Before you delve into the story of a life still set in dark, misty forests, surrounded by Lithuanian mythological creatures and supernatural mysticism, it is important to note that these stories are not entirely the fruits of imagination. Samogitia, a Lithuanian ethnic region, was the last place in Europe to be christianized in 1413, 200 years after the mainland. Even though many believe much of the water has flown under the bridge since then, ancient traditions were incorporated into the new religion, and old Baltic superstitions still thrive in countless households.
Many Lithuanian ethnologists and historians claim that the foundation of the nation lies in a tree cult culture and that a person’s entire life cycle depends on their relationship with a tree, from the kids’ toys to wooden kitchen utensils on the oak dinner table. There are not many private properties without a garden or some arable land, so while cities evolved, village life remains closely tied to the seasonal cycle.
These stories are distinctly Samogitian, born from its language, myths, and ethnic past. The following excerpts were written over six months during a challenging personal journey, driven by burnout and a longing for grounding.
Medė švabieja api Pondeivs žėna kū, no būktas api žmuonis.
Trees are whispering about only God knows what, but probably about the people.
May your walk in the woods be peaceful.
THE SECRETS OF THE ROOTS, AND OTHER STORIES FROM THE VILLAGE
How do you fit together a city daughter, raised among grey, few-floor Soviet-like buildings, and a village granddaughter who was only allowed to cut her hair when the cherry trees started to bloom and the Moon was still young? How do you fit remnants of the long-gone past in the person that is so modern it barely has time to take a breath? How do you explain to the hectic world around you, that you start carrying a coin in the back of your pocket so you would not be condemned to eternal poverty when the first song of the cuckoo bird escapes its trembling, tiny body after a long, harsh winter? How do you say “no” to someone who wants to borrow your hairbrush or try on your ring when you were constantly reminded that this would result in soul exchange? How do you even ask these questions out loud? .. Do I seriously sound insane when I say I cannot sit on the ground? There has not been a thunderstorm yet.
A three-hour gap between classes turned into a drive to the nearest forest. The treetops intertwined into an incomprehensible labyrinth. The dense forest increasingly resembled a long-lost kingdom ruled by ancient tree spirits. The rustling leaves followed every step like a mysterious whisper. Moss hid its secrets, swamps of unfathomable depth, beckoned with the forest’s treasures. When animals noticed a wandering person there, they would remember one’s face, immediately smell one’s intentions, and eventually run away to complain to some deity about how someone would kick a mushroom, hit a tree branch, or scream at the top of their lungs. Mom used to say that only by merging into the flow of forest life could one escape from it. Nature does not satisfy human needs; it protects what should be eternally sacred. I stop at the winding path. In front of me, there are the remains of the stairs up to the castle mound. For a couple of centuries, an eternal fire burned here, golden threads of fate were woven, grass snakes slithered, and bees sought refuge. Now, only a lone oak tree remains in place of the altar, like a witness or warrior guarding a place of eternal peace, or so it still thinks…
Once the storm passes, I will harvest the fruits, and my mother will make my favourite jam.
I told my grandmother I was exhausted from all these current changes when we were sitting on the bench outside. Her limb fingers, suffering from arthritis, held a knife and skillfully wielded it to peel apples and later throw them in the bucket. The wind picked up, and I could hear faint raindrops falling on my dirty boots. The toughest woman I know glanced at me for a second and then her eyes returned to the falling peels of bright pink apples. The last thunder of the season shook the ground. I have just realised I do not remember a time when she addressed it by its common name, perkūnija, rather than the god Perkūnas, who isresponsible for it. She always tells me that everything will pass in a matter of days, and if not, a few moons. I knew the remedies of the soul by heart – honey with milk before bed, lavender in the closet, small rituals in the morning, daily walks outside, preferably away from the city.
Hug the tree, borrow its strength. Will that get me through these upcoming weeks?
Whenever I say I’m from Georgia, people light up and ask, “Oh, really? How’s Atlanta?” But, a simple correction — not the state, the country — resets the entire conversation. And in a way, that small misunderstanding says a lot about where I come from and who I am.
This is a story of what it means to grow up Georgian, in the Caucasus region; in a country woven with traditions, hospitality, the famous “Supras” where strangers become lifelong friends, various unpopular concepts, wine and the words, the voices of some of the greatest writers of our age, where beliefs are more than personal — they are collective, binding communities together across generations.
Ever since I can remember, I have been fantasising about what was outside my existent borders, or how far I could have stretched those borders, or even so, where it started, and where it ended. Not everyone can have the answer to that question. Everyone has their own possibilities and realisations towards this concept.
I have to mention Georgia’s historical and geographical context. The country lies between Europe and Asia, it borders Russia and is a post-Soviet country. Living in the constant shadow of Russia with centuries of invasions, meant living with constant fear and tension. It meant that acquiring independence in 1991 was both liberation and uncertainty, the moment when my parents’ generation had to suddenly adapt to a future they had never been prepared or taught for. Generations before my parents, my grandparents had been fighting for the freedom of our country, for the best of it all, and now my generation has taken the matter of EU integration into their own hands.
All this tension has shaped me into who I am, as much as the traditions have. As you can already tell, traditions have been a cornerstone of our community for generations. Starting from early teenage years, as I grew, I understood that in my family, my community and in the whole of Georgia as one, the rules and beliefs were two-sided. While I perceived these unyielding beliefs and traditions as huge walls of obstacles, I learned how to use them as a beneficiary for myself; I understood that maybe these walls were the ones that needed to be broken down in order for me to grow and actually pursue my goals.
I have always known, not even thought, that I was born to live life to its fullest. However, that conviction carried its own doubts: the fear of making wrong choices, choosing the wrong career, or taking a step that might seem irreversible. It was scary, too, because of how much effort I poured into my goals and how much pressure I placed on myself. At times, the weight of those expectations felt overwhelming. And yet, I also knew that Georgians — my family, my community, even teachers — would have been supportive in their own way, proud that I was trying to reach higher. But it appeared that the fear of standing still was greater than the fear of moving forward.
Dreaming big has always been my quiet rebellion, especially in a country deeply rooted in tradition. The concept of leaving home and starting a new life at such an early age, as a minor, was seen as an impossible privilege that only a few had. I can recall many times whenever I mentioned studying abroad, while talking about future plans at various Supras, and the guests would just laugh it off, while I was left merely confused, as if this was something equivalent to traveling to space; the concept of studying abroad has always been achievable to me, as long as I worked hard. This specific concept was never just a dream, or something I looked at from afar, or something I knew there was no point in trying, but instead, it was a destination that I refused to let go of. Therefore, having grown up in a place where aspirations, that may not be popular, can be seen as ambitious and biased, I learned from an early age that it is better to stay patient and reach beyond the set borders, be stubborn when needed and have faith in the said “impossible”.
For me, studying abroad was not just about education, but about possibility. Growing up in a small country often overlooked on the world map, I wanted to prove that voices like mine which were shaped by tradition, history, and centuries of resilience, deserved to be heard on more of a global stage. And finally, each effort, each late night study session, each moment of doubt that I had and have overcome, became another step to me fulfilling my wishes and setting an example to my younger brother, cousins, and loved ones.
Starting a new life at 17, packing my whole life into a suitcase and flying over 3,000 kilometers across the world appeared to be harder than I had anticipated. Getting away from the loudness of such a small country, of my family, of the small fights me and my friends would have, of my relatives and most importantly of the Supras which we hosted every Friday night as a family; and then living in small apartment all alone, in the deafening quiet, was probably one of the hardest things I had to deal with. I remember putting on music first thing in the morning so I would not feel the loneliness of my own company. I call France my second home, but even now, when I was coming back, I remember crying on the way, as I remembered all the good times I had spent with my family, relatives, even remembering the scent of my mom’s perfume on her jacket, that specific scent of my house, my room and so on. However, my determination, my goals, my community: those things have kept me going all this time. Knowing that I get to go back in no time, knowing that I will see the proud smiles and watering eyes with the tears of happiness, makes it all worth it.
Still, I never wanted to leave Georgia behind, but I did not have to. To dream big from a small country is not to abandon it, but to carry it with you, to take its traditions along with contradictions, its warmth and sometimes scars, and weave them into different stories you tell the new people you meet while living your new life. To me, that is what it means to be Georgian, beyond stereotypes and beyond peaches.
For my first poem in LDD, I would like to share my recent thoughts on our current world events. I am best with my words through forms of literature, and this post shall be the same. Months ago, I had the honour of winning the Queen’s Commonwealth Writing Competition with my poem, Judgement Day. Today, as I observe challenging global events, I am reminded of how the themes within this poem resonate more profoundly than ever. This poem speaks to a quote by Loretta Scott King, “The greatness of a community is most accurately measured by the compassionate acts of its members.”
Although I wrote it at a different time, a time less harsh than today, its message is timeless and particularly pertinent in our current context. I hope for my words to inspire reflection and action towards a kinder world. It is my belief that we can always be kinder than yesterday.
Judgement Day
Queue a rock: perfectly crafted by divine
And the blossom of birds and cherries and trees
Admiring His work, He goes and lays down where
The wood drake rests in a mint-like glee.
The mighty margay feeds fated ferrets by the shore
While He comes into peace of His wild wonders
Content with His creation, He beams at His little world
And adds bounties of sculptures and numbers and colours.
With a swift scrutiny of suddenness, He gazes at this all
And muses over the missingness of this gigantic globe
His eyes shimmer with solution and He sets to work
To make His own miniatures, and finish His humble abode.
Robing His veil, He bids farewell to His children
And apprises them to hold each other in dear
For they were a family who was to look after His realm
And quick for his word, he winged away with career.
Quick into rising action: The children attempted to impart his virtue
Then they ruptured their bond and pierced each others’ souls
The cascade of agonies was so loud that it reached all the way up
That the Very Embodiment of Tolerance almost lost His control.
Descending to Earth, He boomed in rage in the manuals: “To succour your own afflictions, you must concur to be kind Each human heart inspires the other, so don’t trigger a domino To live together is to enlarge the close contracted mind.”
But as some things go, children refuse to listen sometimes The Very Virtue’s own creation refrains from acts of honesty They go against the very Creator they so highly praise And are walking conflictions of greed— the highest act of hypocrisy.
Their mutual fear had brought peace for somewhile
Until individual desires were sowed and released
The downfall was spread, and its baits were in waiting But their selfish love had only kept increasing.
Now He sat down with holy troubles
For it was the darkest hour in their history
He watered the ground with His novel tears
And now insert: the very awaited climax of this story.
The children never missed a chance to sabotage
Impose selfish rules to strangulate and muffle,
And invade others who were feeble
And make celebrations at bloodshed and scuffle.
He frowned as He recited His repeated recitals in mind: “This is the still sad music of my humanity
I have chastened and subdued my own creation
Nor my fault, nor my merit, though I feel ample guilty.”
“Their strength was never estimated by bills or bread Or industries or idealistic investments
Where are their robots and reinforcements now
When all there is left is human hearts and fragments?”
“And I have never felt this for my other children:
My round ocean and singing air and crystal skies;
But in the human intellect: there was a certain distinct spirit That was the reason why my children died.”
“I failed to make their conceited souls realise
Of the wars that were going on where their spirit meets I failed to tell them of what no ears have ever heard, I failed to show them what no eyes have ever seen.”
“Even their name is a shameless melody of irony For these Humans are the least human creatures I’ve ever seen Tell me: what wonders rise, what charms unfold When there was never any compassion in those eyes?”
Welcome to the East Asia Club’s first-ever article! As captains of the East Asian Club, we are dedicated to raising interest in contemporary East Asian cultures and practices. This prompts our emphasis on a movement reshaping modern China – the revival of the hanfu (漢服).
A piece of traditional attire worn by the Han Chinese, hanfu has revived its adoptability as a vibrant national trend. But this movement is more than just fashion—it’s a celebration of China’s deep cultural roots, blending historical pride with modern identity.
The ancient style is now gaining huge popularity, particularly amongst younger generations. Between 2015 and 2021, sales of hanfu clothing surged from just 190 million yuan to a staggering 10 billion yuan (approximately USD $1.45 billion), with estimates projecting the market to reach 24.18 billion yuan by 2027. As of 2022, over 10.16 million people have embraced the art of wearing hanfu, a substantial increase from the 6 million of the previous year.
The appeal of hanfu is multifaceted. For many, wearing hanfu symbolises a form of reconnection with Chinese history and heritage. This is particularly relevant as China continues to modernise at a breakneck pace. The revival has sparked cultural pride among young people, who are increasingly drawn to hanfu for its historical significance and aesthetic beauty. According to a recent survey, nearly 70% of hanfu enthusiasts wear the garments as a means to promote traditional Chinese culture.
Social media has played a significant role in the revival, with platforms like Weibo and Douyin (China’s version of TikTok) allowing hanfu enthusiasts to share their passion globally. Young influencers have showcased hanfu in everything from historical reenactments to modern street fashion, propelling it from a cultural niche into a mainstream phenomenon.
Furthermore, the appeal of hanfu lies in its deep connection to Chinese history. In an era of rapid modernization, a relatively easy way to understand one’s heritage can be demonstrated through the simple act of wearing the piece of clothing. For instance, hanfu from the Tang Dynasty (618-907) is known for its elegant, flowing robes, a quality that directly reflects the period’s cosmopolitan nature. This draws a stark contrast to the hanfu from Ming (1368-1644), which represents a more conservative and structured style. For many, wearing hanfu during festivals, cultural events, and even casual outings is a way to promote traditional Chinese values while asserting their national identity. The hanfu community is especially active during major cultural holidays such as the Mid-Autumn Festival, Chinese New Year, and traditional events like the Hanfu Festival, where enthusiasts gather to celebrate in full attire. Cities like Beijing, Shanghai, and Chengdu have become vibrant hubs where young people participate in hanfu flash mobs, photo sessions, and public performances
It is interesting to note that the Chinese government has also been a key player in this cultural revival, as part of a broader push for “cultural confidence.” Promoting traditional elements such as hanfu aligns with China’s emphasis on preserving its rich cultural heritage while fostering national pride. This has provided hanfu with more visibility as a dynamic symbol of China’s cultural renaissance, gaining official support and encouragement.
However, the movement isn’t without its challenges. Critics argue that many modern iterations of hanfu blend elements from different historical periods, straying from historical accuracy. While some purists seek to preserve the authenticity of hanfu design, others celebrate its creative evolution as a modern interpretation of traditional fashion. Zhao Bo, a curator who was once interviewed by the South China Morning Post, has reproduced ancient hanfu garments, highlights the importance of both approaches, noting that public interest is crucial in keeping this tradition alive.
In sum, the hanfu revival represents a unique blend of historical reverence and modern innovation. For young people, wearing hanfu isn’t just about fashion; it’s a personal statement that connects them with China’s rich cultural history while navigating the complexities of a globalised world. As this movement continues to grow, hanfu has emerged as a powerful symbol of China’s cultural resilience, proving that traditions can be both preserved and reimagined for a new era.
Stay tuned for more exciting explorations of East Asia’s dynamic cultures from the East Asia Club!
Today, the Garo, also known as the A’chiksMande (hill people) (Marsing, 2019), are one of the better-known matrilineal communities of the world. Currently living in India and Bangladesh around the Garo Hills region, these peoples have matrilineal traditions that stretch back centuries, such as inheritance through the mother’s line (ma’chong). Because of the specific environmental conditions of the Garo Hills region, the Garos are also known for their jhum cultivation (District Administration, East Garo Hills). Their unique society can be symbolised by the Wangala festival after the October harvest, in which food, music, and dance is prepared to honour the gods of their Songsarek religion, organised by the headman of a village’s dominant family (Roy, 1992). Yet, this ethnic community faces modern challenges brought by cultural assimilation, political marginalisation, and climate change that threaten to end the Garos’ centuries-old way of life.
The Garos originated from the Tibetan Plateau and migrated in the Prehistoric Period to North East India (Marsing, 2019), where today they mainly live in the Meghalaya and Assam regions, as well as in areas of Bangladesh like Mymensingh (District Administration, East Garo Hills), where they are known as lowland Garos (Bal, 2007). The Garo language is part of the Tibetan-Bruman linguistic family, although a large variety of dialects exist (Roy, 1992). Being a matrilineal society, property passes from mother to a chosen daughter known as the Nokna, who also inherits the property of her husband or Nokrom, both coming to live with the Nokna’s parents (Ahmed, 2021). Yet, the Garos are not considered a matriarchal society, as it is the man’s responsibility to manage the property and agricultural affairs (District Administration, South Garo Hills). In fact, the Garo society revolves around agriculture, traditionally practising jhum or shifting cultivation, in which an area is cleared by burning vegetation and cultivated for a few years, then abandoned to allow fertility restoration (Oxford Languages). Both men and women are involved in agricultural and labour processes, with men in charge of jungle-clearing, house-building, and basketry, while women are in-charge of crop plantation, weaving, and cooking (District Administration, South Garo Hills).
However, the modern world has brought harsh challenges to the Garo peoples, linked to cultural assimilation caused by Christian missionary movements (Marak, 2023) and patriarchal communities (Ahmed, 2021), political marginationalisation particularly for the Bangladesh Garos (Bal, 2007), and environmental degradation triggered by deforestation and climate change (Sarma, 2013).
The Garos traditionally follow a faith called Songsarek (Marsing, 2019), with a variety of deities like Saljong, the sun and fertility god (honoured during Wangala) or Chorabudi, the god of crops (District Administration, East Garo Hills). Moreover, they believe in a variety of spirits called mites, as well as reincarnation, in which one can be reborn in lower or higher forms of life (ibid). Yet, today, this religion is less and less practised as more Garos convert to Christiniaty, which is seen as helping to develop “identities that are… profoundly modern” (Maaker, 2007). This act of cultural assimilation began in the early 19th century, when the British Empire took over the Garo Hills, paving the way for religious conversion primarily led by American missionaries (Marak, 2023). Today, more than 80% of Garo peoples are Christian (Maaker, 2007). The Garos not only face religious cultural assimilation, but also loss of their traditional matrilineal society due to the rising presence of patrilineal values in neighbouring Hindu and Muslim communities (Ahmed, 2021). A study by Sirajuddin Ahmed and Upala Barua in 2021 found that the Nokrom system, in which the husband goes to live with his wife, is becoming rarer, due to the changing attitudes of younger generations, who are exposed through schools to patrilineal values. The traditional Garo way of life is under serious threat of permanent loss due to these acts of cultural assimilation.
Moreover, the Garos, particularly those of the lowland or Bangladesh regions, face political marginalisation through exclusion policies and historic discrimination (Bal, 2007). The lowland Garos have particularly been affected by external politics between India and Pakistan, beginning with Partition in 1947 (when Britain created a Muslim majority in Pakistan and a Hindu majority in India). This event saw these Garos become citizens of Pakistan, despite demands to join the other Garos in the Meghalaya region of India (ibid). In 1964, the lowland Garos were forced to flee to refugee camps in India, after an influx of more than a million Muslim refugees brought thievery, intimidation, and illegal settlements, as well as active suppression by state agencies (ibid). When the Garos returned, they faced aggressive state attitudes, particularly through the Enemy Property Ordinance, which led to Garos losing lands to the Pakistan government (ibid). Further, despite the lowland Garos fighting for the creation of Bangladesh in 1971, the new government did not provide any rehabilitation aid and stressed the dominance of the Bengali ethnicity (ibid). This historic political exclusion and even suppression of Garos has had profound effects not only on their identity, which now includes major distinctions between the Garos in Bangladesh and India, but also modern socio-economic challenges. The Garos, in both areas, face land ownership issues, which leads to a lack of access to basic necessities such as modern medical facilities, educational institutions, and employment opportunities (Kabir, 2022).
Further, the Garos face political, social, and economic insecurity as a result of environmental degradation. According to the Global Forest Watch, since 2000, India has lost 6% of its total tree cover, primarily due to deforestation, and in 5 key regions including Assam and Nagaland. For the Garos, the consequential rise of temperatures and changing precipitation patterns threaten their access to sustenance and their livelihoods (Sarma, 2013). Particularly, subsurface coal mining and deforestation has caused biodiversity loss, flash floods, and decrease in supply of drinking water (Sarma, 2013). Moreover, due to rising Garo populations (Hazarika, 2013), the Garos have begun transitioning from traditional jhum cultivation to permanent cash crop cultivation (crops sold on markets for profit), which increases levels of deforestation (Sarma, 2013). In Bangladesh, the Garos are also threatened by the government’s lack of effort to preserve their environment and culture (Rozario, 2024). The Bangladesh Forest Department launched in 2000 a World Bank funded Sustainable Forest and Livelihood Project, involving the construction of gardens, guesthouses, and an artificial lake that negatively affects the hundreds of Garos in the Madhupur forest of the Mymensingh region. Deforestation and uncompensated land loss (Rozario, 2024) will have huge repercussions on the socioeconomic status of this community. Yet, despite Garo activism and demands for better forest policies, they have not only been the victims of police violence and shootings, but also of eviction threats by the government (Rozario, 2024). Thus, the Garos risk not only loss of land, but also heightened climate vulnerability.
In conclusion, it is evident the Garos face a multitude of challenges arising from efforts of cultural assimilation, political discrimination and marginalisation, and environmental degradation, all of which is not being properly addressed by governments in India nor Bangladesh. Although in India the Garo lands and culture are more protected than in Bangladesh (e.g., 92% of the Garo Hills forested area is owned by local communities under the Garo Hills Autonomous District Council), they still remain a highly vulnerable community. As seen, Garo culture is still at risk due to the climate crisis, as well as external religious and patrilineal influences, which requires greater adaptation planning and policy from high levels of governance. Governments should listen and work alongside indigenous-led projects, such as the Meghalaya region Hill State People’s Democratic Party’s recent initiative to urge official recognition of the Garo language, in order to ensure better employment opportunities (India Today NE, 2024). Particularly in Bangladesh, the Garo minority has faced severe political and socio-economic insecurity, requiring urgent governmental initiative to better protect and respect these peoples. Governmental policies, particularly those involving forest cover and cultural preservation, need to be created alongside the Garo communities, such as the Joyenshahi Adivasi Development Council, a leading group protesting the Madhupur land loss. The Garos possess a unique culture intrinsically linked to nature that must be safeguarded not only for its wealth of knowledge, but also to ensure the continued existence of a vulnerable population.
Disclaimer: As a student, I don’t have the full capacity nor time to delve into the complexities of each ethnic community. My intention is to create a space dedicated to introducing readers to different minorities and their plights, to raise awareness and to encourage further readings into such topics. My art piece of each ethnic community is not an accurate representation of the culture as a whole, but an artistic interpretation based on primary photographs and references of historical traditions.
The artwork by Gemma Tabet is inspired by Garo culture, and was created using mixed media: alcohol markers with digital art. The work takes direct inspiration from photographs and texts of Garo traditions and peoples, and thus the art serves as a glimpse into this rich and unique history. Inspiration came from photographers like David Talukdar, Cintu Thakuria, and F. Widjaja on Shutterstock, as well as Himdipta for the Wildlife Trust of India. In the artwork I have depicted a boranq, which are tree-top bamboo houses that also serve as watchouses to protect crops from wild animals like elephants. The Garo woman is wearing a dakmanda, a ceremonial, colourful two-piece dress woven with floral patterns, wide stripes, and diamond symbols known as mikron or “eye”. She also has bangles or sangong on her wrists, a white waist band known as sengki, and earrings called natapsi. The Garo man is wearing a pandra, which is a ceremonial cloth going across the chest. Both are wearing thin glass necklaces known as rigitok, a headband decorated with beads known as kotip, and a headdress made of feathers from bhimraj birds or roosters, known as do·me. These terms are derived from a variety of sources: Sankar Kumar Roy for eHRAF World Cultures, the District Administration in the South and East Garo Hills, and the Indian Ministry of Culture.
