des erreurs dans les catalogues et inventaires existants et
émet, à raison, des doutes sur la nature et la provenance de certains objets.
5 Dans le troisième chapitre, l’auteur présente ou traduit quelques sources tibétaines et
mongoles : douze cartes-peintures représentant Ourga ou des parties d’Ourga et
quelques autres peintures, le colophon du Kanjur (Ganjuur) d’Ourga avec une liste des
donateurs, compilateurs, graveurs et imprimeurs, le premier volume du « Journal des
lamas » (propagande soviétique à destination des moines publié en 1936-1937, écrite en
écriture ouïgouro-mongole et en mongol transcrit en écriture tibétaine), enfin, des
documents d’archives tels que des règlements de temples, des documents de
comptabilité et des inventaires de temples. En annexes sont données les principales

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divinités tutélaires et protectrices des départements monastiques ; un glossaire des

termes tibétains des inventaires de temples ainsi qu’une liste des « œuvres d’art »
mentionnées par B. Jambal (Žambal) et D. Damdinsüren.
6 L’ouvrage offre des matériaux extraordinaires sur la culture matérielle conservée, mais
également disparue (voir les inventaires de temples et les photographies), sur la vie des
moines, l’économie monastique (documents sur les troupeaux du monastère, les
recettes et dépenses), les rituels, les règlements intérieurs, et sur l’histoire même des
institutions de conservation et d’étude.
7 L’objectif initial du projet était de retrouver la provenance des œuvres préservées, mais
bien que l’auteur soit parvenue à retracer la « biographie » de certaines d’entre elles,
donnant parfois des précisions sur les rituels dans lesquelles elles ont servi, le
patrimoine des temples détruits a été éparpillé entre différents instituts, musées et
monastères, et la mémoire de leurs trajectoires s’est perdue pour la majorité des objets
(p. 168). Certains objets, par ailleurs, viennent de monastères de province. L’auteur
s’est heurtée à de nombreuses difficultés, faute de pouvoir étudier les statues vénérées
sur les autels et d’avoir eu accès à des catalogues internes et aux réserves de certains
musées, mais le résultat en est néanmoins remarquable. Enfin, l’une des plus grandes
découvertes est ces inventaires de temples, en tibétain (21 inventaires) et en mongol
(48), qui fournissent des listes de statues, peintures, objets rituels et livres sacrés 2.
8 Les termes sont quasiment systématiquement donnés en transcription du mongol
cyrillique et du tibétain (la répétition systématique des différents noms pour chaque
divinité, aurait pu être évitée par l’ajout d’un glossaire). L’ouvrage nous renseigne
également sur des terminologies spécifiques (on y trouve par exemple le nom des
différentes ombrelles utilisées pendant la procession de Maitreya). Un index aurait été
bienvenu, notamment pour les noms des nombreux religieux, artistes et artisans cités.
9 Cette remarquable compilation nous fournit tant des renseignements inédits sur la
richesse matérielle des temples de la cité bouddhique, l’organisation de la vie
monastique, la tenue de rituels grandioses que sur la destruction et le pillage de ce
patrimoine.
BIBLIOGRAPHIE
Teleki, K. 2011 Monasteries and temples of Bogdiin Khüree (Ulaanbaatar, Mongolian Academy of
Sciences, Institute of History).
2015 Introduction to the Tibetan and Mongolian Inventories of Urgaʻs Temples, Rocznik
Orientalistyczny (68)2, pp. 180-205.
NOTES
1. Ces inventaires devront à l’avenir être complétés par des catalogues d’objets dans les
collections privées, appartenant à des particuliers et à des sociétés (comme la Banque mongole).

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2. Ces inventaires ont fait l’objet d’un article séparé (Teleki 2015).
AUTEURS
ISABELLE CHARLEUX
GSRL, UMR 8582, CNRS - EPHE, PSL, Paris (France)

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Balci Bayram, Renouveau de l'islam en

Asie centrale et dans le Caucase
Paris, CNRS Éditions, 2017, 320 pages, préface d'Olivier Roy,
ISBN 978-2-271-09340-0
Anne Ducloux
RÉFÉRENCE
Balci Bayram, Renouveau de l'islam en Asie centrale et dans le Caucase, Paris, CNRS Éditions,
2017
1 Bayram Balci, reprenant les travaux de Stéphane Dudoignon et de Christian Noac 1

rappelle que l'Union soviétique a façonné et contrôlé plutôt que détruit l'islam, tandis
que l'implosion de l'URSS en 1991 avait conduit à la création d'un islam d’État soumis
aux diktats des régimes nés des indépendances. Ceux-ci s'efforceraient toutefois de
maintenir une certaine forme de laïcité que l'auteur qualifie de « renouveau »
musulman.
2 Après un long rappel historique de l'islam en Asie centrale et dans le Caucase, Bayram
Balci aborde la période contemporaine et passe en revue l'influence jouée par les
grands voisins musulmans de cet espace en grande partie turcophone.
3 Le premier de ces grands voisins, la Turquie a vu dans le retrait de la Russie une
opportunité pour étendre une emprise depuis longtemps perdue. Cependant, les
dirigeants ex-soviétiques de ces États nouvellement indépendants, peu enclins à passer
d'une tutelle à une autre, ont souvent déjoué les tentatives financières de la Turquie
pour diffuser un islam turc (création d'universités, d'écoles coraniques, de mosquées,
etc.), insufflé notamment par Fethullah Gülen. Ainsi l'Ouzbékistan s'est-il montré
rapidement réticent face à un activisme jugé un peu trop envahissant surtout après
l'arrivée au pouvoir de l'AKP (sigle turc du Parti de la justice et du développement)
considéré comme un parti proche de la mouvance « islamiste ». Et cette méfiance fut
encore renforcée en 2013, année de la rupture entre le mouvement de Fethullah Gülen

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et l'AKP d'Erdogan, faisant redouter un regain de religiosité et éloignant encore un peu

plus l'Asie centrale du « grand frère » turc.
4 La République islamique d'Iran, quant à elle, tenta tout d'abord, au plan strictement
politique, un rapprochement avec le Caucase et notamment l'Azerbaïdjan
majoritairement chiite, après l'implosion de l'URSS. Cependant, des rivalités pétrolières
et surtout l'aide apportée à l'Arménie lors du conflit qui enflamme plus ou moins
ouvertement le Haut-Karabagh depuis 1988 éloignèrent l'Iran de l'Azerbaïdjan. Tout
comme la suprématie de la culture turcophone ainsi que la faiblesse économique de
l'Iran tiennent l'Iran à l'écart de l'Asie centrale.
5 Au plan religieux, le sunnisme quasiment officiel des républiques centrasiatiques
postsoviétiques (à l'exception des Ismaéliens du Pamir et de quelques Ironi, chiites
d'origine iranienne et surtout azérie, en Ouzbékistan) laisse peu de place au chiisme
duodécimain. Seuls quelques programmes culturels principalement fondés sur l'étude
de la civilisation persane maintiennent des liens entre l'Iran et l'Asie centrale ex-
soviétique aux aspirations plus laïques.
6 Quant aux apports des pays de la péninsule arabique au « renouveau » de l'islam dans le
Caucase et l'Asie centrale, ils se font principalement par le biais du pèlerinage à La
Mecque et à Médine. Au demeurant, les quotas de citoyens autorisés à accomplir le hadj
sont négociés entre le ministère saoudien du pèlerinage et les directions des affaires
spirituelles des nouveaux États. Cependant, hors du contexte rituel, les interrelations
demeurent rares entre centrasiatiques et saoudiens, à l'exception de quelques
Ouïghours malmenés par le gouvernement chinois et une poignée d'Ouzbeks ayant
trouvé refuge en Arabie Saoudite. Aussi l'auteur s'interroge-t-il sur l'importance de la
circulation des idées religieuses entre les mondes arabe et centrasiatique. Le véritable
impact, note Bayram Balci, semble se limiter au financement de nouvelles mosquées
par des fondations caritatives saoudiennes, hormis le fantomatique MIO (Mouvement
Islamique Ouzbek) qui se revendiquerait du wahhabisme. En revanche, pour l'auteur,
les pèlerins reviennent du hadj « comme ils en sont partis, ni plus ni moins convertis au
wahhabisme saoudien ou à tout autre forme de rigorisme ».
7 L'influence de l'Asie du Sud (Inde, Pakistan et Bangladesh) se manifeste quant à elle par
la pénétration (très relative) de la Jama'at al tabligh en Asie centrale. Héritière de
l'école sunnite deobandi créée dans les années 1880 en réaction à la colonisation
britannique, la Jama'at al tabligh se veut avant tout un mouvement piétiste très
prosélyte. B. Balci la juge « dangereuse » en raison de son militantisme religieux
radical. Absente dans le Caucase, elle demeure bien intégrée au Kirghizstan alors
qu'elle fut tolérée puis interdite au Tadjikistan (en 2009), au Kazakhstan (en 2013) et
que ses membres furent expulsés d'Ouzbékistan sous la dictature de Karimov. Quant
aux despotes successifs du Turkménistan, ils la tinrent à distance. Tous événements qui
naturellement limitent l'influence de l'Asie du Sud dans les républiques
postsoviétiques.
8 Le dernier chapitre du livre, malgré le terme un peu « bureaucratique » du titre (« La
gestion du fait religieux ») inventorie les politiques identitaires mises en place par les
nouveaux gouvernants en Asie centrale et dans le Caucase. Interventionnisme et
contrôle permanent du religieux fondés sur un système de cooptation (voire de
népotisme) et de répression caractérisent l'idéologie de tous ces États, dans la
continuité de l'ère soviétique. Cependant, dans ces nouvelles républiques, l'islam, un
« bon islam », a été associé à des figures mythiques « nationales » pour promouvoir une

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idéologie nationaliste. Ainsi l'Ouzbékistan, sous l'impulsion de son ancien président

aujourd’hui décédé, s'est-il approprié Tamerlan (en laissant dans l'ombre le
mouvement réformateur des Djadids, quasiment à l'origine du nouvel État ouzbek au
début du XXe siècle), le Kirghizstan a-t-il exhumé Manas (héros épique de
l'indépendance contre les Chinois), le Turkménistan a-t-il glorifié le mystique Najm-ad-
Din al Kubra, l'Azerbaïdjan a-t-il mis en valeur les descendants de l'imam 'Ali (Imam
zade), etc. Par ailleurs, outre la multiplication des grandes manifestations publiques à
connotation identitaire, la « muséification » des établissements religieux les plus
prestigieux nouvellement restaurés (madrassa, mosquées, mausolées) a permis la
« cristallisation », selon l'auteur, de l'islam dans des décors propres à renforcer le
nationalisme mais les empêchant de redevenir des lieux de débat intellectuel ou de
prière. Des instruments institutionnels de contrôle de ce « bon islam » ont par ailleurs
été créés presqu'à l'identique dans chaque pays : un Comité d’État pour les affaires
religieuses (composé de fidèles du régime, supervisé souvent par le président lui-
même) est chargé de surveiller la Direction des affaires spirituelles nationale formée de
religieux de haut rang, à l'image de la SADUM soviétique (sigle russe de Direction des
affaires spirituelles des musulmans d'Asie centrale). Tous cela dans le but proclamé de
prévention sécuritaire : pour éviter la propagation de la violence qui agite en ce début
du XXIe siècle, le monde musulman.
9 L'érudition de cet ouvrage nous remet en mémoire avec bonheur l'histoire politique de
l'islam dans cette région ex-soviétique. Au demeurant, on peut regretter l'absence
d'une carte situant l'immense aire géographique évoquée. Surtout, on aurait apprécié
que l'auteur, qui a longuement vécu dans les républiques postsoviétiques instruise le
lecteur, au-delà des relations entre États, des pratiques et des comportements des
musulmans centrasiatiques « d'en bas », de loin les plus nombreux. En effet, dans cette
étude, parfois un peu froide, des relations internationales de cette région, Bayram Balci
n'évoque que rarement les hommes et les femmes de chair et d'os qui en sont le
principal objet. Les musulmans de cette zone ont-ils adhéré aux tentatives d'influence
des pays « frères » ? Ont-ils de ce fait modifié leurs pratiques religieuses ? Quelques
mots de l'expérience ethnographique de l'auteur auraient été les bienvenus ne serait-ce
que pour évaluer l'impact réel que l'Arabie Saoudite, la Turquie, l'Iran et l'Asie du Sud
ont eu, non sur les extrémistes locaux mais sur les croyants ordinaires, les plus
nombreux, depuis l'implosion de l'Union soviétique.
BIBLIOGRAPHIE
Dudoignon, S. & C. Noac 2014 Allah's kolkhozes. Migration, De-Stalinisation, Privatisation and the New-
Muslim Congregations in the Soviet Realm (1950s-2000s) (Berlin, Klaus Schwarz Verlag).
NOTES
1. Dudoignon & Noac 2014.

278
Stolpe Ines, Nordby Judith &

Gonzales Ulrike (éds), Mongolian
Responses to Globalisation Processes
Berlin, EB-Verlag, 2017, 255 pages, ISBN 978-3-86893-233-1
Antoine Maire
RÉFÉRENCE
Stolpe Ines, Nordby Judith & Gonzales Ulrike (éds), Mongolian Responses to
Globalisation Processes, Berlin, EB-Verlag, 2017
1 L’ouvrage Mongolian Responses to Globalisation Processes regroupe une série de

contributions présentées par les auteurs à l’occasion d’un symposium international
organisé en 2014 par le département d’études mongoles de l’université de Bonn. Le
sujet abordé est d’un intérêt majeur pour les études mongoles, alors que le pays a fait le
choix, depuis sa rupture avec le socialisme en 1990, de s’inscrire pleinement dans les
dynamiques de la globalisation. L’intérêt des contributions est de s’attarder sur des
thématiques souvent délaissées lorsqu’est évoqué l’impact de la globalisation sur le
peuple mongol. L’ouvrage s’articule autour de neuf contributions qui traitent de sujets
aussi éclectiques que ceux de la décollectivisation de l’activité pastorale en Bouriatie,
de l’évolution des danses mongoles, des jeux et des histoires de fantômes ou de la
réorganisation du calendrier mongol.
2 Introduit par Ines Stolpe, l’ouvrage ambitionne d’adopter une approche dynamique et
pluridisciplinaire des réponses de la société mongole au processus de globalisation. Il
souhaite aussi souligner le potentiel émancipateur de ces nouvelles dynamiques. Dans
la première contribution, Dorothea Heuschert-Laage revient sur ce postulat et rappelle
que l’intégration de la Mongolie dans l’empire sino-mandchou des Qing au cours du
XVIIe siècle s’était déjà accompagnée d’un processus de globalisation. Elle souligne
l’existence d’un paradoxe à cette époque avec l’apparition de deux dynamiques
contradictoires : tout d’abord, une volonté des autorités d’encadrer plus strictement les

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gens dans leur bannière ; ensuite, le développement de flux d’échanges régionaux,

qu’ils soient intellectuels, spirituels ou économiques. À partir de ce constat, elle met en
évidence une adaptation du comportement des Mongols destinée à leur permettre de
s’extraire de la dynamique d’affiliation territoriale pour rendre possible leur insertion
dans ces nouveaux flux d’échanges.
3 Les contributions de Charlotte Marchina et Karénina Kollmar-Paulenz s’attachent à
étudier certaines évolutions propres au peuple bouriate. Charlotte Marchina revient
sur la privatisation des terres et la décollectivisation de l’activité pastorale dans la
région de Bouriatie en Russie. Elle met en évidence le caractère inabouti de ces
processus. Elle souligne également qu’ils s’accompagnent d’une russification
progressive du mode de vie et de la culture des Bouriates. Dans sa contribution,
Karénina Kollmar-Paulenz propose une analyse de l’évolution des chroniques
historiques bouriates au XIXe siècle. Elle démontre une hybridation de ces chroniques
sous l’effet d’une double influence, indo-tibétaine pour la doxographie et russe pour le
traitement descriptif de ces doctrines.
4 Ganbaataryn Nandinbilig, Élisa Kohl-Garrity, Alevtina Solovyova et Raphaël Blanchier
analysent les conséquences du processus de globalisation pour certains aspects de la
culture populaire mongole après 1990. Ganbaataryn Nandinbilig étudie les jeux
populaires mongols. L’évolution de ces derniers leur a permis d’incorporer des
influences chinoises puis russes. Il note également un changement dans les symboles
véhiculés par ces jeux, fonction du contexte social et politique dans lequel ils sont
pratiqués. Élisa Kohl-Garrity analyse l’évolution de l’attitude des Mongols par rapport
aux coutumes et aux traditions à Oulan-Bator, notamment par rapport à la question du
respect. Elle démontre que la façon dont ces valeurs sont invoquées est
intrinsèquement liée au contexte politique et social dans lesquels elles s’inscrivent. Les
discussions autour du respect de la tradition et des valeurs constituent un moyen
détourné pour les habitants d’évoquer les conséquences de l’urbanisation croissante et
des changements sociaux de ces dernières années. Alevtina Solovyova revient sur les
histoires de fantômes qui circulent en Mongolie au XXIe siècle. Celles-ci sont révélatrices
des interactions qui se développent entre la culture populaire et les influences
étrangères qui traversent aujourd’hui le pays. Ces histoires permettent à la fois
d’incarner et de transmettre une mémoire collective, certains stéréotypes, notamment
à l’égard des étrangers, mais aussi de rendre compte de certaines évolutions de la
société, notamment du rapport au processus d’urbanisation ou des interactions qui se
nouent entre des traditions locales et des influences globales dans le domaine culturel.
Dans sa contribution, Raphaël Blanchier présente les évolutions de la danse bij bielgèè. Il
souligne l’importance du processus politique de reconstruction identitaire qui a suivi la
révolution démocratique pour la préservation et la reconnaissance internationale de
cette danse. Il met en évidence deux dynamiques : une première qui vise à ancrer les
formes locales de cette danse dans la tradition mongole et une seconde qui vise à les
inscrire dans une forme de cosmopolitanisme artistique. Cela se traduit par une
myriade d’hybridations de cette danse qui constituent autant de réponses aux
influences globales.
5 Pour finir, Elvira Churyumova, Ines Stolpe et Sendenjavyn Dulam proposent des
contributions davantage axées autour des évolutions politiques liées au processus de
globalisation. Elvira Churyumova analyse l’évolution de la situation politique et sociale
en Kalmoukie. Elle souligne que les difficultés économiques connues par la région ont

280
conduit les autorités russes à priver les autorités locales de certaines de leurs
prérogatives. La contestation sociale s’est alors déplacée d’un niveau local à un niveau
national. La volonté des autorités d’imputer les difficultés économiques à la crise
économique mondiale n’a eu cependant que peu d’effet et la population continue d’en
imputer principalement la responsabilité aux autorités locales. Ines Stolpe et
Sendenjavyn Dulam proposent enfin de revenir sur l’évolution du calendrier mongol,
notamment sur l’importance relative des fêtes au fil du temps. Les changements
calendaires qui accompagnent chaque alternance politique sont ainsi révélateurs d’une
identité mongole contestée. Même si celle-ci s’affirme progressivement depuis 1990,
elle reste sujette à débat, notamment pour ce qui est de la lecture de l’histoire mongole
et en particulier de celle de la période socialiste.
6 Si cet ouvrage permet de mieux comprendre les réponses mongoles au processus de
globalisation, on peut néanmoins déplorer l’absence de prise en compte des évolutions
économiques, politiques ou géopolitiques. Leur centralité dans ce processus et
l’originalité des réponses mongoles en la matière font qu’elles auraient sans doute
mérité davantage d’attention. Malgré le caractère parfois inégal de certaines
contributions, la lecture de cet ouvrage s’avère néanmoins toujours stimulante. La
façon dont ces contributions sont rédigées permet immédiatement de revenir à des
préoccupations plus générales tout en offrant des exemples très concrets des effets de
la globalisation et de ses impacts sur la culture mongole. Ces exemples démontrent, s’il
en était encore besoin, que le processus de globalisation est loin de se résumer une
simple uniformisation du monde autour d’un modèle dominant. Il génère au contraire
une myriade d’hybridations et permet aux cultures nationales et locales non seulement
de se maintenir, mais aussi de s’enrichir au gré des échanges avec l’étranger.
AUTEURS
ANTOINE MAIRE
Docteur associé au CERI – Sciences Po

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Résumés de thèses
Thesis abstracts

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Clément Jacquemoud, Diversité

religieuse en République de l’Altaï :
concurrences et convergences.
Enquête sur le renouveau religieux
des Altaïens de la République de
l’Altaï (Fédération de Russie)
RÉFÉRENCE
Thèse de doctorat en anthropologie, soutenue à l’École Pratique des Hautes Études, le
13 décembre 2017 (437 pages). Membres du jury : M. Houseman (directeur), I. Bianquis,
F. Goyet, J.‑L. Lambert, K. Rousselet, D. Savelli, V. Vaté
J’adresse mes plus humbles remerciements à l’équipe éditoriale et au comité scientifique de la

revue des Études mongoles & sibériennes, centrasiatiques & tibétaines pour avoir accepté de
publier le résumé de ma thèse, ainsi qu’au relecteur anonyme pour ses bienveillantes et
éclairantes observations.
1 Cette recherche porte sur le renouveau religieux actuel des Altaïens de la République
de l’Altaï (Fédération de Russie) et questionne la dynamique identitaire sous-jacente
qui s’y joue en filigrane. S’inscrivant dans un cadre politique et territorial créé durant
la période soviétique sur la base de son peuplement autochtone, la République
autonome de l’Altaï existe depuis l’année 1990 et présente un environnement pluri
ethnique et pluri religieux. L’idée héritée de la période soviétique est que, malgré leur
diversité, les ethnies de langue turque qui composent la part de population autochtone
partagent une même identité « altaïenne ». Étant donné qu’il n’est pas exclu que la
République disparaisse en tant que telle, cette identité est perçue localement comme le
faire-valoir de l’existence de la république. Il devient dès lors primordial qu’elle ne vole
pas en éclats à la suite de la désunion des différents groupes ethniques. Le choix d’une

283
religion nationale qui servirait de point d’appui à la consolidation de cette identité est
donc devenu un enjeu fondamental pour l’intelligentsia autochtone. Face au vide rituel
consécutif à la chute du système soviétique, et face aussi à la résurgence de
l’orthodoxie russe, les intellectuels réagissent en miroir des Russes en voulant trouver
une religion commune pour tous les groupes autochtones de la République.
2 Toutefois, depuis la fin de l’URSS, les Altaïens renouent aussi bien avec les pratiques
considérées comme « traditionnelles » (chamanisme, bourkhanisme), qu’ils se tournent
vers quantité de courants religieux pouvant être envisagés comme plus ou moins
« importés » (bouddhisme, christianismes orthodoxe et évangélique, mouvements New
Age). Une idée demeure néanmoins présente, selon laquelle les Altaïens pourraient
s’unir autour d’une vision commune de leur territoire comme lieu singulier et dans le
lien qu’ils construiraient avec lui. Mais chaque courant donne à penser le territoire
comme singulier à « sa » manière et propose « sa » version de la relation que les
habitants de la république doivent entretenir avec lui. Ceci par extension conditionne
la relation de l’Altaï à la Fédération de Russie, et le politique imprègne donc fortement
ces réarticulations du croire. En un sens, l’instrumentalisation du religieux a contribué
à reproduire la diversité existante des populations. De son côté, l’Administration tente
d’unir les autochtones sous la bannière d’un « esprit national ». Elle tente de modeler
cet esprit national au moyen d’un festival des cultures altaïennes biennal, l’Èl Ojyn, et
par la diffusion d’une image d’authenticité de la république, également alimentée par le
tourisme New Age. Mais finalement, l’unité des autochtones se construit plutôt dans le
renouveau du genre de l’épopée, pratiqué partout et par tous et caractérisé par le chant
de gorge.
3 Organisée en sept chapitres, cette thèse est construite comme un cheminement à la
découverte des différents acteurs religieux, politiques et culturels engagés dans
l’élaboration d’un socle commun susceptible de former une identité altaïenne
spécifique.
4 Le premier chapitre, intitulé « Un terrain fertile. L’Altaï ou l’interpénétration du
politique et du religieux comme une constante », tente de mettre en exergue la
difficulté de penser une nation altaïenne en montrant la richesse des processus ethno-
historiques dans l’Altaï. Dans une première partie, nous présentons dans les détails la
composition ethnique de la République de l’Altaï, et le mode de vie contemporain de ses
habitants. Dans une seconde partie, nous revenons sur l’histoire de la région. Le
chapitre s’achève sur la présentation des différents courants religieux que l’on peut
aujourd’hui y rencontrer.
5 De tous temps, l’Altaï a été un carrefour entre les civilisations, a subi la domination des
entités politiques constituées tout en étant localisé dans leur bordure. Sa situation
limitrophe a donc restreint l’emprise de ces entités sur la région, et notamment
l’influence des religions d’État, telles que le bouddhisme ou l’islam. Après l’intégration
de l’Altaï à l’Empire tsariste au XVIIIe siècle, les missionnaires orthodoxes ont fait leur
apparition dans la région. À partir de ce moment, les pratiques chamaniques, qui
étaient sans peine parvenues à se maintenir face à un lamaïsme étiolé dans les marges
de l’Empire dzoungare, durent faire montre de leurs capacités de résistance à une
orthodoxie a contrario méthodique et résolue. L’abolition du servage en Russie a
entraîné l’arrivée massive de colons à la fin du XIXe siècle. Réfugiés toujours plus loin
dans les montagnes, les autochtones ont constitué un mouvement religieux
ethnoconfessionnel, le bourkhanisme, qui a canalisé aussi bien leur refus de la religion

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russe que leur désir d’émancipation de la tutelle tsariste. Ce messianisme veut fédérer
les clans autochtones en réaction à la domination russe, aux contraintes de l’orthodoxie
et à l’inefficacité du chamanisme. Les chamanes en viennent à détruire leurs propres
attributs, intégrer le clergé bourkhaniste en tant que « messagers » et ne plus traiter
qu’avec les entités bénéfiques. Après la Révolution russe de 1917, c’est sur les
fondements des clans fédérés par le bourkhanisme que naquit la région de l’Altaï, qui
changera de statut politique lors de la chute de l’URSS et deviendra une république au
sein de la Fédération de Russie.
6 De nos jours, chamanisme et bourkhanisme renaissent sous de multiples formes. Nos
récentes observations signalent un regain d’activité de la branche locale de l’Église
orthodoxe, tandis que l’intelligentsia autochtone met en avant le bouddhisme et
souhaite ainsi intégrer l’Altaï à l’ensemble des États bouddhisés d’Asie. Enfin, le
christianisme évangélique se développe aujourd’hui à travers toute la république sous
de multiples formes (pentecôtisme, adventisme…). Chaque courant cherche à tirer
profit de sa perception du territoire, que ce soit en le considérant comme sacré ou
comme une manne économique grâce au tourisme.
7 Ainsi, le renouveau du chamanisme répond pour partie à une demande d’authenticité
alimentée par le tourisme New Age. Nombreux sont les touristes en effet qui veulent
voir en l’Altaï un territoire sacré, baigné d’énergies régénératrices, aux habitants dont
le mode de vie serait resté figé dans un passé de carte postale.
8 Cette image est, d’une certaine manière, entretenue par la politique locale de
développement, qui vise à faire du tourisme la première ressource économique de la
région. Et suite aux tentatives infructueuses d´établir une religion nationale qui
pourrait servir de marqueur identitaire pour tous les groupes ethniques de la
République de lÁltaï, le gouvernement s’applique finalement à ne mettre en avant que
certains éléments culturels emblématiques sur lesquels asseoir lúnité. Il en va ainsi du
festival biennal Èl Ojyn, qui devient la vitrine des traditions altaïennes, ou de la momie
de la Princesse de l’Ukok. Cette dernière, rapatriée en grande pompe dans un musée
dernier cri, fait aujourd’hui figure de symbole de la région. Au même titre que la momie
de Lénine dans son mausolée s’est retrouvée au cœur du système de rites et de
représentations soviétiques, le musée devient un lieu de pèlerinage où lón vient
rendre hommage à celle qui est désormais conçue comme láncêtre de la nation. La
momie contribue ainsi à faire en quelque sorte de l’Altaï une reproduction miniature de
l’URSS, elle devient le gage de son indépendance et permet de le distinguer de ses
voisins. Un processus comparable est à l’œuvre avec le Géopark récemment créé dans la
république, où lón retrouve condensés dans une sorte de réserve naturelle et culturelle
les symboles prétendument immuables de l´histoire du territoire.
9 Le second chapitre, intitulé « Le lieu de toutes les rencontres. Le festival Èl Ojyn », se
penche sur ces « Jeux du peuple », présentés comme la « Fête de l’union des peuples et
du renouveau des traditions », et donnés à penser comme une ode aux cultures
altaïennes. Cet événement biennal a été organisé pour la première fois en 1988, en
s’appuyant sur l’ancienne célébration soviétique du Jour du pasteur. La société
soviétique était extrêmement ritualiste, et ce type de manifestation faisait partie
intégrante du système de rites et de représentations. Nous retrouvons dans l’Èl Ojyn la
prolongation d’un état de fait, et si l’Administration tente désormais d’y unir les
autochtones sous la bannière d’un « esprit national », nous y voyons la marque d’une
profonde continuité avec les fêtes et commémorations soviétiques de l’unité.

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10 L’analyse révèle cependant que cette tentative de penser l’autochtonie ne parvient qu’à
mettre en évidence le fait que l’Altaï appartient à la Fédération de Russie. En effet, de
nombreuses disparités se font jour entre les différents groupes ethniques, sociaux ou
générationnels participant à la fête. Les règles des concours ou encore l’intérêt pour les
compétitions sont sensiblement différents d’un groupe à l’autre et l’union peine à
émerger. Nous portons tout particulièrement l’attention sur la manière dont les
courants religieux sont représentés dans le festival. L’organisation de l’événement fait
effectivement naître des tensions, axées autour de la question de la sacralité du
territoire et des potentiels dommages causés à l’harmonie avec le monde surnaturel.
Tous ces éléments révèlent finalement que l’engouement recherché est mis en défaut,
et que le festival s’adresse davantage à un public étranger qu’aux autochtones,
devenant ainsi une vitrine des traditions altaïennes destinée à l’export.
11 Le troisième chapitre « L’Altaï originel. Le bourkhanisme comme quête d’identité »
revient sur le contexte qui a précédé l’avènement du mouvement religieux autochtone
au début du XXe siècle. Nous y mentionnons notamment les conditions d’apparition de
l’idée d’« Altaï » chez les autochtones, et comment par la même occasion ceux-ci
prirent le nom d’« Altaïens » (à travers l’introduction de l’ethnonyme vernaculaire
Altaj-kiži, les « hommes de l’Altaï »). Après une présentation détaillée de la vision du
monde chamanique « traditionnelle », nous examinons la manière dont la
confrontation des autochtones à l’orthodoxie et à un « Autre » (les Russes) à partir de la
première moitié du XIXe siècle, va renouveler leur perception d’eux-mêmes.
Parallèlement, celle-ci va entraîner une appréhension inédite de leur territoire, dès lors
géographiquement délimité par l’« enceinte » formée par les villages de colons russes.
Cette nouvelle géographie du territoire, combinée à une nouvelle identité
« supraclanique », aux éléments tirés de la vision du monde des vieux-croyants russes
(qui, arrivés en Altaï, y ont vu l’équivalent d’une terre promise), permettra le
développement du bourkhanisme et la conception de l’Altaï comme un paradis.
12 Mouvement religieux millénariste et messianique de grande ampleur, le bourkhanisme
fédère les clans autochtones entre eux et se comprend comme une réaction de
résistance à l’orthodoxie, à l’avancée des colons russes, délivrés du servage en Russie
européenne et partis à la recherche de terres fertiles et vierges où s’établir. Les
spécialistes rituels autochtones kam (chamanes), impuissants à contrer cette arrivée
massive, sont critiqués et le chamanisme est dès lors déclaré « impur ». Le
bourkhanisme oppose par conséquent à ce dernier des pratiques considérées comme
« pures » et ses spécialistes rituels, les « messagers » (t’arlykčy), ne traitent plus qu’avec
des entités perçues comme bénéfiques. L’Altaï est vu comme le lieu où devra apparaître
Ojrot-khan, l’envoyé de Burkhan, qui délivrera les autochtones du joug russe.
13 Dans le quatrième chapitre, intitulé « L’Altaï localisé. Le renouveau religieux en
République de l’Altai : vers un recentrement ? », nous questionnons le renouveau
contemporain des courants religieux présents dans la région avant la période
soviétique, à savoir le chamanisme, le bourkhanisme et l’orthodoxie. Si le retour de
cette dernière intervient au niveau de la Fédération de Russie tout entière, ce qui sous-
entend son rôle politique « intégrateur » pour l’Altaï, le chamanisme et le
bourkhanisme renaissent quant à eux sous de multiples formes. Les spécialistes rituels
contemporains autochtones ont tendance à mettre en avant la « pureté » de leurs
pratiques, raison pour laquelle ils préfèrent se revendiquer « messagers »
bourkhanistes plutôt que « chamanes ». Le terme « chamane » est plutôt employé par

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les touristes visitant la région, tandis que le terme vernaculaire kam (« chamane ») n’est
plus aujourd’hui utilisé par les autochtones que pour faire référence aux « chamanes
puissants, authentiques et véritables » de la période pré-soviétique. Les kam sont donc
relégués depuis longtemps dans une catégorie fantôme, pertinente uniquement dans la
mesure où certains spécialistes rituels la mobilisent pour se définir et valoriser leurs
pratiques.
14 Tous les spécialistes rituels disent fonder leurs pratiques sur une transmission orale de
génération en génération, certes lacunaire du fait de la politique antireligieuse menée
durant la période soviétique, mais qui se voit suppléée par la lecture de l’ethnographie
ou l’emprunt à d’autres systèmes religieux. Les pratiques proposées sont donc des
recréations contemporaines, un bricolage fruit de choix manifestes. Les discours qui les
accompagnent sont également sensiblement novateurs, incluant des termes inspirés du
New Age ou du domaine du développement personnel tels que karma, chakra, énergie,
etc.
15 Cette sélection d’éléments considérés comme les plus pertinents, susceptibles de
répondre de la manière la plus efficace possible aux besoins actuels des autochtones,
est donc complétée d’éléments exogènes importés, censés rendre la conception du
monde altaïenne explicite et accessible aussi bien à des individus étrangers qu’à des
Altaïens qui n’en auraient qu’une connaissance imparfaite. C’est la raison pour laquelle
nous estimons pouvoir parler ici de (re)création religieuse, de « néo-chamanisme » et
de « néo-bourkhanisme ». La distinction que nous effectuons entre le néo-chamanisme
et le néo-bourkhanisme se situe au niveau des pratiques : tandis que celles des néo-
chamanes sont individualisées, celles qui se réclament du néo-bourkhanisme, qui
apparaît très organisé, sont discutées, harmonisées et codifiées par les adeptes. Le
mouvement, qui prend le nom d’Ak T’aŋ (la « manière de faire blanche »), se veut,
comme autrefois, un mouvement strictement altaïen, localisé, organisé et fédérateur,
exprimant les velléités d’indépendance et d’émancipation d’une partie de la population.
16 Si le néo-chamanisme paraît quant à lui très fluctuant, inorganisé, et se mouvant hors
de toute considération politique, nous remarquons néanmoins que son renouveau doit
beaucoup à la vision romantique qui en est donnée dans le New Age russe. Une
perception singulière de l’Altaï y est véhiculée, qui va de pair avec le retour en grâce en
Russie du couple de « pionniers du New Age », formé par le peintre mystique Nicolas
Roerich et sa femme le médium Eléna. Venus tout spécialement en Altaï au cours de
leurs recherches ésotériques dans les années 1920, ils savaient qu’ils allaient y trouver
l’équivalent d’une terre promise, vision que leurs adeptes contemporains tentent à leur
tour de façonner en partant vivre en Altaï et en consultant les néo-chamanes
autochtones.
17 Ainsi, l’appréhension du territoire de la république fait figure d’enjeu majeur dans
l’adhésion à tel ou tel courant religieux. Chacun propose sa propre vision de ce que doit
être l’Altaï, et de ce fait donne à entrevoir la relation qu’il entretient avec le pouvoir
(local et fédéral). En ce sens, chaque courant se révèle politiquement connoté.
18 Le cinquième chapitre « L’Altaï mondialisé. Les nouveaux mouvements religieux
transnationalisés dans la république », propose une plongée en profondeur dans le
pentecôtisme altaïen. La majeure partie de nos enquêtes de terrain a été menée auprès
d’Altaïens convertis à cette branche du christianisme évangélique, raison pour laquelle
nous considérons les enjeux liés à la conversion à cette religion, aussi bien du point de
vue social que moral, politique ou encore économique.

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19 Apparu au cours des années 1990 dans une région minée par le marasme économique,
le mouvement religieux a suscité l’espoir pour une partie des autochtones. Les
convertis, vivant selon les préceptes intransigeants de cette religion et tendant à se
percevoir comme des « élus » de Dieu (notamment lorsque se manifestent en eux les
dons de l’Esprit saint, comme la glossolalie ou les capacités de guérison ou de
prophétie), sont réunis au sein d’une communauté très structurée. Interprétant de
nombreux éléments des traditions altaïennes à la lumière de la Bible, ils deviennent
d’ardents défenseurs de la langue et de la culture autochtone et en viennent eux aussi à
considérer l’Altaï comme un territoire singulier, où l’arche de Noé se serait échouée et
où le Christ se serait rendu. Citons ici à titre d’exemple, (avant d’y revenir au
chapitre VII), le cas d’un chanteur d’épopées converti ayant « été inspiré par Dieu dans
la création d’une épopée » retraçant la vie de Jésus, faisant de lui un héros épique. Pour
les convertis, la région possède une place légitime dans la grande fraternité chrétienne
internationale. Leur regard porte donc bien au-delà des frontières de l’Altaï et de la
Russie. Le suivi strict des préceptes chrétiens, dans l’attente millénariste d’une vie
éternelle aux côtés de Dieu, fait qu’ils ne portent qu’un intérêt modéré à la vie politique
du pays. Ils peuvent certes se montrer critiques envers les dérives de certains
politiques, mais s’en remettent à Dieu quant au jugement définitif de ces actes.
20 Du point de vue économique, la théologie de la prospérité encourage l’auto-
entreprenariat pour sortir de la pauvreté, et donne à comprendre la réussite (ou la
déconvenue) financière comme le signe manifeste de la volonté de Dieu. Associée à
l’injonction du paiement de la dîme, cet accent porté sur les aspects économiques de la
foi chrétienne contribue à entretenir les accusations de sectarisme d’une partie de la
population à l’encontre des convertis au pentecôtisme.
21 Dans notre sixième chapitre « L’arrivée de l’été. Analyse comparée de deux rituels
saisonniers (district de Koš-Agač et mouvement néo-bourkhaniste Ak T’aŋ – district
d’Ongudaj) », nous portons notre attention sur les pratiques collectives mises en œuvre
dans des contextes rituels distincts : chez les Altaj-kiži, au cœur des montagnes du
centre de la république, et chez les Télenguites, au milieu de la steppe d’altitude à
proximité de la frontière mongole. Organisés à peu près à la même période (entrée dans
la saison chaude, solstice d’été), ces rituels saisonniers relèvent respectivement du néo-
bourkhanisme et du néo-chamanisme. Nous découvrons alors la pluralité des pratiques
religieuses autochtones, et la difficulté qu’il y a à les homogénéiser. L’analyse de ces
rituels montre qu’ils se répondent comme dans un jeu de miroir. Leurs enjeux, tout
d’abord, sont identiques : il s’agira de s’attirer les bonnes grâces de, ou des, esprit(s) de
l’Altaï, afin que la saison se présente au mieux (des pluies en quantité suffisante pour
que l’herbe des pâturages pousse bien, pas d’épizootie ni d’attaques de prédateurs…).
Ensuite, bien que la disposition des artefacts mis en jeu et que leur mise en forme
comporte des différences, le résultat fourni aux participants est le même : créer une
vision singulière du territoire autochtone à travers l’expérience d’un chez-soi partagé,
spécifiquement altaïen. Le rituel fournit aux différents protagonistes une appréhension
du territoire comme un espace commun, et il leur incombe la responsabilité de le
préserver ensemble au-delà des dissensions.
22 Le septième et dernier chapitre « L’épopée comme révélateur » se focalise sur la poésie
épique des Altaïens. Il commence avec un retour sur ses caractéristiques propres, en
regard de celle des peuples voisins (Touvas, Mongols notamment). Après un rapide
constat des transformations subies au cours de la période soviétique, nous nous

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intéressons au renouveau de la pratique de récitation de poésies épiques dans la

République de l’Altaï. Le genre épique y est alors réapproprié en deux temps : si le
chanteur s’inscrit dans la continuité formelle tout en faisant preuve d’innovation
thématique, les nombreuses productions épiques une fois mises ensemble surgissent en
tant qu’épopée « dispersée », selon la terminologie proposée par F. Goyet. Pour cet
auteur, un tel cas de figure se rencontre lorsque la polyphonie inhérente au texte
épique se déploie à travers une multiplicité de productions. Le fait est commun en
Sibérie, et les textes deviennent significatifs pour la société qui les voit naître. Nous
présentons ainsi les résultats de l’étude d’une série de modes opératoires de plusieurs
kajčy (chanteurs d’épopée), qui récitent soit l’épopée traditionnelle (mais avec la
différence importante qu’introduit l’apprentissage d’un texte écrit préexistant), soit se
placent dans une dynamique de re-création à partir de thèmes résolument modernes
(épopée chrétienne Èšua, chant de louange à Ak-Burhan, « chansonnette épique »). Ces
derniers textes ont ceci de particulier qu’ils véhiculent des opinions religieuses ou
politiques. De ce fait, ces textes extrêmement différents constituent tous ensemble un
corpus qui représente pour le public autochtone contemporain une série d’options
politiques et éthiques, jouant ainsi un rôle politique (au sens large) semblable à celui
que les grandes épopées anciennes ont parfois joué.
23 La revitalisation de la poésie épique altaïenne, qui s’accompagne d’un remodelage
profond, intervient donc dans le processus de construction identitaire. Chaque texte
étant le vecteur d’une option politique, l’épopée ne peut être instrumentalisée par le
politique. Elle devient alors le révélateur d’une identité altaïenne surpassant les
divisions religieuses et transcendant les aspirations d’unité émanant du pouvoir
central. Elle peut aussi être perçue comme un catalyseur qui singularise l’Altaï au sein
de l’espace sibérien postsoviétique. Cette matière épique nouvelle, récemment créée, et
la façon dont elle est actuellement employée, révèle aux autochtones leur singularité
non seulement dans l’espace turco-mongol contemporain mais aussi dans le monde, et
leur offre la possibilité de se sentir unis sur leur territoire.

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Raphaël Blanchier, Les danses

mongoles en héritage : performance
et transmission du bii biêlgee et de la
danse mongole scénique en
Mongolie contemporaine
Mongolian dances as heritage: performance and transmission of biy biyelgee
and Mongolian scenic dance in contemporary Mongolia
RÉFÉRENCE
Thèse de doctorat en anthropologie, soutenue à l’École pratique des hautes études, le
22 juin 2018 (501 pages). Membres du jury : J. Legrand (président du jury), C. Humphrey
(rapporteur), G. Wierre-Gore (rapporteur), G. Lacaze, C. Guillebaud, M. Houseman
(directeur), C. Stépanoff (co-encadrant)
Objet de la thèse
1 Cette thèse d’anthropologie, au croisement avec les arts du spectacle, entend répondre,
à travers une ethnographie détaillée des danses mongoles en Mongolie contemporaine,
à la question plus large de l’efficacité de la performance dansée dans l’engendrement
d’un sentiment d’appartenance nationale. Elle offre également une perspective qui, à
travers l’angle original et peu étudié des danses mongoles, propose une alternative aux
précédentes approches du fait national mongol. En effet, selon l’hypothèse défendue
ici, la danse promeut moins un modèle de nation culturellement homogène,
ethniquement hiérarchique et fondé sur un certain rapport au passé, construite sur
l’ethnie centrale des Halh et l’héritage de Gengis Khan (Bulag 1998, Kaplonski 2004,

290
Pegg 2001), qu’un modèle fondé sur un rapport horizontal à l’altérité culturelle (la
Mongolie comme nation parmi les nations du monde).
2 Telle que je l’emploie, l’appellation « danses mongoles » au pluriel recouvre deux
pratiques distinctes et complémentaires, qui coexistent en s’opposant et en
s’influençant mutuellement en Mongolie contemporaine. L’une, le bij bielgèè (bii biêlgee,
biy biyelgee), est considérée comme la danse des Oïrates (Oirat, Oirad) ou Mongols de
l’Ouest, un groupe ethnique composite de l’Altaï mongol. Danse généralement effectuée
sous la yourte par un seul danseur sur un accompagnement mono-instrumental 1 ou
chanté, elle mobilise surtout le haut du corps, le torse, les bras et est constituée
principalement de mouvements d’imitation de la vie quotidienne des pasteurs nomades
et de gestes ornementaux renvoyant aux particularismes ethniques. L’autre danse
mongole, parfois appelée la « danse populaire mongole » (mongol ardyn büžig), passe
pour la version « folklorisée » ou scénique du bij bielgèè (et dans une moindre mesure,
d’autres danses locales). Il s’agit d’une pratique d’invention récente, fortement
influencée par le ballet classique et les « danses nationales » de l’ensemble soviétique
d’Igor Moiseev2, qui émerge au milieu du XXe siècle, durant la période socialiste, dans le
but de constituer une « danse nationale mongole » (mongol ündèsnij büžig).
Axes d’analyse : geste, asymétrie, affect, altérité

3 Comment l’expérience que fournit la performance dansée dans les danses mongoles
contribue-t-elle, chez le spectateur mongol, à la stabilisation d’un sentiment
d’appartenance nationale ? Mon approche de l’efficacité « politique » de la
performance dansée s’inspire du cadre théorique large porté par la notion de
« nationalisme extatique » (ecstatic nationalism, Skey 2008) et hérité de l’analyse
durkheimienne des événements publics. Cette notion met en valeur à la fois : 1. la part
active des individus (et non seulement des institutions ou des symboles) dans le
renforcement et la diffusion d’un « nationalisme ordinaire » (everyday nationalism), 2. la
dimension vécue et non seulement représentée d’un tel sentiment d’appartenance (par
opposition avec la notion de « communauté imaginée »), 3 l’importance des
événements publics (cf. Handelman 1998 sur cette notion) dans la mobilisation
affectuelle3 des individus et la stabilisation d’un sentiment d’appartenance nationale.
Plus particulièrement, cette thèse s’inscrit résolument dans la lignée d’une approche
pragmatique du fait rituel (Houseman & Severi 2009), tout en s’efforçant d’en déplacer
les résultats de l’objet « rituel » à l’objet « danse ».
4 Dans cette perspective, il s’agit tout d’abord de repenser la mise en œuvre des corps en
mouvement, moyen privilégié de la danse, non seulement comme lieu de
représentation « par corps » mais comme moyen d’interaction. La double prise en
compte de la dimension cognitive et de la dimension sensorielle impliquées par le geste
dansé invite à voir non seulement la danse comme situation de communication par le
geste, mais aussi comme situation d’interaction où le rapport danseur-spectateur tient
un rôle constitutif.
5 Une telle approche suppose, en deuxième lieu, de penser la performance dansée comme
la participation différenciée de deux types de participants, le spectateur et le danseur.
L’asymétrie spécialiste-profane, qui est au cœur de cette thèse, n’est pas propre à la
performance dansée. À ce titre, l’anthropologie cognitive et pragmatique du rituel a
contribué à mettre en évidence le rôle que jouent les spécialistes dans la participation

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des profanes à des interactions non ordinaires (cf. Boyer 1990, Hanks 2009, Stépanoff
2014). Un tel rapprochement entre les spécialistes rituels et la figure du danseur
comme spécialiste de la performance est d’ailleurs justifié par son inscription dans un
contexte culturel qui favorise l’émergence d’individualités distinctives 4 (cf. Delaplace
2008, Hamayon 1990, Humphrey & Onon 1996, Stépanoff 2014, Legrain 2014). Pour
comprendre la façon dont se constitue la figure du danseur comme spécialiste, une
ethnographie des apprentissages des danses mongoles, dans différents contextes,
s’avère révélatrice à un double titre. Elle permet à la fois d’aborder la question des
savoirs et compétences propres aux danseurs et de voir comment le danseur, tout au
long de son parcours, est progressivement reconnu par ses pairs et par les non-
danseurs comme spécialiste. Mon ethnographie du « talent » (av’jaas) et des
apprentissages en différents contextes vient étayer l’argument central de la thèse,
selon lequel le savoir du danseur n’est pas essentiellement corporel mais relationnel : le
danseur mongol se définit moins comme un spécialiste de techniques du corps en
performance que comme un spécialiste relationnel de la performance, propre à amener
le spectateur à s’engager, d’une manière particulière, dans l’interaction de
performance dansée (cf. Houseman 2003).
6 Il s’agit dès lors, en troisième lieu, de voir dans la performance dansée un ensemble de
dispositifs qui visent à fournir au spectateur une expérience susceptible d’entraîner son
attachement durable à la mongolité. Comment une expérience vécue ponctuellement,
dans le cadre de la performance, peut-elle contribuer à engendrer des attachements
durables ? Fructueuse, la notion d’affect (Favret-Saada 2009, Halloy 2006, Humphrey
2012) se donne ainsi à lire comme la manifestation sensible non seulement de la
relation asymétrique danseur‑spectateur, mais aussi de la relation horizontale qui unit
les différents spectateurs participant à une même performance dansée. En ce sens, il
convient de souligner la double dimension collective et réflexive de l’affect engendré
par la performance dansée. Controversée (cf. Csordas 1993), la notion de réflexivité
permet de penser une qualité de l’expérience propre à se cristalliser dans des éléments
objectifs stables, qui pourront être ressaisis par la suite. Danses du cheval, du
pastoralisme nomade ou de Gengis Khan fournissent ainsi non seulement les conditions
d’une expérience affectuelle intense et réflexive, mais aussi les éléments thématiques
mémorables que les spectateurs seront le plus susceptibles de mobiliser par la suite en
souvenir de cette expérience intégrative.
7 Dans mon hypothèse, le cœur de l’expérience fournie par les danses mongoles est, pour
les spectateurs mongols, celle d’une relation simultanée à soi comme Mongol et à
l’étranger comme autre par excellence. Dans le grand stade, pour la fête nationale du
Naadam, la chorégraphie spectaculaire et chamarrée de l’inauguration peut être, en
premier lieu, perçue comme une mise en scène, relativement stéréotypée, de la
mongolité, principalement à destination d’un public étranger. Or, c’est précisément
cela qui fait l’efficacité des danses mongoles pour le public mongol : être spectateur
mongol de danses mongoles, c’est précisément se sentir soi (Mongol) en se voyant avec
les yeux d’un autre (l’étranger). Les danses mongoles apparaissent ainsi, en dernier
lieu, porteuses de mongolité, non seulement parce qu’elles présentent des traits positifs
de mongolité, mais aussi parce qu’elles procurent au spectateur mongol l’expérience de
la différence culturelle comme un lieu légitime de définition de la propre identité de
son groupe. Cette perspective fait en somme de la performance dansée le lieu où
s’éprouve de manière particulièrement saillante une appréhension de la mongolité qui
s’inscrit plus largement dans une épistémologie de la différence culturelle comme

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mode privilégié de définition de soi par rapport à l’autre : à chaque nation sa culture, et
à chaque culture sa danse. Ce cadre épistémologique, sans doute hérité du socialisme et
mis en œuvre de manière particulièrement saillante dans la danse, invite ainsi à
nuancer les approches usuelles du nationalisme mongol contemporain, essentiellement
fondées sur le rapport à l’histoire, au lignage, à l’homogénéisation culturelle, là où la
danse promeut au contraire une appréhension des identités fondées sur une diversité
ethnique chamarrée au niveau local, et une horizontalité des différences culturelles au
niveau international5.
Méthodologie et enquête de terrain

8 Entre 2010 et 2015, dans le cadre de mon master puis de mon doctorat, j’ai effectué un
total cumulé de dix-huit mois d’enquête de terrain en Mongolie. Mes séjours se sont
déroulés principalement à la capitale, Ulaanbaatar, où se concentrent les institutions
culturelles nationales, et dans les provinces de l’Ouest (Uvs, Hovd, Bajan-Ölgij et plus
ponctuellement Zavhan), auprès des institutions locales (théâtres de province, centres
culturels) et des danseurs oïrates spécialistes de bij bielgèè.
9 Face à mes différents interlocuteurs, ma position d’étranger m’a tout d’abord relégué
au rang de spectateur ou de destinataire de discours stéréotypés. Tout en considérant
ce biais comme constitutif d’une certaine conception de la « tradition » et même de la
« culture » (soël), j’ai utilisé la temporalité longue et répétée de mes terrains pour
dépasser ce cadre d’interaction. La confiance suscitée par ma maîtrise de la langue et
des bienséances mongoles, par ma pratique de la danse et par ma familiarité croissante
avec les milieux de la culture a ainsi contribué à ma participation progressive à la vie
quotidienne des danseurs.
10 Si cette posture d’observateur intégré a facilité mon positionnement au sein des
réseaux de danseurs, c’est aussi parce qu’elle était complétée par une familiarité
pratique avec le bij bielgèè. Fidèle aux préceptes de la « participation observante »
(Wacquant 2002), je me suis d’abord inscrit comme élève à un cours de danse amateur
dans un centre culturel, puis aux cours privés d’un danseur professionnel, et enfin je
me suis fait disciple d’un maître de bij bielgèè. Cette dernière expérience, qui m’a
conduit à danser sur scène avec mon maître et sa famille, a joué un rôle clé dans ma
compréhension des processus de sélection et de formation des « talents ». Elle m’a
également amené à partager le quotidien de cette famille et à être le témoin privilégié
des premiers pas et mouvements de danse du petit-fils de mon maître, alors âgé de
deux ans à peine. Cette posture de « participation observante » m’a non seulement
permis d’avoir accès à des danses considérées comme typiquement mongoles et donc
théoriquement inaccessibles à un étranger, mais a aussi contribué à forger ma
conviction en faveur d’une anthropologie du « faire » (making, Ingold 2013) : reposant
sur une « connaissance de l’intérieur » (knowing from the inside, ibid.), une telle
démarche apparaît mieux à même de cerner les particularités de la transmission d’une
pratique artistique comme la danse.
11 Ces techniques d’enquête de terrain ont été utilement enrichies par des recherches
dans les archives audiovisuelles de Mongolie, dont les plus anciens enregistrements de
danse remontent à 1947, date du premier Festival mondial de la jeunesse et des
étudiants. Cette enquête a permis non seulement d’exhumer de précieux documents,
mais aussi de compléter (voire de rectifier) la chronologie de l’histoire des danses

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mongoles, et surtout de mettre en perspective les biais contemporains de sa perception

de l’histoire des danses mongoles. Les recherches effectuées dans les archives
contribuent à donner une profondeur historique à ce travail.
Plan de la thèse
12 Le premier chapitre, consacré à la mobilisation d’éléments de sens dans les gestes
dansés du bij bielgèè et de la danse mongole scénique, offre un premier aperçu des
répertoires thématiques des danses mongoles. Ce faisant, il permet d’examiner les
façons dont la danse, loin d’exposer des éléments de sens, mobilise au contraire la
cognition de ceux à qui elle s’adresse de façon que chacun puisse « faire sens » de la
danse. Ce chapitre est aussi l’occasion de comprendre l’articulation entre les
thématiques mises en œuvre dans les danses mongoles et les délimitations identitaires,
à la fois au niveau national de la mongolité et à l’échelon infranational des ethnies : en
ce sens, l’articulation entre appartenance nationale et appartenance oïrate dans le bij
bielgèè apparaît source de tensions qui oscillent entre l’inclusion des Oïrates dans la
mongolité et la parodie de la mongolité du bij bielgèè depuis ses marges. Enfin, ce
chapitre analyse une première différence entre danse mongole scénique et bij bielgèè
dans la façon dont chacune de ces pratiques met en œuvre les éléments de sens qu’elle
déploie.
13 Le deuxième chapitre présente un panorama historique de la danse mongole scénique.
Il s’agit de comprendre l’émergence de cette danse à vocation nationale dans la
Mongolie socialiste. Alors que la danse mongole nationale est souvent décrite comme la
scénisation et la professionnalisation de pratiques locales, qu’on rêverait nomades,
authentiques et rituelles, l’histoire que je propose de cette danse montre qu’on a en
réalité plutôt affaire à une mongolisation d’un modèle chorégraphique de « danses
nationales » importé de Russie. L’enjeu est alors de comprendre pourquoi cette danse,
en réalité peu ancrée dans les pratiques locales, passe unanimement, jusqu’à près de
trente ans après la chute du régime socialiste, pour typiquement et nationalement
mongole.
14 Le troisième chapitre aborde la question de l’authenticité du bij bielgèè. À travers une
ethnographie de la patrimonialisation contemporaine, marquée par l’inscription du
bij bielgèè à l’UNESCO en 2009 et les politiques de valorisation qui ont suivi, il s’agit de
comprendre l’articulation entre contexte patrimonial et valeur d’authenticité. Mais il
s’agit également de saisir, à travers la mise en jeu de régimes de savoir-pouvoir propres
à ce type de contexte, comment cette question de l’authenticité contribue à polariser,
de manière à la fois dynamique et stable, le champ des danses mongoles en deux
pratiques complémentaires : la danse mongole scénique d’une part, le bij bielgèè,
« authentique », de l’autre.
15 Le quatrième chapitre est consacré à l’ethnicité dans les danses mongoles. Récurrente
dans les discours locaux, l’idée qu’à chaque ethnie correspond une forme de danse
distinctive est pourtant en partie démentie par l’analyse gestuelle. En revanche,
comprendre le rôle que jouent danse mongole scénique et bij bielgèè dans la
légitimation des catégories ethniques, en associant critères de définition absolus ou
positifs et critères de définition relatifs ou positionnels, donne un aperçu, à une échelle
infranationale, de la façon dont la danse peut contribuer à construire des catégories
d’identité collective.

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16 Les cinquième et sixième chapitres sont consacrés au danseur comme spécialiste. Le

cinquième chapitre aborde la question du « talent », qui apparaît moins comme une
distinction essentielle d’individus singuliers que comme un potentiel à danser, mi-
héréditaire, mi‑aléatoire, aussi délicat à repérer qu’à actualiser. En ce sens, la carrière
de danseur est consacrée à faire la preuve réitérée de ce talent, qui pour exister doit
continuer à être actualisé. Le sixième chapitre traite de la question de l’apprentissage.
L’ethnographie des apprentissages, basée sur mon propre apprentissage et
l’observation de situations variées, montre que, contrairement au discours reçu selon
lequel on « n’apprend pas » ou on « apprend seul », d’importants dispositifs
d’encouragement et de mobilisation des capacités des apprentis danseurs sont mis en
œuvre. Paradoxalement, il s’avère que les dispositifs d’apprentissage, étonnamment
convergents dans la danse mongole scénique et dans le bij bielgèè, visent moins à
modeler les corps ou à développer des capacités corporelles qu’à inciter les futurs
danseurs à « apprendre à apprendre » : développer son regard revient à faire sien le
regard du spectateur et, partant, à devenir ce que j’ai appelé un spécialiste relationnel
de la performance dansée.
17 Les septième et huitième chapitres sont dédiés à l’analyse des situations de
performance. Mettant en balance la veillée de bij bielgèè sous la yourte et le spectacle de
danse mongole scénique au théâtre, le septième chapitre interroge les modalités de
participation des spectateurs dans chacun de ces deux contextes. Faisant appel à la
méthode de la « double description » chère à Bateson (Bateson 1979, p. 180), j’y
examine notamment la circulation d’affects partagés et réflexifs comme fondement de
l’expérience du spectateur. Le huitième chapitre, consacré à la place de la danse dans la
cérémonie d’inauguration de la fête nationale du Naadam, met à l’épreuve et développe
les hypothèses précédentes. La présence, dans le stade où se déroule l’inauguration, de
spectateurs étrangers et de spectateurs mongols invite à se poser la question des
modalités de participation différenciées, selon les catégories de spectateurs, à une
même performance. Qu’est-ce qui fait que, alors que les étrangers admirent un beau
spectacle saturé d’emblèmes de la mongolité, les Mongols vivent l’inauguration du
Naadam comme un moment de communion nationale où le danseur joue le rôle quasi
rituel de délégué de la nation ? Répondre à cette question invite à définir la danse, à
côté du rituel et du jeu notamment, comme un mode de participation combiné à
d’autres plutôt que comme un type d’événement ou une expression artistique par le
mouvement du corps.
BIBLIOGRAPHIE
Bateson, G. 1979 Mind and Nature. A Necessary Unity (New York, Dutton).
Boyer, P. 1990 Tradition as Truth and Communication. A Cognitive Description of Traditional Discourse
(Cambridge, Cambridge University Press).
Bulag, U. 1998 Nationalism and Hybridity in Mongolia (Oxford/New York, Clarendon Press).

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Csordas, T. 1993 Somatic Modes of Attention, Cultural Anthropology 8(2), pp. 135-156.
Delaplace, G. 2008 L’invention des morts. Sépultures, fantômes et photographie en Mongolie

contemporaine (Paris, CEMS/EPHE, Nord-Asie 1).
Favret-Saada, J. 2009 Désorceler (Paris, Éditions de l’Olivier).
Halloy, A. 2006 « Un anthropologue en transe ». Du corps comme outil d’investigation

anthropologique, in J. Noret & P. Petit (dirs), Corps, performance, religion. Études anthropologiques
offertes à Philippe Jespers (Paris, Publibook), pp. 87-115.
Hamayon, R. 1978 Les héros de service, L’Homme 18(3), pp. 17-45.

1990 La chasse à l’âme. Esquisse d’une théorie du chamanisme sibérien (Nanterre, Société d’ethnologie).
Handelman, D. 1998 Models and Mirrors. Towards an Anthropology of Public Events (Cambridge,
Berghahn).
Hanks, W. 2009 Comment établir un terrain d’entente dans un rituel ?, Cahiers d’anthropologie
sociale 5, pp. 87-114.
Houseman, M. 2003 Vers un modèle anthropologique de la pratique psychothérapeutique,

Thérapie Familiale 24(3), pp. 289-312.
Houseman, M. & C. Severi 2009 Naven ou le donner à voir. Essai d’interprétation de l’action rituelle, 2 e
édition (Paris, Maison des Sciences de l’Homme).
Humphrey, C. 2012 Hospitality and tone. Holding patterns for strangeness in rural Mongolia,
Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 18(1), pp. 63-75.
Humphrey, C. & U. Onon 1996 Shamans and Elders. Experience, Knowledge, and Power among the Daur
Mongols (Oxford, Clarendon Press).
Ingold, T. 2013 Making. Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture (Londres/New York,
Routledge).
Kaplonski, C. 2004 Truth, History and Politics in Mongolia. Memory of Heroes (Londres/New York,
Routledge).
Legrain, L. 2014 Chanter, s’attacher et transmettre chez les Darhad de Mongolie (Paris, CEMS/EPHE,
Nord-Asie 4).
Pegg, C. 2001 Mongolian Music, Dance, & Oral Narrative. Performing Diverse Identities (Seattle/Londres,
University of Washington Press).
Skey, M. 2008 “Carnivals of Surplus Emotion”? Towards an understanding of the significance of

ecstatic nationalism in a globalising world, Studies in Ethnicity and Nationalism 6(2), pp. 143-161.
Stépanoff, C. 2014 Chamanisme, rituel et cognition : chez les Touvas (Sibérie du Sud) (Paris, Maison des
sciences de l’homme).
Wacquant, L. 2002 Corps et âme. Carnets ethnographiques d’un apprenti boxeur, 2 e édition revue et
augmentée (Paris, Agone).
NOTES
1. Les vièles ekel et morin huur (vièle-cheval), les luths šanz et tovšuur sont les instruments les plus
utilisés.

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2. Ensemble Moiseev : « Ensemble de danse populaire de l’URSS sous la direction d’Igor

Moiseev », Ansambl’ narodnogo tanca SSSR pod rukovodstvom Igorja Moiseeva.
3. J’entends par ce terme « affectuel » décrire ce qui relève de « l’affect ».
4. Hamayon décrit ainsi le « facteur charismatique » du chamane comme un modèle pour penser
« la voie d’émergence par excellence des individualités » (Hamayon 1978, p. 3).
5. Il ne s’agit pas ici de dire que la construction nationale mongole contemporaine est
particulièrement angélique. Les rapports tendus avec la Chine, où le Chinois apparaît comme une
figure de voleur (voleur des ressources minières et patrimoniales, voleur de femmes et de
virilité…), ne doivent pas être minorés. Toutefois, le rapport à l’étranger et à soi que promeut la
danse paraît, par contraste avec d’autres modes de rapport à l’étranger, sous-tendus par un
nationalisme « chaud », particulièrement fondé sur une expérience de la relativité culturelle.
RÉSUMÉS
Au croisement de l’anthropologie sociale et des arts du spectacle, cette thèse est consacrée à la
transmission des danses mongoles en Mongolie contemporaine. En abordant l’étude de la
performance dansée sous l’angle de la transmission, l’objectif principal de ce travail est de
comprendre le rôle des danses dans l’engendrement d’un sentiment d’appartenance national.
D’une part le bij bielgèè (bii biêlgee, biy biyelgee ), danse des Oïrates (Oirat, Oirad ; Mongols de
l’Ouest), inscrit au Patrimoine culturel immatériel de l’UNESCO, est intimement associé, par ses
évocations mimées, au mode de vie pastoral nomade. D’autre part, la « danse mongole scénique »,
qui en constitue la version professionnelle, donne à ces représentations stéréotypées une
légitimité nationale et internationale. Mon analyse des gestes dansés, des institutions, des
pratiques de transmission et de performance montre que l’efficacité des danses mongoles repose
moins sur les représentations qu’elles véhiculent que sur les conditions relationnelles qu’elles
mettent en place. Les apprentissages que j’ai observés, et auxquels j’ai pu participer, visent moins
la formation physique des danseurs que la légitimation graduelle de ceux qui font montre d’un
talent remarquable à se produire en public. Capable, par son art de la performance, de susciter
des modalités de participation spécifiques chez les spectateurs, le danseur apparaît alors comme
un spécialiste quasi-rituel. Délégué du groupe dont il est l’émanation légitime, il déploie ainsi
dans le même acte performatif la mise en danse de la culture mongole et la légitimation de celle-
ci comme un des fondements de la « mongolité ».
Drawing on both social anthropology and performing arts, this thesis deals with the transmission
of Mongolian dances in contemporary Mongolia. By studying danced performance from the
perspective of transmission, the main purpose of this work is to understand the role dance plays
in building up feelings of national belonging. On the one hand, the bii biyelgèè, the traditional
dance of the Oirats (Western Mongols), included on the UNESCO List of Intangible Cultural
Heritage, is closely linked to the nomadic pastoral lifestyle by virtue of the mimed gestures it
incorporates. On the other hand, what may be called “scenic Mongolian dance”, the
professionalized version of bii biyelgèè, confers national and international legitimacy on these
stereotyped representations. My study of danced movements, the institutions and practices
underlying the transmission and performance of Mongolian dances shows that their efficacy
stems less from the representations they convey than from the relational conditions they
establish. The dance trainings I was able to observe, and sometimes take part in, are oriented less

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towards the learning of bodily techniques than towards the gradual legitimization of those who
exhibit an outstanding talent for performing in public. The dancer, on the strength of his
performative abilities, is thus able to elicit specific modes of participation from the audience,
making him/her into a quasi-ritual specialist. As the legitimate emanation of the group which
he/she publicly represents, the dancer, in the same performative act, both embodies Mongolian
culture through dance and establishes it as a constitutive element of “Mongolness”.

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Hommage
Tribute

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Hommage à l’ethnomusicologue
Henri Lecomte (1938-2018)
Émilie Maj
1 À la fois ethnomusicologue, producteur, réalisateur et bien sûr musicien, Henri

Lecomte a passé sa vie dans l’entourage d’artistes, d’ethnologues et de musicologues,
tous en lien avec les musiques d’ici et d’ailleurs. C’est en sillonnant l’Afrique, l’Europe
et la Sibérie à la rencontre des musiciens traditionnels qu’il assouvit sa soif de
connaissances musicales.
2 Henri Lecomte avait suivi l’enseignement d’ethnomusicologie de Claudie Marcel-Dubois
à l’École Pratique des Hautes Études en 1971. En 1978, il avait fondé une association
nommée « Musiques des peuples du monde », avec laquelle il avait parcouru la France,
intervenant dans les écoles avec 250 instruments rapportés de ses voyages. Fréquentant
assidûment le séminaire d’ethnomusicologie de la Sorbonne à partir de sa création en
1998, Henri Lecomte était, depuis 1990, chercheur rattaché au Centre de recherches
russes et euro-asiatiques de l’INALCO. Il avait aussi enseigné la pratique du cinéma
ethnographique.
3 Ne réduisant jamais la musique à son expression strictement traditionnelle, il a été un
passeur de notes et d’instruments, s’intéressant aux musiques traditionnelles, folk ou
encore au jazz, de l’Afrique au Japon, en passant par les vastes étendues de Sibérie.
4 Musicien, Henri avait d’abord appris à jouer de la guitare, puis de la contrebasse. Il
avait fait partie d’un groupe de musique antillaise et, depuis plus de trente ans, s’était
converti à la flûte japonaise shakuachi, pour laquelle il avait suivi l’enseignement du
maître Iwamoto Yoshikazu.
5 Il avait réalisé le défi de faire connaître la diversité des cultures musicales sibériennes
du nord au sud et de l’est à l’ouest, à l’occasion d’une grande tournée de trente
musiciens intitulée Les esprits écoutent. Amoureux de la Sibérie, il avait participé à la
fondation, en 2004, d’une école pour les enfants nomades évenks avec l’ethnologue
Alexandra Lavrillier – projet récompensé par le prix Rolex – et il avait également
contribué au tournage du film L’École nomade (La Gaptière Production, 2008).

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6 Tout récemment, Henri avait légué sa collection d’instruments de musique à l’École des
Beaux-Arts d’Angoulême. Il n’avait cependant jamais cessé d’être en activité.
Intervenant régulièrement dans le cadre de conférences, il préparait notamment un CD
avec la chanteuse syrienne Waed Bouhassoun.
7 L’un de ses rêves était de retourner en Sibérie, sa terre promise… Il n’en aura pas eu le
temps. C’est à quatre-vingts ans qu’Henri Lecomte a fait un dernier pied de nez à ses
amis en s’éteignant à Paris le 21 juin 2018, jour de la Fête de la Musique.
8 EMSCAT tenait à publier des hommages à Henri Lecomte. Les souvenirs ci-dessous ont
été collectés auprès de ses amis et collègues par Émilie Maj.
9 Laurent AUBERT
Fondateur des Ateliers d’ethnomusicologie de Genève et des Cahiers d’ethnomusicologie
Esprit foncièrement libre, Henri Lecomte combinait des vertus nombreuses et
volontiers contradictoires : non seulement chercheur accompli, ne craignant pas de se
rendre au fin fond de la Sibérie en plein hiver pour recueillir les chants secrets des
derniers nomades de l’Arctique, parfois au risque de sa vie, il était aussi un musicien
amateur de talent, pratiquant le shakuhachi avec autant de naturel et de détachement
qu’un maître zen chevronné. Journaliste ou cinéaste à ses heures, amateur impénitent
de bonne chère, il maniait par ailleurs un humour particulièrement corrosif. C’est ainsi
qu’à une admiratrice fascinée à l’écoute de ses récits de terrains et désireuse d’en savoir
plus sur son parcours, il répondait avec ironie : « Moi, ethnomusicologue ?
Certainement pas, Madame, moi, je gagne ma vie honnêtement ! ». C’est pour ça qu’on
l’aimait…
10 François BENSIGNOR
Ancien responsable du Centre d’information des musiques traditionnelles et du monde
Il y avait chez Henri quelque chose de « radical ». La moue de sa bouche l’exprimait à
merveille, juste avant de se transformer en son fameux rictus humoristique. Ses mots
frappaient juste. Un jour, dans une conversation, j’évoquais l’épopée kirghize d’Er-
Töshtük qui m’avait fasciné. Une lueur avait alors jailli de son iris bleu pâle et, dès lors,
j’avais eu l’impression que nous étions liés par quelque secret. Plus tard, j’ai eu la
chance de pouvoir compter Henri parmi les auteurs du guide Larousse des Musiques du
Monde. Ses textes étaient concis, précis, presque cliniques. Son écriture bannissait le
pathos, mais reflétait toujours l’empathie, celle envers les artistes qu’il allait
rencontrer vers les confins du monde. Au-delà de la diversité impressionnante de ses
connaissances ethnographiques et musicales, Henri savait rester un être délicieux. De
lui, je retiens cette image, et son humour par-dessus tout.
11 Michel DEBATS
Réalisateur du film L’École nomade (La Gaptière Production)
Bien sûr, le film L’École nomade lui doit beaucoup. Alors qu'il ne me connaissait pas, il
m'a ouvert sa bibliothèque, présenté des gens, emmené dans des séminaires, et surtout
il a su convaincre Alexandra Lavrillier de me recevoir dans la forêt. Malheureusement,
lorsque nous sommes arrivés dans la taïga, il est tombé malade et ce furent des jours
très difficiles pour un Henri inquiet et triste de ne pas pouvoir profiter du froid, de la
forêt, de l'école, des gens qui nous accueillaient. Je garde cependant le souvenir d'un
grand éclat de rire. Alors que je l'accompagnais vers l'hélicoptère qui allait l'emporter
vers l'hôpital, il me raconta en riant beaucoup qu'il « soupçonnait » le médecin qui
avait diagnostiqué son mal et l'infirmière qui lui avait fait une piqûre d'être « fins

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soûls ». L'idée que ses sauveurs aient été un peu ivres l'enchantait et c'est en riant qu'il
a quitté la Sibérie, lui abandonnant son infarctus. Après il m'a offert des musiques qu'il
avait enregistrées pour la maison de disque ? Buda, et puis bien sûr il a animé des
débats parfois juste devant quelques spectateurs, devant des élèves qu'il engueulait s'ils
n'écoutaient pas bien, il avait aussi engueulé de la même façon quelqu’un lors d'une
projection à l'Unesco. En fait, il m'a toujours donné tout ce qu'il avait, ce qu'il
connaissait pour enrichir le film, pour m'aider. Je crois que le film était à lui et c'est
pour cela aussi qu'il m'est cher.
12 Anne-Victoire CHARRIN
Professeur émérite de l’INALCO, spécialiste des littératures des peuples de Sibérie
J’ai connu Henri Lecomte alors que nous étions simplement des voisins, habitants d’une
maison charmante au fond d’une impasse qui grimpait sur la butte Montmartre. La
musique venant de son appartement envahissait toute la maisonnée et m’empêchait
parfois de travailler la thèse que je préparais sur les récits mythologiques du
Kamtchatka ; aussi me risquai-je, un jour, à frapper à sa porte pour le prier de baisser le
son. C’est alors que je découvris son élégante amabilité qui allait tant lui faciliter la
tâche lors de son travail sur ses nombreux terrains de recherche.
Puis la musique du rez-de-jardin s’en était allée, et la jeune chercheuse que j’étais avait
trouvé d’autres horizons chantants. Sans, cependant, me douter une seule seconde que,
bien des années plus tard, ce serait au pied des volcans que nous écouterions, cette fois-
ci côte à côte, les tambours des Koriaks et Tchouktches du Kamtchatka, que ce serait en
suivant ensemble les vieilles routes du bagne de Sakhaline que nous découvririons les
altérateurs de voix (ᶄal’ni), les vièles (t’yŋryŋ) et autres instruments des Nivkhs, ainsi
que leurs récits mythologiques, que ce serait toujours dans cette inimitable Sibérie,
entre l’Ob et les contreforts de l’Oural, qu’une École de musique « lunaire » allait nous
ouvrir de nouvelles sonorités autochtones, avec les cithares (sankvyltap ou nars-juh), les
harpes trigones et tambours des Mansis et Khantys, toutes ces manifestations musicales
échos « d’un vieux fonds chamanique ».
Des années après notre voisinage dans l’inoubliable maison de Pigalle, Henri Lecomte
était en effet venu me retrouver à l’INALCO. Cette fois-ci, c’était lui qui avait eu deux
prières à m’adresser : comment apprendre rapidement le russe ? Comment s’y prendre
pour aller enregistrer les musiques autochtones de la Sibérie ?
Son affabilité exquise me poussa à répondre aussitôt à ses demandes. Quelque temps
plus tard, il foulait, pour la première fois, la terre nordique de l’Extrême-Orient, avec
déjà un petit bagage de langue russe, en compagnie d’une jolie ethnologue russe de mes
amies qui avait, en outre, une bonne expérience des autochtones du Grand Continent !
C’était pour Henri Lecomte le commencement de sa longue aventure sibérienne, et
pour moi le début d’une collaboration fructueuse, scellée par son entrée, en qualité de
chercheur affilié, dans notre équipe « Études sibériennes » que j’avais organisée
quelques années auparavant à l’INALCO.
Je n’oublierai pas Henri plongé dans la lecture de Segalen, quelque part dans un train
perdu sur des rails enneigés, tandis que je songeais, en regardant par la fenêtre, à
l’avenir des quelque cinq mille Nivkhs de l’île de Sakhaline et de la région de l’Amour.
Je n’oublierai pas non plus l’étonnement d’Henri devant deux pianos à queue, dressés
sur la scène d’un pauvre « Club » de village ; son émerveillement devant l’enseignement
des musiques autochtones – un temps si négligées – et devant des instruments
traditionnels flambant neufs dans une bourgade oubliée des hommes.

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Les Nivkhs et les Ouïltas, Koriaks, Tchouktches, Khantys, Mansis et Nénètses, avec qui
nous avons durant des mois étudié musique et oralité, tout en parlant avenir, ne
l’oublieront jamais. Et comment pourrais-je oublier sa douceur particulière avec les
vieilles dames, légèrement intimidées, qu’il s’apprêtait à enregistrer et devant
lesquelles il devait installer tout son matériel ?
Henri se disait athée. C’était la vérité, mais pas toute. Il était un athée très sélectif et les
esprits sibériens qu’il avait si souvent fait chanter ont dû lui trouver une place de choix
dans leur monde.
13 Jérôme CLER
Chercheur membre de l’Institut de recherches en ethnomusicologie et du Centre d'études
turques, ottomanes, balkaniques et d'Asie centrale (UMR 8032)
Avec Henri, nous nous retrouvions ici ou là : des occasions tantôt académiques,
séminaires, colloques, tantôt musicales ou festives : dans ce dernier cas, le seul
inconvénient c’était quand le mois d’abstinence qu’il s’imposait chaque année nous
empêchait de lever le coude ensemble… Il représentait « en société » un extraordinaire
mélange de respect et d’irrévérence, surtout dans le milieu universitaire, où son
irrésistible humour – parfois juste une brève remarque, un jeu de mots – pour peu
qu’on fût assis à ses côtés, mettait en péril le devoir de retenue qu’on essayait de
s’imposer à l’écoute d’un discours savant… Nous nous sommes connus à Tanger, lors
d’un colloque en 2001, où se trouvaient plusieurs ethnomusicologues. Présenté par un
tiers à une collègue ethnomusicologue, je l’avais entendu dire : « je ne suis pas
ethnomusicologue, moi, Madame, je gagne honnêtement ma vie », terminant sa phrase
dans un demi-rire qui lui retirait toute nuance offensante… Telle était sa douce mais
précieuse ironie, qu’il pouvait de plein droit se permettre, tant en imposait l’immensité
de sa connaissance des musiques, et tant sa stature était celle d’un homme absolument
libre et digne.
14 Gilles FRUCHAUX
Producteur, fondateur de Buda Musique
Henri Lecomte est natif de Lambezellec : il se dit humoriste breton et prétend que c’est
là un bel exemple d’oxymore. En fait, Henri est un dandy planétaire qui arpente les
steppes de Mongolie en chaussures anglaises de luxe et qui enregistre des chants
imitatifs dans la Kolyma, à l’extrême nord de la Sibérie, affrontant le grand froid revêtu
du manteau de fourrure d’une amie iranienne.
Sa mémoire est sélective : s’il ignore sans vergogne la liste des sociétés du CAC 40, il se
souvient sans peine du nom de la vièle à deux cordes kirghize (kiak), qui, comme
chacun sait, est très proche du qobuz kazakh. Son savoir encyclopédique sur tout ce qui
concerne les musiques du monde est imprégné de respect et d’humanisme.
15 Roberte HAMAYON
Directeur d’études honoraire à l’École Pratique des Hautes Études (Section des Sciences
religieuses) et fondatrice du Centre d’Études Mongoles et Sibériennes
C’est toujours par un sourire amusé que l’entrée de la longue silhouette d’Henri était
accueillie lors des séminaires du Centre d’Études Mongoles et Sibériennes : on attendait
son humour autant que son enthousiasme. Sa connaissance des musiques des peuples
autochtones de Sibérie était unique : infatigable, allant du nord au sud et d’est en ouest,
il avait réalisé des enregistrements admirables chez chacun d’eux – épopées chez l’un,
berceuses chez l’autre, luth ou guimbarde, tambour ou sonnailles chez tel autre encore.
Combien de fois ai-je eu le plaisir de faire écouter les chants d’imitation des oiseaux du

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troisième disque de la riche série publiée chez Buda Musique… Il avait compris que c’est
aux esprits de la nature que ces peuples adressaient leurs chants – Les esprits écoutent,
disait le festival qu’il avait organisé en 2007 au Musée du Quai Branly –, et c’est pour
cela qu’il avait si bien su rassurer le chamane évenk qu’il y avait invité. Son œuvre nous
reste. Lui nous manque.
16 Aïlana IRGIT
Assistante et traductrice d’Henri Lecomte dans la tournée musicale Les esprits écoutent
Par un bel automne sibérien, Henri, tu es venu en République de Touva pour ce que tu
aimes : la musique. À ce moment-là, j’ignorais encore l’ami précieux que tu allais
devenir pour moi. Dans la vie, on rencontre peu de gens à ton image : sincère, honnête,
ouvert et gentil. Tes bonnes blagues, tes petits plats cuisinés et ton café fort vont
manquer à notre famille. Tu resteras toujours dans nos cœurs, mon ami.
17 Clément JACQUEMOUD
Ethnologue spécialiste de l’Altaï, post-doctorant du LabEx Hastec
J’ai fait la connaissance d’Henri Lecomte en février 2007, lors du passage à Genève de la
tournée Les esprits écoutent qu’il avait organisée. Henri Lecomte avait parcouru la
Sibérie de long en large pour réunir une trentaine de musiciens autochtones en ce
grandiose événement, point culminant de sa fameuse série de disques éditée chez Buda
Musique. Je m’apprêtais alors à partir en Altaï et il m’avait présenté ceux qui
deviendraient mes premiers informateurs. Sans ce coup de pouce du destin qu’il a
personnifié, pister les chanteurs de gorge altaïens m’eut été beaucoup plus ardu. Son
excellent livre Les esprits écoutent (2012) demeure à mes yeux la Bible de tout
ethnomusicologue en Sibérie. Toujours généreux dans ses conseils, Henri Lecomte
éclairait de sa longue expérience du terrain les jeunes chercheurs. Je suis certain de ne
pas être le seul qu’il aura accompagné dans une carrière scientifique en rapport avec le
monde sibérien. Puisse son âme de chasseur de sons rejoindre les esprits des ancêtres
et continuer de nous guider depuis le monde d’en haut.
18 Svetlana Moïbovna KOUDRÏAKOVA
Chanteuse qu’Henri Lecomte avait fait venir pour la tournée Les esprits écoutent
Apparentée au chamane nganassane D. Kosterkin (dont l’enregistrement est inclus dans le
premier disque de l’anthologie de musiques sibériennes)
Ma famille et moi sommes profondément affligés par la nouvelle de la mort d’Henri
Lecomte. Son professionnalisme et sa fidélité à son travail ont gagné la reconnaissance
et l’infini respect du peuple nganassane. Il avait longtemps travaillé avec ma mère,
Valentina Vintaleevna Kosterkina et, en 2007, je suis venue chanter en France à son
invitation. Henri était une personne sincère, honnête, avec un bon cœur. Je le garderai
toujours dans mon cœur.
19 Philippe KRÜMM
Producteur chez Cinq Planètes, co-fondateur de Trad-Mag et anciennement chargé de mission
pour les musiques traditionnelles du Ministère de la Culture
Il existe des êtres singuliers. Henri Lecomte était de ceux-là. Il aimait le monde, sa
diversité, surtout la plus cachée. Il fut de ceux, peu nombreux, qui ne suivaient pas les
chemins tout tracés des médias incontournables aux visions étriqués. Il nous a révélé
ses mondes en nous ouvrant à un humanisme musical essentiel. Henri Lecomte était un
« grognon magnifique ». Une encyclopédie partageuse. Il nous a offert ses mondes, nous
rendant moins bornés.

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20 Tatiana LAMBOLEZ
Organisatrice de concerts sibériens, AltanArt
Henri Lecomte et moi nous sommes rencontrés en décembre 2016. Je me suis présentée
de la part d'un ami commun, Philippe Krümm. J'ai proposé de nous retrouver quelque
part dans Paris, mais Henri m'a tout de suite invitée chez lui, dans son appartement
situé rue Sidi-Brahim. Me voilà devant sa porte à l'heure convenue. Un très grand
monsieur avec les cheveux blancs et les yeux bleus m'accueille dans son appartement
rempli de livres, de disques, d'objets rapportés de ses voyages lointains... Nous faisons
connaissance... Durant trois heures, Henri me parle de ses rencontres sibériennes, de la
musique enregistrée (quelquefois, on entend même le bruit des chameaux ou de
rennes...), nous écoutons ensemble certains des onze CD consacrés aux musiques des
peuples autochtones édités sur le label Buda Musique, puis Henri me montre le livre Les
esprits écoutent... Il me parle des films à la réalisation desquels il a participé, comme
L’École Nomade. Il se souvient des rencontres organisées en France avec les artistes
évenks et le chamane yakoute (Savey)... Je suis enchantée et prête à l'écouter encore
des heures et des heures, mais obligée de le quitter en promettant de l'inviter à
participer à notre prochain événement autour des peuples autochtones de la Sibérie et
de la Mongolie.
Notre première collaboration a lieu en juin 2017 lors de notre festival « Toutes les
couleurs de Russie ». Henri Lecomte animait une conférence à l'INALCO sur les
chamanes sibériens en présence de nos amis Anne-Victoire Charrin, Dominique Samson
et Émilie Maj... Puis, en août 2017, se succèdent la journée de la Mongolie à Nomade
Lodge, un village de yourtes près de Paris, où nous organisons une conférence, la
projection d'un documentaire apporté par Henri et les concerts des artistes mongols et
bouriates. Henri y parlait avec passion des musiques mongoles et bouriates. Notre
dernière collaboration date du 10 mars 2018 à Paris au PanPiper, lors de notre
événement « Voyage aux pays des chamanes » avec la participation d’un chamane de la
république de Touva, Nikolay Oorzhak. Henri Lecomte et Anne-Victoire Charrin
animaient la conférence sur les peuples autochtones de la Sibérie.
Quel dommage que j'ai rencontré Henri si tard... Son départ prématuré ressemble à ce
que représente la disparition de ces chamanes sibériens à l'époque soviétique, qui n'ont
pas pu transmettre leurs connaissances et traditions ancestrales aux générations à
venir et aujourd'hui ces cultures des peuples autochtones de la Sibérie sont vouées à
disparaître... Je consulte régulièrement pour préparer mes conférences et garde
précieusement son livre Les esprits écoutent. Musiques des peuples autochtones de Sibérie,
qu'il m'avait dédicacé...
21 Alexandra LAVRILLIER
Maître de conférences en anthropologie, spécialiste des Évenks et des Évènes
Henri Lecomte a fait des choses fantastiques dans sa vie, et sur tous les continents, il
n’aura pas perdu son temps sur terre, notre cher Henri ! Notre première collaboration
fut pour le disque sur les chants évenks Chants rituels des nomades de la taïga pour lequel
nous avions fait un terrain commun en 1999. Depuis, les Évenks qui l'avaient rencontré
ne l'ont jamais oublié et demandaient chaque fois de ses nouvelles. Sa contribution à la
documentation et la publication des pièces majeures des musiques de Sibérie est sans
égale dans le monde et ses disques sont aujourd'hui utilisés aussi par les communautés
autochtones. Ils servent même parfois à faire renaître des chants oubliés. Je me
souviendrai de lui comme d'un chercheur ayant un profond et réel respect pour les

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autochtones de Sibérie et qui était persuadé de leur vitalité et de leur capacité à

dépasser les pressions multiples du monde contemporain. C'est d'ailleurs avec lui que
nous avons fondé l'association franco-évenke Sekalan en 2004, qui à force d'efforts
communs a fini par trouver suffisamment de fonds pour ouvrir l'école nomade chez les
Évenks éleveurs de rennes en 2006, et qui fonctionne aujourd'hui encore, plus de 10 ans
après son ouverture. Henri est aussi à l'origine du film L’École nomade réalisé par Michel
Debats, l'un des films les plus justes sur le sociétés nomades, film tourné en évenk,
chose très rare. Il y aurait encore beaucoup d'éloges à faire sur Henri, mais je
terminerai avec des mots d'adieu de tradition évenke, adressés à Henri : « Que ta route
soit aisée et droite vers l'autre monde, que le vent de la terre du monde des vivants
efface tes empreintes au sol, et que tu trouves une seconde vie heureuse dans l'autre
monde ! ».
22 Olga LETYKAÏ CSONKA
Chanteuse tchouktche, invitée à faire partie de la tournée Les esprits écoutent
J’avais beaucoup d’affection pour Henri, qui grâce à la musique, a su réunir les peuples
autochtones, à la fois par des concerts mais aussi par des disques. Je lui suis
reconnaissante pour son travail et pour le respect dont il faisait montre à l’égard des
autres : même dans son travail d’ethnologue et de producteur, Henri est toujours resté
avant tout un être humain et a toujours gardé contact avec les personnes qu’il a
rencontrées en Sibérie. En tant que musicienne traditionnelle et femme autochtone, je
souhaite qu’Henri reste un exemple pour les générations futures de chercheurs
occidentaux.
23 Marie LECOMTE-TILOUINE
Directrice de recherche au CNRS, spécialiste de l’Himalaya
Mes souvenirs d'Henri remontent à ma plus tendre enfance et à une configuration
familiale un peu spéciale. Henri est le plus jeune frère de mon père, mon oncle donc.
Mais tous deux ont perdu leur père prématurément et ma grand-mère a confié à mon
père la tâche d'encadrer Henri, qui était ainsi un peu son enfant, et pour nous, comme
un frère.
Henri a moins de différence d'âge avec mon frère aîné qu'avec mon père, et pour nous,
qui nous suivons en ordre rangé jusqu'à moi, le neuvième enfant d'une fratrie de treize,
Henri est comme un trait d'union intriguant entre le monde sérieux des adultes et le
monde turbulent de notre tribu.
Henri se soucie peu des bonnes manières, charrie sa mère pourtant si altière et tient
tête à notre père, devant nos yeux ébahis. Il ouvre une brèche dans l'autorité
souveraine qui nous encadre. Henri, électron libre, est toujours par monts et par vaux,
et le dimanche, au repas de famille, on apprend où il se trouve ou ce qui lui arrive,
ouvrant une autre brèche dans notre petit monde. Ou bien, s'il est présent, il nous
raconte ce qu'il a vu, ce qui lui a plu, droit dans les yeux, à nous, les plus petits, comme
si nous étions des gens importants, ceux à qui il fallait s'adresser.
Son intérêt pour les autres le conduira à s'embarquer dans une vie intégralement
menée comme une aventure, sans carcan d'aucune sorte, mais avec ce souci constant
d'en faire fructifier chaque rencontre, d'en rendre plaisant chaque moment, de mettre
en valeur les talents, pour qu'elle serve à l'enrichissement de tous.
La curiosité intellectuelle d'Henri était communicative, contagieuse même, et au-delà
des vocations qu'il a suscitées, il laisse à la postérité une œuvre unique en
ethnomusicologie, embrassant, avant l'heure, les musiques traditionnelles et leurs

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formes renouvelées par la « fusion », ainsi qu'une exceptionnelle collection d'archives

en ethnomusicologie déposée à la Bibliothèque nationale de France.
24 Frédéric LEOTAR
Directeur du Centre des musiciens du monde (Montréal), spécialiste de la musique touva
J'ai rencontré Henri Lecomte par l'intermédiaire de Roberte Hamayon qui avait
pressenti des affinités entre nous en raison de notre intérêt commun pour les
traditions musicales sibériennes et centrasiatiques. Quand je l'ai rencontré pour la
première fois, j'ai été saisi par un homme à la fois simple et érudit, avec un côté
autodidacte qui ne l'empêchait pas pour autant d'être direct et précis. Son appartement
était rempli, débordait même, de livres et de documents audio les plus variés et
provenant de toute la planète ! Henri Lecomte était un amoureux de liberté qui ne se
laissait pas guider par un courant de pensée mais s'abreuvait de ce qu'il considérait
être le plus juste. C'est cette liberté d'esprit et d'action que je retiendrai de ma
rencontre avec un homme discret et pudique. De toute évidence, Henri aimait les êtres
qu'il rencontrait, enregistrait, filmait...
25 Emilie MAJ
Fondatrice des Éditions Borealia. Spécialiste de la Yakoutie
Henri était là pour moi avant que je fasse sa connaissance. En effet, alors qu’en 1999 je
préparais mon premier séjour en Yakoutie, je me trouvais assez dépourvue devant le
défaut de documentation sur cette région. Il manquait tout… sauf deux CD que j’avais
dénichés dans une bibliothèque de Strasbourg : Yakoutie. Épopées et improvisations et
Kolyma. Čukč, Even, Jukaghir. Chants de nature et d'animaux. Grâce à eux, j’ai pu rêver à la
Yakoutie et me délecter du livret. Au début de mes études d’ethnologie, j’avais promis à
Jérôme Cler de venir parler aux étudiants de musicologie de la Sorbonne de la
guimbarde yakoute. J’ignorais devant qui j’allais me trouver : l’épreuve, pour
l’Alsacienne fraichement montée à la capitale, fut terrible. Henri Lecomte, le Breton,
l’inconnu, était là, lançant des piques et me désarçonnant. Ce n’est qu’ensuite que j’ai
appris à connaître Henri et à l’apprécier, le retrouvant de temps en temps dans un café
place de la Nation à Paris. Pro-sibérien, c’était quelqu’un qui avait en horreur le
racisme et le nationalisme. Et quelle personne modeste devant un tel travail accompli !
Les jeunes générations de chercheurs auront beaucoup à apprendre de Henri Lecomte,
qui a fait connaître au plus grand nombre musiques et musiciens d’ailleurs. Demeurent
sa mémoire et ses publications et, surtout, cette liste unique de disques, dont douze
enregistrés en Sibérie, qui constituent déjà des archives sonores extraordinaires.
26 François PICARD
Président de la Société française d’ethnomusicologie, Sorbonne Université
J’ai connu Henri Lecomte, cinéaste, joueur de shakuhachi, encyclopédie vivante des
instruments et des musiques du monde, avant qu’il se spécialise dans les productions
musicales des petits peuples arctiques ; nous avons fait connaissance autour des flûtes
d’Asie orientale, puis appris à nous connaître en faisant le tour du monde en quatre-
vingt jours pour France Musique. C’est alors qu’il a commencé à apprendre le russe.
Comme tout ce qu’il faisait, il l’a fait en dilettante et en amateur, mais à fond, avec
passion et avec cette fière modestie qui le caractérisait. Puis il est allé au Tadjikistan, en
est revenu, puis il est parti en Sibérie, jusque dans la forêt et la taïga, d’où il a failli ne
pas revenir. Une Fête de la Musique rue Sidi-Brahim nous l’a enlevé. Restent tant de
musiques, de moments et de connaissances partagées, et des amitiés solides comme un
roc breton.

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27 Bouzhigmaa SANTARO
Vièliste mongole
Penser à ma première rencontre avec Henri Lecomte me ramène à mes premières
années en France, alors que j'étudiais l'ethnomusicologie à la Sorbonne. C'est à cette
époque qu'il me proposa de donner ensemble des conférences sur la musique mongole.
Il faut profiter des gens tant qu'ils sont encore vivants. J'aurais dû saisir l'opportunité
qui m'était offerte pour travailler sur ce projet avec Henri. Il aimait profondément la
musique et les peuples qui la représentaient.
Henri Lecomte
Henri Lecomte présentant ses instruments traditionnels lors d’un atelier pour enfants à la MJC de Ris
Orangis à la fin des années 1980.
© Philippe Krümm
BIBLIOGRAPHIE
Bibliographie
Livres
2001 Guide des meilleures musiques du monde en CD (Paris, Bleu Nuit).

2006 En collaboration avec Gérald Arnaud, Musiques de toutes les Afriques (Paris, Fayard).
2012 Les esprits écoutent. Musiques des peuples autochtones de Sibérie (Sampzon, Delatour).

308
Articles
Dans les Cahiers d’ethnomusicologie

1991 Le pèlerinage aux sources. Mohamed Reza Shadjarian au Tadjikistan, 4, pp. 247-253.
1995 Musique à la croisée des cultures. Échos de la Genève internationale, 8, pp. 247-248.
1996 À la recherche de l’authenticité perdue, 9, pp. 115-129.
2001 Lucie Rault. Musiques de la tradition chinoise, 14, pp. 321-324.
2003 Une réédition de musique japonaise, 16, pp. 253-256.
2004 Une réédition des archives de Hugh Tracey, pionnier des enregistrements de terrain en
Afrique, 17, pp. 370-373.
2006 Approches autochtones du chamanisme sibérien au début du XXIe siècle, 19, pp. 37-52.
2009 Anthologie de la musique congolaise (RDC), 22, pp. 295-299.
2011 Maroc en musiques, 24, pp. 295-297.
2012 German & Claudia Khatylaev : Arctic Spirit. Music from the Siberian North – Sakha People,
pp. 288-290.
2012 The Heart of Qin in Hong Kong, 25, pp. 307-309.
2015 Chine. Tsar Teh-yun, maître du qin, 28, pp. 283-284.
Discographie
11 CD consacrés aux musiques des peuples autochtones de Sibérie chez Buda

Musique
1991 Sibérie 1. Nganasan. Chants chamaniques et narratifs de l'Arctique sibérien.

1994 Sibérie 2. Yakoutie. Épopées et improvisations.
1995 Sibérie 3. Kolyma. Čukč, Even, Jukaghir. Chants de nature et d'animaux.
1997 Sibérie 5. Nanaj, Oroč, Udēgē, Ulč. Chants chamaniques et quotidiens du bassin de l’Amour.
1997 Sibérie 7. Nenec, Sel’kup. Voix du Finisterre arctique.
2000 Sibérie 4. Kamtchatka. Korjak. Tambours de danse de l’Extrême-Orient sibérien.
2002 Avec A. Lavrillier, Sibérie 8. Evenk. Chants rituels des nomades de la taïga.
2005 Sibérie 9. Buryat. Rites, fêtes et danses autour du lac Baïkal.
2006 Sibérie 6. Sakhaline. Nivkh, Ujl’Ta. Musique vocale et instrumentale.
2009 Sibérie 10. Altaï. Le Chant des Montagnes d’or.
2012 Sibérie 11. Khanty, Mansi. Chants de l’ours, harpes et lyres des rives de l’Ob.
2014 Sibérie (2 CD). Les esprits écoutent. Musiques des peuples autochtones de Sibérie (18 peuples de
Sibérie, enregistrés entre 1992 et 2011).
Autres disques
1993 L'esprit du silence, Yoshikazu Iwamoto (flûte shakuhachi) (Buda Musique).

1993 Maroc. Musiques de la Haute Montagne, Ahmed Ben Aïssa (flûte) (Buda Musique).
1993 Les orients du luth, I, Adel Shams El Din (percussion) (Buda Musique).
1995 Turquie, musique instrumentale d'Anatolie, Musa, Arif Sag (Buda Musique).
1995 L'esprit du vent, Yoshikazu Iwamoto (flûte shakuhachi) (Buda Musique).
1997 Les orients du luth, II, Marc Loopuyt (luth) (Buda Musique).
1997 Un Troubadour de Constantine. L'Arbre des Modes, I, Salim Fergani (Buda Musique).
1999 The spirit of dusk, Yoshikazu Iwamoto (flûte shakuhachi) (Buda Musique).
2000 Gnawa de Mostaganem, Rituels de la Layla et du Moussem (Iris Music).
2002 Chant courtois, Etsuko Chida (koto) (Buda Musique).

309
2002 Musiques du coeur de l'Arabie. Yemen (Buda Musique).

2003 Le chant de la terre et des étoiles, Luzmila Carpio (Accords Croisés).
2005 Djelimousso Mah Damba (Buda Musique).
2014 L'âme du luth, Waed Bouhassoum (luth et chant) (Buda Musique).
2016 La voix de la passion, Waed Bouhassoum (luth et chant) (Buda Musique).

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Études mongoles et sibériennes,

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Human-environment relationships in Siberia and Northeast China. Knowledge,

Human-nature relationships in the Tungus societies of Siberia and Northeast China

Evenki migrations in early times and their relationship with rivers

Indigenous knowledge, skills, mobilities and political landscapes

Visiting Memorial Tree. Micro-geopolitics of an Evenki place composed and performed

Human and animal individuals’ personhood, ritual practices and luck

Tiger rituals and beliefs in shamanic Tungus-Manchu cultures

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

An exploration of a Tibetan lama’s study of the Pythagorean theorem in the

Braae Christel, Among Herders of Inner Mongolia. The Haslund-Christensen

Teleki Krisztina, Introduction to the study of Urga’s heritage

Balci Bayram, Renouveau de l'islam en Asie centrale et dans le Caucase

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Clément Jacquemoud, Diversité religieuse en République de l’Altaï : concurrences et

Raphaël Blanchier, Les danses mongoles en héritage : performance et transmission du bii

Hommage à l’ethnomusicologue Henri Lecomte (1938-2018)

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Alexandra Lavrillier, Aurore Dumont and Donatas Brandišauskas (dir.)

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Human-nature relationships in the

Alexandra Lavrillier, Aurore Dumont and Donatas Brandišauskas

The Tungus and anthropology

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Figure 1. Map of the repartition of the Evenki in Russia and China

Russia: 1 – Amur region, 2 – Buryatia, 3 – Chukotka, 4 – Irkutsk region, 5 – Kamchatka, 6 –

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

The Tungus in Russia

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

The Tungus in China

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Figure 2. Positions of the case studies in the present volume

© Max Planck Institute (adapted by Alexandra Lavrillier and Aurore Dumont)

42 Dedicated to ethno-historical retrospectives, the first part of the volume reviews

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

2. Indigenous Knowledge, Mobilities, and Political Landscapes

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

3. Human and Animal “Individuals”, Ritual Practices, and Luck

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

58 Several papers show that, despite several decades of communist anti-religious

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Arzyutov, D. V. 2017a Antropolog ili politik? Politicheskie pristrastiia i teoreticheskie postroeniia

Brodnikov, A. A. 2001 Sbor iassaka: zavisimost’ processa ob‘’iasachivaniia ot potestarno-

Bulatova, N. & L. Grenoble 1999 Evenki (Mu◌̈nchen, Lincom Europa).

Bulgakova, T. D. 2013 Nanai Shamanic Culture in Indigenous Discourse (Fürstenberg, Kulturstiftung

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018

Delaby, L. 1976 Chamanes toungouses, Études mongoles et sibériennes 7.

Descola, Ph. 2005 Par-delà nature et culture (Paris, Gallimard).

Gorelikov, A. 2010 Transformatsiia pravogo statusa korennyh narodov v XX veke [The

Études mongoles et sibériennes, centrasiatiques et tibétaines, 49 | 2018