So, there we were. A packed square in
Penang. Throngs of tourists and locals alike surrounding a raucous
and colorful performance. Our time in this vibrant place just so
happened to coincide with the celebration of the Chinese New Year,
and we had found ourselves amongst a busy street fair, set up along
blocked streets throughout the town center in Georgetown, Malaysia. We
were enjoying a beautiful display of the traditional “Dragon Dance”
as well as the lesser-known “Lion Dance.”
Many of you are probably familiar with
the Dragon Dance from movies and television: a group of a dozen or so
men hold aloft a writhing paper or cloth dragon while moving in and
around each other, bobbing and weaving to create the illusion of a
swooping dragon above them.
The Lion Dance had 6 participants, 2
men inside of each lion costume, one for the head and front legs, one
for the rear and hind legs. The dancers moved in unison, often with
the front dancer leaping onto the shoulders of the back,
creating a rearing lion-beast. Even more impressively, the
displays of acrobatics often took place on precariously stacked
tables. On the second table
dancers jumped around in costume at a height that, if they
fell, would have proven catastrophically injurious, if not fatal.
As we watched, captivated, a curious
thing happened. As the drums and
gongs of the dance sounded along with the noise of the crowd,
there arose the unmistakable vocals of a public Quran recitation
(“Salah” in Arabic). The Mosque nearby had, like countless
others we've encountered throughout Malaysia and Indonesia, set up a
loudspeaker system on the street outside, so the prayer could be
heard for blocks. The beating drums and writhing dragon juxtaposed
to the solemn call from the Mosque was simultaneously starkly
incongruent and beautiful. The moment clearly exemplified the
effects of centuries of immigration and international trade that make
Malaysia such a wonderful fusion of cultures. (If you listen carefully at the start of the video above, you'll hear the call from the Mosque).
A member of a "gamelan" ensemble performing for the New Year's Celebration
Examples of such encounters become
innumerable in a place like Penang. A brief walk through its “Little
India” neighborhood will lead one past countless wafting odors of
curries, tandoori chickens on spits and naan bread baking. And as
the Indian restaurants grow sparse, the Chinese and Arabic influences
become increasingly apparent along a main avenue like Queen Street.
Indeed, many of the “restos” we patronized during our time there
were “all-inclusive,” filling their menus with dishes from India,
China, the Middle East, Indonesia and Malaysia, capitalizing on the
differing tastes and traditions of the diverse populace.
This harmonious blending of cultures
has been one of the most rewarding aspects of our time in Malaysia
and Indonesia so far. And, while being an American I am no stranger
to “melting pot” cultures, I have been inspired time and again by
the tolerance and respect given here across cultural, and especially
religious boundaries. It is one thing for a place to offer foods
from varying cultural traditions. It is another thing entirely for
neighbors, flatmates, coworkers friends and even family members of
differing yet devout religious beliefs to live peacefully together.
The mosque adjacent to where the Dragon Dance was performed
A shrine at a Burmese Buddhist temple in Penang
A few days ago, on our way south to Lake
Toba from Berastagi, our driver stopped at a small Batak village to
allow us to learn a bit about Batak culture and get a close-up view
of their beautiful traditional architecture. We were led into a
refurbished Batak dwelling—beautiful bowed arch of a roof, colorful
friezes lining the outer wall, and an interior unlike anything
I had encountered before. The inside of the dwelling was laid out
like a long low-ceilinged dining hall, lit only by a few small windows and the two opposite entryways. 4 small cooking areas butted
up against floor mats for sleeping and shelves for storage. The
whole interior was stained soot-black by the smoke of cooking fires—a
deterrent for both mosquitoes and termites. Our guide informed us
that the space housed no less than eight separate
families.
An example of traditional Batak architecture
A typical living space of a Batak house
The
remarkable thing about the place was not only the cluttered and close
proximity. It was the fact that often such dwellings house families
who practice different religions. Our guide told us it was not
uncommon for such houses to be home to Muslims, Christians and
Animists (those practicing some form of traditional Batak beliefs)
alike, and that it was expected that each respect the practices of
the others. He gave us the example of Islam's prohibition on
pork. All families living in a house with practicing Muslims
willingly avoid eating pork in order to show respect for their
neighbors. The families within a “Batak house” work to foster an
environment of respect for everyone, regardless of creed.
It seems a bit
trite to make some idealistic comparison of a Batak house and it's
diverse inhabitants to the culture of the world as a whole. But I
think the former can, and must, serve as an exemplary microcosm for
the lives and attitudes of every society. If 8 families of differing
religious practices can coexist peacefully in a space the size of the
average American garage, how can anyone say that religious barriers
are too difficult to overcome?
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