There are many factors that drive these sorts of agricultural transformations. Many observers of the uplands of southeast Asia have expressed concern about the various pressures that undermine local systems of resource management and subsistence production. But, while not dismissing these external pressures, it can often be useful to return to agro-economic basics. Farmers in the southeast Asian uplands, like farmers all over the world, usually adopt new crops because they perceive that they will be more profitable than their current alternatives. Of course, innovation carries an array of risks. Some of these risks are particularly intense in relation to tree crops, where long term investments (that have involved years of deferred income) can be wiped out by climatic misfortune (such as severe frost), market disruptions or regulatory intrusion. Farmers sometimes make mistakes. Sometimes they badly miscalculate. Sometimes they are unlucky. And sometimes they go broke.

But they still try to make decisions that will improve their livelihoods. And one of the reasons that rubber is proving popular in north-western Laos is that it is increasingly looking like a profitable agricultural alternative. A recent paper by Vongpaphane and Cramb published in Agroforestry Systems provides some results of detailed economic and ecological modelling of rubber production in Luang Namtha province. Here is an extract from the conclusion:

These results show that, given current and likely future market conditions, investment in smallholder rubber production in the uplands of Northern Laos can be highly profitable. The results from the discounted cash flow analysis for the study village help confirm that the expansion of rubber planting in that village is based on good economic returns. Therefore, rubber can be considered as having considerable potential for poor upland farmers, in line with the government policy of stabilising shifting cultivation and supporting new livelihood options for poverty reduction. This should be given prominence in current policy discussions about the desirability of granting large-scale foreign concessions for rubber planting.

The spatial analysis indicates that the potential for rubber in the study village is not an isolated case; there is a considerable area in Luangnamtha Province that appears to be economically suitable for smallholder rubber. It is important to note that the maps presented are very rough approximations and should not be used for the government’s land-use planning and allocation process, especially where farmers are uncertain about reducing their dependence on shifting cultivation. The role for government, as in other countries where smallholder rubber has played a significant role in rural development, is to ensure the provision of good quality planting material, to assist financially during the long investment period when no income is generated, and to continue investing in roads and marketing infrastructure, especially feeder roads to enable those in less accessible areas to participate.

I am sure this won’t be the last word on the issue. Other New Mandala readers who have worked on rubber in northern Laos, or on comparable agricultural transformations in other parts of southeast Asia, are very welcome to contribute your views.

Some of New Mandala readers and contributors may be familiar with an article by Grant Evans entitled “Transformation of Jinghong, Xishuangbanna, PRC” and included in the book Where China meets Southeast Asia (ISEAS, 2000). In that article, Evans referred to various tourist projects planned to be carried out in Jinghong, the capital of the Xishuangbanna Dai Autonomous Prefecture, projects supported by local authorities and based on features taken from what is supposedly traditional Lue culture.

Since the 1990s, these projects have evolved into what seems now more like a compromise between tourist industry demands and the development of Buddhist education in the region: a huge temple compound located outside Jinghong City (not far from the place where the palace of the last Chao Paendin used to stand), and which will house the regional Buddhist school.

On November 3, the ceremony of inauguration of the main vihaan (ordination hall) of the new Wat Luang Sipsongpanna (the original, Lue name for Xishuangbanna), also known in Chinese as “Southern Theravada Culture Center”, took place. Several senior monks belonging to the Theravada, Tibetan and Han Chinese traditions took part in the short chanting ceremony which consecrated the vihaan, organized by the local Buddhist Association and attended by local authorities.

Access during that first day was restricted, and it wasn´t until November 4 and after that the Lue commoners were allowed to enter the temple in masse to make offerings. As several thousands of locals turned out to visit the site during the following days, local police had to limit access to the ordination hall and other areas of the temple. An entrance fee of 80 RMB (slightly more than 10 USD) will be charged to non-Lue visitors from now on.

The new temple-school-tourist spot is being built mainly with funds from a real estate company located in Liaoning province (Northeast China), which will run bussines within the complex for more than 50 years. The project is thus mainly conceived by local authorities and entrepreneurs as an investment to boost tourism in the region. Apart from the ordination hall, a big Buddha image (in the Thai walking-Buddha style) and a stupa are planned to be built behind the ordination hall and up the hill.

For those interested in the relationship between national culture and “local” expressions of identity, here is an interesting image from Muang Hai in southern China. This young girl (whose family are the proud owners of an 800 year old tea tree) wore her family heirlooms as she served a delightfully rustic lunch of Puer Tea, chicken and vegetables. Her elaborate head-dress featured French piastres from Indochina and a neat row of Thai baht, with the king’s head providing a nice touch of royal authority. I’m not sure if Thai cultural guardian Ladda Tangsupachai would be impressed with this cross-border appropriation of Thai national sovereignty!

A few days ago I posted several images of Sipsongpanna, taken during my recent (brief) visit there. My selection of images was intended to raise questions about Sipsongpanna’s cultural characteristics. I deliberately chose Han Chinese and modernist images to serve as a contrast with common representations of Sipsongpanna as a site of trans-border “Tainess” (representations that are often promoted by a new generation of pan-Thai intellectuals in Thailand). One reader, quite fairly, responded:

 Andrew, I believe I get your point, but this is not all there is to it, right?

Right! I have no intention of denying the contemporary salience of “Tai-ness” in Sipsongpanna but the economic, demographic and social transformations that are taking place there invite new ways of thinking about culture in frontier regions. Is “Han” culture any less a legitimate and authentic part of the culture of Sipsongpanna than “Tai” culture? Are ethnic categories like “Han” and “Tai” really a useful way of understanding long-standing cultural dynamism? No doubt, ethnic markers are deployed in all sorts of official, unofficial, private and public situations but it would be interesting to see what sort of view of the region emerged from a conceptual framework that did not take ethnic categorisation as its starting point. It wouldn’t be easy given the extent to which Sipsongpanna (and Yunnan more generally) is saturated with the discourse of ethnicity, but it’s worth a try!

Just to get the ball rolling… This was my first trip to Jinghong in Sipsongpanna. Jinghong is a place that I had read much about (and imagined even more). What a disappointment! A brief visit certainly provides no basis for more than the most superficial assessment but I must say that this is one of the most unprepossessing large towns/small cities I have ever seen. Give me a long weekend in Chiang Rai any day!

Manau festivals are commonly held over multiple days and involve large-scale formation dancing.  It is, therefore, helpful to have at least some idea of the shape and colour of the public performances.  Manau are held in areas of northern Burma (in the Kachin and Shan states), in southwest China (in some areas of Yunnan), in northern Thailand (in Chiang Mai province) and in northeast India (in Arunachal Pradesh).  Some are annual events while others are held less frequently and reserved for specific special occasions.

Image 1: A Manau dance

This is the first session of dancing at the Manau I attended.  This snapshot gives some feel for the way that the dancers form patterns on the Manau ground.  The twirling, twisting shapes of the dancing formations are supposed to mimic the patterns on the Manau posts.  This photograph was taken from a concreted viewing terrace that abuts the Manau ground.  

Image 2: The Manau Poles

The Manau poles (Manau Shadung) are the central feature of the Jingpo Manau and are arguably the key symbol of the Kachin groups (Jinghpaw, Jingpo and Singpo) across mainland Southeast Asia.  Different Manau grounds have different numbers of poles and the patterns etched and painted on them also vary somewhat across Southeast Asia. 

Image 3: Red Flag over Manau

This Manau was held on Chinese territory, only a few kilometers from the Sino-Burmese frontier.  The Chinese flag flutters in the distance and beneath the flag the audience watches closely.

Image 4: Dancing continues on the final day

This final session of dancing drew a much smaller crowd than earlier in the week.  The dancers are, however, still excited to have a final chance to show off their moves.

This post is part of the New Mandala feature on the “Yunnan Fringe“. 

My next posts in the “Yunnan Fringe” series will provide information and analysis on a Manau festival that was held in far western Yunnan, within sight of Burma, in March 2007.  Some of these posts will focus on what goes on around the periphery of a Manau, in the areas where most people never point their cameras or focus their gaze.  I hope to provide some record of the life and colour of the Manau beyond the more common images of formation dancing and colourful outfits.

From the first moment that I arrived in the village where this Manau was held I was struck (sometimes quite literally) by the groups of children running around with plastic guns.  These guns - most of which can fire small pellets at high velocity - were for sale all over the Manau ground.  The “gun” traders, who were almost all Burmese Muslims, were selling hundreds of these Chinese-made pistols, rifles and shotguns to young Jingpo, Shan and Chinese boys, and their parents.    

Of course, many young boys (and girls) around the world love replica firearms, and delight in shooting their friends with any new armaments they can get their hands on.  At the Manau not only was the variety of replica weapon technology on display quite remarkable but there was a general acceptance that the children (and even some adults) would spend every hour with their guns - firing at people, setting up targets and even ambushing other “armed” groups.   

To give New Mandala readers some appreciation for this “gun culture” I have provided a small selection of my photos and video that help to clarify some of this unexpected activity. 

Snapshot 1: Browsing for weapons

Some of the dozens of Burmese traders selling plastic guns at the Manau festival told me that a simple, small gun would sell for only 6 Yuan.  More complex and powerful weapons could be had for up to 30 Yuan.  They indicated that because most people who attended the festival had relatively little discretionary income it was worth selling large numbers of cheap guns, rather than just a few more expensive ones.   

Snapshot 2: A plastic gun store 

This short, unedited video should  give New Mandala readers more of a feel for the ambience of the Manau festival and its “gun” culture.  I can be heard on this particular clip in conversation with the replica gun salesman.  I ask him if I can take his picture, and then he grabs the big gun to strike a pose!

Snapshot 3: Taking aim

This gun cost 20 Yuan.  Some of the boys said it could hit a target at least 25 metres away.  Somewhat surprisingly, this boy is shooting at a crowd of young adults – but I don’t think he hit anyone! 

Snapshot 4: Waiting for customers

Snapshot 5: Jingpo sword and bag 

Of course, the Jingpo in China (and their Kachin cousins in Burma) have a long association with warfare and weapons that goes back (in most accounts) right to the start of their southwards migration.  On both sides of the border there are lots of guns and swords, and every male dancer in the large Manau dances carries a ceremonial piece.  It is not just the young boys who get armed for the Manau festivities.   

Snapshot 6:

Snapshot 7: Dancing with swords

This picture, taken on the last day of the Manau festivities, gives a clearer idea of the prominent position of swords in the Manau dances.  I will be writing much more about the dances, and their implications, in future posts as part of the New Mandala feature on the “Yunnan Fringe“. 

Snapshot 8: Kachin Swords at the Manau Ground

The Kachin Independence Army (KIA) – which fought the Burmese government from 1961 until ceasefire negotiations began in 1993 - uses crossed Kachin swords as its main symbol.  Some, but certainly not all, people at this Manau had strong connections to Kachin in Burma, and to the KIA.     

Snapshot 9: KIA shoulder patch

There is much more that can be written about the guns and swords that featured at this Manau festival.  These images and brief notes are just a start.  

Very soon, I will be bringing New Mandala readers a taste of other elements of the Manau including a long discussion of photography, and its place in the festivities.   

To re-activate the somewhat dormant Yunnan Fringe feature (which will receive a number of new posts in coming days) I am now exploring the various options for uploading video to New Mandala.  This remains a nascent enterprise. 

Just to begin, I have uploaded a short clip from my recent visit to far western Yunnan, where I went right to the Burmese border.

Today’s minute long video shows the band in the middle of a Jingpo Manau ground, singing a traditional Manau song, as up to a thousand people dance around them.  I have quite a few hours of very interesting footage from my time in Yunnan and hopefully some of this material can be integrated into New Mandala over the coming weeks.

Please do let me know if there are any technical problems with this video.  As always, your feedback is very welcome - I can receive your e-mails here.

For those New Mandala readers who have expressed an interest in the murals at the Dai-Jingpo cultural park in Jie Gao, just outside Ruili, Yunnan, I have now posted more examples of the artwork.  Viewed in the context of the previous post, these examples may give readers a fuller basis for commenting on these interesting murals.  Unfortunately, none of these new pictures were accompanied by any explanatory Dai or Chinese text.

In this post I also include a close-up of the meeting between Mao and the Chairman of the Dehong Autonomous Prefecture (Image 3) and a photograph (Image 4) supplied by New Mandala reader, Roger P.  It shows Zhou Enlai in Sipsongpanna, another Dai Autonomous Prefecture in western Yunnan.

Image 1

Image 2

Image 3

The full mural is available here. 

Image 4

Thanks to New Mandala reader Roger P. for providing this final image of Zhou Enlai during a visit to Sipsongpanna in the 1950s.