Whoo. This guy writes LONG:

"As for the issues, I am also very interested in the notion of erasing lines between indigenous groups. In my travels I have always been amazed at the similarities I find in other indigenous peoples to my own people. Sometimes physical attributes are similar, however most often it's attitude. I feel as though I'm in the presence of my aunts and uncles and usually there is a level of warmth, humor, acceptance and understanding almost automatically. And a huge amount of respect for each other's ways of doing things and (sic) colonialistic experiences. The fact that your people are situated within the boundaries of a nation that my people are wrongly named after (Indian) is very ironic. I suppose that moniker is somewhat resisted by your peoples as well, correct? Are the recent conflicts a struggle between your tribe and the powers that be to not be consumed by that, I'm assuming, 'nationalistic identity'? I'm always interested in a dialogue around deconstructing words and labels like 'Indian' that have been decided upon and used in a 'blanket' way by the unnamed 'they' (keepers of the power whom we shouldn't question). Especially that label.

"Talking with people that are Indians from India I always want to ask what they think of that term being used to describe an entirely different group of cultures from another continent. We call ourselves Indian or slang-wise, 'Enden', the same way a black person uses the 'n' word. We know it's inaccurate and wrong but it's still an in-community way of calling each other. It's these types of basic issues that I confront, and see Native people on the North American continent confronting, each time we work to express ourselves. I also see that the immediacy of threats to our existence in the states as Native peoples is much more covert, it has gone underground to an extent and is couched in the bureaucratic quagmire of he Department of the Interior, our legal 'guardians' in our ward-of-the-court status as almost-sovereign nations.

"My point is, the genocide and conflict is still with us her in the states, but is couched in policy rather than outright confrontation as it sounds like it is in your case and it seems to be in many places around the world for Indigenous groups. At any rate, I do think there are some powerful issues to discuss here and Indigenous groups need to work with each other internationally, realizing these nationalistic boundaries are not drawn on the earth but oftentimes rejected by the earth itself. I have met and learned from many groups around the world and been reminded what is at the heart of our connections to the earth, each other and our collective ways of striving for a balance and protecting the identity of our relatives and extended families that form the cultures we are a part of. There is a revitalization, a remarkable sense of deja vu and a profound joy in the coming together of land-based peoples each from opposite sides of the world. I see it as a mending of the original world wide web, a critical re-connection and acknowledgment of the physical and spiritual ties that have been there in the past and continue to operate as undercurrents and movements of spiritual power. I don't call myself a medicine person, but I am aware of these connections. And, just as we watch the systematic eradication of cultures in the latest conflicts in the Middle east, we can ironically see what it takes to survive culturally and physically from that attack on culture. Culture, like culture (artists, etc.), is feared by power. That, I find fascinating too, the word culture. There are at least three meanings and depending on what community you grew up in, one of the three meanings will emerge first.

"I obviously think of my family of the Northern Cheyenne and our homeland first, and probably the petri dish last. I did a small mixed media piece a few years ago called Culture/Culture/Culture, that tried to examine the convergence of those three definitions. Sorry about my long-winded-ness, these are issues dear to me and that need to be discussed.

"As for the dvd's, I can get you several before you leave, no problem.
I will also send you copies of the children's books I published a few
years ago. So, peace to you and let's keep talking."

So I decided to e-open my correspondence with B. I find him interesting and would like to work with him.

Me" "I was thinking of you as ME, Ann and some of us are getting together as we all shared 9/11 - lots better than I make it sound not really since we were all up at Martha's Vineyard to get away from the dust. We were actually plotting DigiFlaherty back then....

Anyway I am leaving again for M on October 15 so I would like to pick up our e-conversation and see if we can get any conceptual ducks in a row incase I can follow up on anything there. I will be gone till Dec 15 but will occupy cyberspace. Hit me back and let's talk!"

And I got this from B in reply:

"Sorry I've been out of the loop, crunch time for some projects this month. I was there during September 11 too, had a show in the Bronx at Wave Hill so it's interesting I was in your thoughts. As for our dialogue, here's a tidbit. One thing I've always been interested in exploring is the implications of the camera (video or still) in the experience of my people. The camera has been turned on Northern
Cheyennes ever since photography became portable. I just worked through some issues around others (non-Natives) videotaping my people (the Youth RAP summer project) and me being the intermediary in the community. It's hard for me to turn the camera on my own people, much less allow others to (I'm very protective of my people based on past experiences). The history of exploitation is enormous with my people, especially around photographic and video images. Always being defined, that's us. So, my youth media project seeks to reverse that, however it raises questions as well around us turning the camera on ourselves or each other. Interesting dilemma. Anyway, food for thought. Has there been similar issues in your community?"

I am glad to hear from him.

Went with Z to the Marisa Tomei reading at the Bruno Walter. Sophocles' Elektra was given a very contemporary anti-W twist during the discussion; perhaps too much. But hey it was for the Imagine04-RNC thing so. For the same reason didn't really say anything about the otherwise tiresome and banal East-West thing set up by the director. Of course B played it up - did he say dhammacracy?? Hahaha.

Anyway to say nonviolence as a social organizing principle in India, Tibet and Mongolia is understandable given his background as a monk. Yet as I was thinking re Ross Terrill's remarks about China and empire: no, not only is empire not only as Western concept, but also China is not the only Asian power with a taste of empire. My recent experiences in M lead me to think India (sorry B!) too has violent empire tendencies. Something there between size and entitlement - after all what good is it to have weight if you can't throw it around? Soldiers in I can shoot to kill citizens upon suspicion and the highest court upholds this. And look at Goa, Sikkim, Kashmir. No, the view from the other side is different. Didn't say anything to B - just told him he looked great in his leather jacket. Maybe I should get some leather things. I'm the right age now. LOL.

Yet, the discussion was about 04. I loathe W but I despise Kerry and the Dems. I asked Z if she thought Israel, US were rogue nations but didn't get any scintillation. Someone like Kerry, likes apart, can't lead a rogue nation: a hustler, street preacher, a movie star, an angry man... now there we have something. How I miss Dean. And Clinton. I think he and his ilk will be back in 08. After all a bland Kerry in the White House with a Republican majority in the Senate trying to deal with Iraq, deficit, unemployment, environment, Medicare.... He's just gotta want to be Pres so he cat tell his father and his grandchildren. No Dem in his right mind, with the usual party powerbase, could possible want this job. He will be tarred with the failures of Bush and lead to the right wing coming back in 09. Of course Dean would have been different, with his swarm powerbase. But I hope he will not be the Great Road Not Taken in my lifetime. Hopefully, he will an idea whose rime will come in the next few years.

Had lunch with J o h n E . Couldn't bring myself to ask him for money though we had siscussed it before I left. I have a hard time with funders. But of course I was more keen on having him know who I was and what it was Itrying to do. And not to come across too hungry. Plus the ecent distasteful experience with J o s h.

Still I think what he does with Laos and Cambodia is good but runof the mill Birkenstockism. And he was alarmed by what i tols him - attracted to the ideas but perhaps lacking a little personal courage? I hae to call him. Perhaps his bro will like the little baseball film I made since he is doing his dissert on baseball in Cuba.

What I am trying to do is soooo difficult.

Had an amazing conversation over the phone with Y e n L u W o n g. I had googled here based on what little info I had - that she was at U C S D and taught theater - to tell her that I had a book from my mother for her. Turns out she had documented the troupe back in 1976 and kept the films, shot on S8, with the Smithsonian. But wonders! she had also just come back from Yunnan where she was born. Dad was the head of Bank of China so that puts her right up there in KMT China. We have the same ideas about culture, preservation, interpretation of the weaker and the smaller. Plus she was In Tennesse in Knoxville and had an interest in A p p a l a c h i a. I sent her my A p p a l s h o p i n C h i n a article.

Heady day over all. Met up with B a b l o o at the W i t n e s s office, so spanking new ay 8 0 H a n s e n P l a c e I wcouldn't even find the door! S a m and A d i t i were nic eand am not sure why they needed me to recut Tamyaima's Soldiers in Sarongs. The soundtracks are a problem. I spenty 5 nights doing S a n a m a c h a' s S t o r y with M i c h e l l e; can't do it for free. W'll see = but got to ask if Witness might be intersted in funding the film S t e v e n wants to do. I am glad he agrees B should be the central figure, or one of the central figures. Plus W i t n e s s worls with organizations not individuals and I think ours should be an indie. Perhaps F r o n t l i n e.

Over coffee with B we talked about my recnt trip. I told him what I told T a m o G a n g m u m e i : that the problem is that the M e i t e i s do not have a coherent historical vision of their future. Perplexed, he aske me what we should do. What an amazing question. I told him about my projects in re-mapping" - that's about all I can do as a cultural worker. He agrees independence is out of the question, or at least very difficult. Interesting to hear about Lichtenstein's 1993 proposal.

I also tested out my summer epiphany: that we love things mayang and I n d i a n but cannot take to being ruled by them. That I think is a place to start.

I don't think we will have time and space to talk about our film at S's on Thursday. Maybe I will still invite B.

Finally met C h r i s for coffee today. The usual dinner at 66 and broadway. Love being able to say I have an agent - and with ICM too! Haha.

Nice guy. i like him. C o n c o r d, M a s s. He's lost weight so we talked gym and I had tons of advice. He's working on a diet book. Turns out he did submit the proposal to NatGeo so I need to follow up with J e n n y. I also talked to him about my baseball = I think if we can get someone like R u s t y S t a u b on, as M i k e suggests, we can make something of this mets thing.


Dashed down to Chelsea to meet K a t h y and R o b e r t o. I think they finally got it that i am pissed I missd the deadline for the C P B. my NY projects barely budged in my absence. You want something done, you have to do it it seems. At least not until I am powerful enought to take meeiting in my bathrobe. Hehe.

Manipur never ceases to confound me.

So here I am, doing my dutiful research with seriousness of purpose. I go with Muna and Zabeth to the latter’s neighborhood Kang festival. I am taking pictures of the festival, focusing on traditional rice products from paddy necklaces to Laloo candy.

On the way back, Muna jokes that the homos are preparing for the evening. I almost drop the camera in the car. A Homo Dance for Kang? This I must see of course.

So we turn back, after I leave my sneakers behind and slipping on some flip-flops for access to the temple area.

The temple mantop fills slowly, everyone filled with anticipation for the evening’s performances. My cousin astonishes me by taking center stage in the Joidep sing-along they start out with. She’s such a sly one. Then follows the young maidens Chali dance. It goes on for quite a while, some dancers being quite accomplished. The last presentation by two handsome gay boys, dressed all in traditional temple white. The lights go off and they perform by candlelight, first a solo by the cute fair one and then a solo by the tall dark and handsome guy and then their duet. Oh my. Traditionally performed by a man and a woman, the dance brings to life the murals that circle the temple mantop. The Ten Incarnations of Vishnu,

They were excellent, and indeed they turned out to be professional trained dancers. Many young men watch, but since Manipuri boys tend to hold hands or wrap their arms around each other, gay signifiers of the West fall to pieces.

But how did they come up with this idea of presenting a traditional composition, by Oja Babu, no less, in a holy festival? And the naïvete, the nerve, to call it the Homo Joidep! None of the imported “Khush” business here where it is evident some NYU grad came back and decided to translate “gay” back home. And I don’t think even using an epithet to empower themselves, like, say, the N word. The folks call them Homos, so Homos they were. Sure, I heard a few homophobic comments, but of the mild run-of-the-mill prejudice variety. But empowered they surely were and visible too, bringing in a modern gay consciousness, entirely homegrown, into a modern continuation of a living tradition. The closet analogy I could think of was Sandi and that gay curator at the Jewish Museum doing a Drag Purim at Rodeth Shalom, was it?, on the Upper West Side. But not quite, for there was a refreshing freedom from irony. No wink and a nudge here. Just an offering by two gay boys to the gods.

Arvind thinks the Tamenglong is lousy. Of course too polite to say just that, but I could tell. Specifically too smoky. Which I agree. It was a blind test.

When I told him what it was, he thought it was like Cachar tea. Derisively called “kachra”. I told him he “knows” too much about tea. We don’t need the Indian Tea Board to determine what Tamenglong is like.

But his export experience and his knowledge of tea will be useful. Just gotta teach him about Manipur tea, that’s all.

So M says to me" "There is a Homo Joidep tonight." Just like that. Maybe a chuckle. And I go "Whoa! Come again?" We had just come back looking at Kang and photographing various ritual uses of rice for my Rice Queen project. So we go back to videotape some more after I leave my shoes behind. Cousin L is there when we got back = turns out she is the lead singer. The temple is all closed and people sit on the mats all around. I love the paintings of the incarnations of Vishnu.

The Homo Joidep is the last act. I mean it has got to be the most coolly radical expression of cay culture I have ever encountered. Right from the very use of the term Homo. Empowerment? Taking the sting out of an epithet? Ironic? Yes, all perhaps but I suspect even more. Like is less is more.

The boys are good dancers. They too do the 10 incarnations - choreography by, as it turned out. O j a B. So we are talking high art performance. (I don't use classical any more) Plus in a traditional venue in a traditional way. Yet it goes beyond the usual rituals and performance avenues for homosexuality in traditional cultures. They are gay in a modern way but without taking cues fro the post-industrial West. I mean, the Indian word for gay is khush, which literally translates as gay. So one imagine an Indian gayboi at NYU going back all empowered in Gay pride.

But no, this is more like the gay Purim at Rodeth Shalom (?) that Andy (aka Esther in drag) and Sandi told me about. Without the irony. A bit like Farmer Tom who dressed in women's clothes up in Vermont where L and J used to live. (Wife to Mrs. K: I don't mind ironing his dresses but I will not iron his underwear). He is Tom first and then Tom-Who-Wears-Dresses second. So with the boys I suspect. Basically accepting with a few homophobic catcalls.

I must research more. A whole new way to gay culture. I think this is astounding.

Pabungmacha was in the second time. Biki and I walked past an Army combing operation in Kongba, right outside his gate. His house is pretty well fortified. Pabungmacha, as every one calls him, is Khuraijam Dhiren, the KD of all the improved rice varieties of Manipur.

KD is a handsome retiree: urbane, courtly, a quintessential Meitei gentleman, Obviously of the old feudal ruling class. His brother, who he obviously still worships, was my uncle’s go-to man, So he has figured out who I am and made all the family connections for me, typical Meitei fashion. How long will his kind be around? He had just stepped out of his bath. He kept his towel on and sat down with us.

Pabungmacha has a gruff voice, polite and tentative with an "OK?” or an “Am I right?” ending most of his statements. He thinks his work was based purely on his own passion. He might have done more had he not been transferred so often within his Agricultural department. Obviously he harbors little patience for administrative types and senseless bureaucracy. Biki is all awed. He sits at the edge of the sofa, eagerly hanging onto every word. He thinks we should make a film on KD. His logic is that no one has had as much impact on Manipur as KD has had. Even uneducated farmers know his name, from all the various KD varieties of rice: Sana Phou, Leima Phou... I cannot but agree.

KD tells us of his hybridizing of some of the 170 varieties of indigenous rice with Filipino varieties, IRRI strains, Hungarian rice. It is absorbing... He brings out a panel of plastic pockets, each containing a sample of rice, of paddy. He is still appointed to the University. What a valuable resource he must be! KD says there are over 250 germs of hybrids at the Rice station in Wangbal. Imasi Noyonsana had said much the same: they are still mining the treasure trove he left behind.

He also tells us of Ok hidak, a natural rhizome insecticide that people have used. He promises to find some for us. What a guy!

Tonight was the last night of the Lai Haraoba at Lai Awangba. Ima insists we go. Priti and she did the whole routine – praying up on the temple and all while I videotaped. The shaman priestesses were all men ion drag and not very prepossessing I must say. Drag has little to do with beauty.

Of course, Lai Awangba being my father’s neighborhood deity, we got a lot of strangers walking up to us an introducing themselves. One sees why Khurai is seen as somewhat cut from the same cloth – nothing of that level of community participation could have been seen in the more hip localities. Men, young and old, took knives in hand as they, along with the finely attired womenfolk, traced the body of the Python King.

What took the cake was the drag-king performance of Saphabee. A group of neighborhood women lip-synched (is that one of the drag genes?) both dialogue and song. Resplendent in male costumes, and moustaches bristling with virility, they were super. As there is no flat-chested drag queen, all drag kings seem to have luxurious facial hair. One wore glasses and had to be pushed around by the others. It was pure theater, pure art, with none of the unnecessary add-ons and the pure joy of performance. Where else but in a place of worship? We left exhilarated.

Rather, I had to be dragged away from the four drag-priestesses starting the final ritual with branches and fire. So all the men were women and all the women men to the great Lai Awangba.

Cheibi tournament. I discover another Manipuri martial arts. It was Priti’s do, organized by her school. I was underwhelmed. Looked like everyone was just flailing away with leather-covered sticks. Must hurt like hell though. War is not pretty and needs to be choreographed. Perhaps I have seen too many acrobatic slo-mo fights in Hong Kong films. (Self-serving note: I am partly to blame as Gerard would say, for the HK film festival I did in 1988 was the one that introduced HK actions films alongside their art films.)

It was an astonishing sight to see the smart informed agricultural scientist at home transformed into a dull, gossipy layabout at work. There we were Biki and I, waiting for our ride to Andro our next phase in our quest for Manipuri rice. Our pick up is late and never have I ever sat through a more excruciating three hours as Imasi played down her brilliance in front of her colleagues. Was it because she was a woman? Just the way work environments have become in this dreary place? Perhaps because they have all had to hide out in back avoiding unwelcome drop-ins from separatists?

On the ride out, she perked up like a wilting plant after being watered. Her colleagues aren’t half bad too with their agricultural knowledge. So there is perhaps a conspired dullness after all.

The land is spectacularly beautiful. We left with Ching Chahou Amubi, Ching Chahou Angangbi and 2 others. The rest all stocked up on some of the famed local hooch.

Peak moment: the old toothless farmer says to me: “Young man, tell me, for I have always wondered, are Americans Indians or Manipuris?”

We make and inhabit our worlds. Who is to say which is best? The periphery is the core.

The boys finally got their act together. The baseball game took place at Samusang Lampak, right next to Tamo Ratan’s Shrine. (Dig that name, hee hee)

The guys forgot I was videotaping them and really got into the game. These jocks. All the same same. Much better to hang out with than the arty types.

Hope Mike and I can do something with baseball. I told her Manipur is the only place where the game can flourish, with a bit of help. We want to make a film. Nat Geo? Must talk to Jenny when I get back.

Shall we call then the Manipuri Hillbillies? Mike likes the Manipuri Mets. Such a diehard.

What am I to make of “The Rose of Lidice”? Tamo Nara invited us to the latest production of the courtyard theater troupe that did the 9/11 play. It was in the dirty and depressing Chi'nga shopping mall. What idiot thought of leveling the hill for this abomination?

We were there early so go to hang out with some of the actors. I was grilled about the troupe’s prospects in NYC. Oy vey.

The play is set in Czechoslovakia in 1942. Tamo Nara had evidently written a poem, his communist soul stirred by the children who brought him flowers when he visited Lidice with his comrades way back when there was still a Berlin Wall. So was the troupe sucking up to him by putting on this play? Is it how collaboration actually works? After all the Minister of Culture is a poet. Who knows, and what does it matter?

So their ballet was stolen from a film of Anna Pavlova Tamo Nara had. The heroines' names were Milky and Silky – and those you can’t steal from anywhere. And the Hitler was the most hilarious caricature since Chaplin. They must have seen The Great Dictator: the scene with Hitler contemplating the globe would be too scary a coincidence.

It is wonderful to see something that confounds all aesthetic standards. How lazy and conformist the cultural tastemakers truly are!

What am I to make of “The Rose of Lidice”? Tamo Nara invited us to the latest production of the courtyard theater troupe that did the 9/11 play. It was in the dirty and depressing Chi'nga shopping mall. What idiot thought of leveling the hill for this abomination?

We were there early so go to hang out with some of the actors. I was grilled about the troupe’s prospects in NYC. Oy vey.

The play is set in Czechoslovakia in 1942. Tamo Nara had evidently written a poem, his communist soul stirred by the children who brought him flowers when he visited Lidice with his comrades way back when there was still a Berlin Wall. So was the troupe sucking up to him by putting on this play? Is it how collaboration actually works? After all the Minister of Culture is a poet. Who knows, and what does it matter?

Ima talked about fashion this morning. I videotaped her, making sure we closed all the doors so that only the roosters crowing at 4 AM came through on the soundtrack. Aural ambiance I say. We have to finish this in an hour before the milkmaid comes, yelling for attention. Her mother was the milkmaid before her and remembers me as a child. Ima is very fond of the young milkmaid and gives her cosmetics!

The fashion show we went to the other day was what started this discussion. She turned out to be the Chief Guest – how she longs to be just an invitee without have this status conferred on her! She says it makes it impossible to leave early when she is tired or has had enough. The show was interminable but what a hoot. Runway and all. And some gorgeous models, sashaying down the little catwalk like supermodels. Global TV has done its job! Ima’s admonitions about the incorporations of Manipuri traditional fashion into the new struck chords from all the applause it gathered. She thinks baring navel is fine, but why do phaneks have to be worn low when they ride up at the back of the heels, obscuring the embroidered border, she asked?

I too, it must be noted, had my day on TV then of course. Mr. Somi from NYC giving the younger generations POV. I had to stop myself from giggling when I answered that Manipuri models are JUST as fine as New York’s best! Got much applause and call from TV watchers the next day.

Anyway, Ima’s memories of popularizing Moirang Phee borders, so ubiquitous now, as well as that infernal sari Phee'in makes her a progenitor if current fashion. Who would have guessed? I knew the drag actresses follow her fashions sense. But would the average dowdy salarywoman in Sari Phee'in attire know who had started it all?

Tamo Joykumar came with three renditions of Phou Woibee. He wrote RICE QUEEN in English as well. Ami I naughty or what! Hee hee.

I don’t know which I like better: the young pretty rendition or the older one with the broader more Meitei looking nose. The writing is cockeyed. I think it adds charm to the logo.

Tamo Nara invites me to the show for the Governor and his daughter. I went because I wanted to see the new rehearsal hall that Tamo Ratan designed. (Exterior hokey, interior great but not insulated enough)

So Arvind Dave, the military spook appointed Governor in the usual manner of New Delhi, asks me about the elections in the US. He knows and cares since his daughter lives there. I sadly admitted I thought Bush would win. (Go Howard!) “Americans are stupid.” He says to much sycophantic laughter and walks away. I was so shocked at his rudeness. Uncouth and condescending behavior and the facile banality of his observation is not surprising from an army man governing a populace that despises him.

Tamo Nara invites me to the show for the Governor and his daughter. I went because I wanted to see the new rehearsal hall that Tamo Ratan designed. (Exterior hokey, interior great but not insulated enough)

So Arvind Dave, the military spook appointed Governor in the usual manner of New Delhi, asks me about the elections in the US. He knows and cares since his daughter lives there. I sadly admitted I thought Bush would win. (Go Howard!) “Americans are stupid.” He says to much sycophantic laughter and walks away. I was so shocked at his rudeness. Uncouth and condescending behavior and the facile banality of his observation is not surprising from an army man governing a populace that despises him.

FARMING CULTURE: Biki and I go went out to Ka’ Gokulmani’s jobsite at Senapati. The tea-estate is called Hembung. Very impressive set-up that belongs to some former minister of agriculture. Looks like he is getting some major money from grantmakers all over. Not sure how serious he is about tea or whether this is more a pretty front for a grant cash cow.

The tea garden wasn’t as pretty as the flower garden. Not looked after terribly well, to my untrained eye. Supposed to stop slash and burn and turn the hapless peasants onto a cash crop etc etc.

Pity it is Assam tea when all the guy could have done was get seeds locally for a unique local product. And some local pride dammit!

Anyway, Ka’Gokulmani will get me some tea from Tamenglong and let’s see what I can do when I get back to NYC. I will send some to Les. He liked the Tamenglong tea I sent him in 2000. Getting some stick insects in return seemed fair trade. Poor Sticky and Jessica. Dead, dead, dead. Hope they are Canadian bugs and not tropical for I put them through some Christian rites. Though Dee and I got Sticky to the Blessing of the Animals at St John’s. The bishop goes, Bless you, Sticky, and all who love you. I think he was the only bug officially blessed, not counting the riff-raff who stowed away on some animal there, or some humans too for that matter from the looks of some of them. Hee. Jessica lies in the Biblical Garden, strewn there along with BVD’s ashes. I hope Barbara and Jessica are playing harp together just fine up there.

But I digress. Tea. Yum.