The Blue Disc

by William B. Waits

  “Yes, we could do those things, but it wouldn’t be enough. Your culture would be hovering around our periphery, encouraging our young people to buy outside stuff without reflecting on whether they should incorporate it into their lives. Buying without thinking. A stampede toward consumption.”

  “Shouldn’t they hear whatever outside culture has to say and then make up their own minds? Isn’t that what Euromamo values would call for?”

  “We don’t cut off exposure to what outside culture has to say; however, it’s the insistent cacophony of consumption from outside that would drown out our values. Your culture hammers home its messages without pause,” continued the Leader firmly. “Buy my shit! You’re like the Adamamo in many regards.”

  “Is some exposure to outside culture really all that bad? You let people live in La Puerta for a while.”

  “Yes, but those people can come back here after a while and escape.”

  “Well, yes but…how much actual harm to your culture would result from my writing?” asked Rick.

  “I remember your saying that your anthropology professors emphasize doing research in groups that haven’t been contacted by outside society, right?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “That’s also our understanding from our reading in anthropology,” said the Leader. “Why’s that so important to the discipline?”

  “Societies that have been contacted may well have incorporated cultural elements from outside, so anthropologists can’t be certain of studying a free-standing example of a human society…well, free from the influence of outside society. All cultures incorporate things from neighboring societies but those influences are, for some reason, regarded as less significant. Anyway, the discipline wants the purity of the culture to be preserved from outside taint so the researcher can add his or her findings to the spectrum of cultures that humans have created.”

  “Exactly, the mere fact of contact with the outside changes the culture, right? It follows that your contact with us, and our contact with those who’ll come here because of your writing, will change our culture. Your own discipline says it’ll change us. However, we don’t want to be changed unless we can control it.”

  “You make a good point,” said Rick, taking a deep breath. “You’ve put me in a difficult position. I can’t agree right now to give up writing about you, but I’ll think about what you’ve said and I’ll let you know what I decide from either La Puerta or New Haven.”

  “I guess that’ll have to be enough for us. We won’t impede your departure. We’ve valued your friendship and certainly don’t want to make you an enemy.”

  “You’ve been very civil about this. I’ll give your concerns every consideration.”

  With that, the Leader left, leaving Rick to ponder their discussion. He decided to go to the dining room for one last meal in the village. He’d finish packing later. That evening, back in his room, he stewed over what the Leader had said about privacy.

  What am I going to do? No easy answer to this one. My journals are bulging the bottom of my backpack. They contain a hell of a lot of information about the Euromamo. Covered every damn research topic. It would lay them bare…if I write about them. I guess that’s the point of anthropology: to lay them bare. I’ll think about the privacy issue on the trip down river. Got to finish packing now.

  ….

  From the time I entered the village, I’ve been wound up about whether I’d finish the research. Well, I did it, stayed right on the path toward completion. Great to have it done, and on a group no one knows about. This afternoon, as it sunk in that I’d finished, my nerves smoothed right out. To be expected, I guess, but what a relief!

  ….

  How safe will the trip be? The pilot is Neville Hernandez, a pleasant responsible guy. Certainly, I’ll be safer on the Euromamo transportation system with Neville than trying to ride the river myself back to my meeting point with Raul. Just let me get back to La Puerta without getting injured or killed. I’m so close to getting out of the rain forest safely.

  I think that I shall never see

  A billboard as lovely as a tree.

  Indeed, unless the billboards fall

  I’ll never see a tree at all.

  Ogden Nash

  CHAPTER 33

  Down River

  The next morning, the Leader and two young Euromamo arrived at Rick’s room with a cart to carry his backpack to the start of the bamboo rail system for his trip down river. Once loaded, they crossed the bridge over the Bel Ami between the clothing facility and the medical facility and turned right, northward, shielded on both sides by the rain forest. As they approached the clearing where the rails began, Rick heard music coming from the foliage nearby. A few moments later, a small band of Euromamo musicians moved into the clearing, followed, to Rick’s surprise, by large crowd of villagers who’d come to see him off. All told, about two hundred of them came out of the bushes. Rick was very touched to see them. When the tune ended, the Leader motioned to three women standing in the front row to step forward with their baskets.

  “Although your presence has been a concern,” began the Leader, “you proved to be a good visitor in our village. Before you depart we want to present you a few things. First, we have some food for you to enjoy on your trip to La Puerta: smoked and salted meats and some dried fruits and nuts.”

  “Thank you very much, they look delicious.”

  Rick didn’t recognize some of the fruits and nuts, even after all the sampling of foods he had done in the rain forest. Amazing biological diversity.

  “I’ll enjoy them on the river,” he added.

  “We’ve an assortment of our plant-based medicines for you,” continued the Leader, handing Rick a wooden box with the Cork logo on the side and containing small jars. “If anyone gets curious about them, just say you picked them up in La Puerta,” said the Leader, smiling but observing Rick’s response closely.

  “I’ll do that,” said Rick. “I appreciate the gifts very much.”

  “Archbishop Witch Doctor Richards has something for you.”

  “On behalf of the Church of World Religion, I present you a St. Bullshit medal to protect you from bullshit as you go through life.”

  “That’ll help keep me out of trouble,” said Rick, grinning at the thought of wearing it around campus.

  “Just don’t test whether it actually works,” added Reverend Scientist Watt, causing a ripple of chuckles.

  “We only ask that you take it off if you decide to write up your research because we want you to bullshit then,” said the Leader.

  “I understand,” said Rick, smiling.

  “There is something else,” said the Leader. “The Council agreed that you should be given a status pin as a symbol of our high regard for you, as well as a waistcoat to pin it on. Here you are. I think we got the size right.”

  “I’m delighted and touched by your presents,” said Rick.

  “You know how our status system works,” added the Leader, “so you should now avoid doing anything that would lower your status in our eyes.”

  He looked directly into Rick’s eyes as he spoke.

  “I understand,” said Rick.

  “We also give you a family status plaque for your shelter in New Haven that reflects your family status. We know you may not be able to display it, but it’ll serve as a reminder that you should avoid disgracing your family. As we told the Soumamo, ‘like family’.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “The most important gift is the last: your blue privacy disc. Although such discs are not used in outside society, we hope that this one will remind you of the importance of privacy in our society.”

  “Thanks,” said Rick. “I left it back at the room because I thought it should remain here.”

  “You were right to leave it, but we had someone get it after you left and run it to us. We wanted you to have the one you used while you were with us.”

  “Very thoughtful of you. Thank y
ou again for everything,” said Rick, holding up the blue disc for everyone to see. “It’s been wonderful to live among you.”

  He exchanged some parting pleasantries while young Euromamos moved his backpack from the hand cart to the larger cart on the rails. Rick got in the large cart with Neville and two others. A tap on the butt of the llama started them forward. Just before the cart got out of earshot, the Leader called out one word in a clear voice: “Privacy.”

  After that, Rick heard nothing from the villagers, only the wheels rolling on the bamboo rails. Within thirty minutes, the cart took them safely past the small rapids near the village and the larger rapids down river that had been such a challenge on the trip in. They approached a small dock that was skillfully hidden against the bank of a small tributary of the river. They moved their stuff to an old, but well-maintained, boat that was moored there and they were soon on the water. Powering down the Stommore didn’t take much time and then they got to the La Cuerda. Once on the big river, Rick sat on the deck and ate some of the food that the Euromamo had given him, making sure to offer some to the others on board. He particularly liked the dried red fruit, whatever it was.

  Rick reclined in the warm sunshine and relished his feeling of relaxation. Over the past three years, he had revved himself up to such a high pitch for his graduate classes and then for his research that he could scarcely remember how it felt to not push himself every minute. His classes had been about intellectual survival and were plenty tough, but the research had been about both intellectual survival and physical survival. It was more elemental. At the end of the day, they tied the boat to a tree on the bank and settled in for the night. As Rick got situated in his hammock, he noticed that his butt sank deeper into it than before. Less tension.

  The morning of the second day, Rick passed the time by getting his first journal and identifying the landmarks as they passed them in reverse order, carefully reading each description so he could spot them in the lush green landscape. Finally, he identified Raul’s up-river dock, though it was a challenge to see. Rick remembered the anxiety he’d felt when he and Raul left it to resume their journey up river. His current feeling of relief and satisfaction was a stark contrast.

  He was comforted that Neville was experienced. While it was virtually impossible to get lost going down river, Neville still needed to watch for fallen trees in the river channel and make sure the boat didn’t go over any waterfalls or crash in rapids. Hundreds of miles ahead, when the various mouths of the river separated, Neville would have to pick the correct one (mostly to the left), then they would hit the Caribbean soon after that. A turn to the west, keeping the coast in sight, would get them to La Puerta. So simple, he told himself.

  On the third day, Rick was watching the greenery pass when he decided he should give some serious thought to the Leader’s plea that he preserve Euromamo privacy.

  Should I blurt to the world that there’s a group, descended from Europeans, deep in the rain forest that’s been living in their valley undetected for generations? Isn’t that what anthropologists do? They go in, find a remote group, take notes, write it up, and get it published. Don’t get caught up in concerns about their privacy. Besides, I don’t have a choice. No dissertation, no degree, no book, no academic job, no tenure. The impact on my career would be devastating.

  Getting my dissertation published would be great professionally. I expect at least a few ripples in academia. “English-speakers, for God’s sake!” they’ll say. It may even get some attention in mainstream media. Of course, that’s the risk. It well might harm the Euromamo. What responsibility does anthropology have to protect the groups it studies, especially those groups in which privacy is centrally important? As a rule, anthropologists publish their work with little concern about their impact…but that’s those anthropologists, not me. I’m the one making this choice and I understand how important privacy is to the Euromamo.

  ….

  Does anthropology really need to learn about one more culture in the middle of the rain forest? Will one more society make a difference to the discipline? How do I weigh my divulging of this one additional society against the desire of the Euromamo to control their contacts as they see fit? Since their first trip to the coast in 1825, they’ve carefully managed their contacts with outside society, and that’s allowed them to maintain their society the way they want it. Then I come along and put it at risk. I can just see the billboard: “Let Exotic Travel Associates set up your adventure vacation among the Euromamo. Enjoy the lush rain forest among native English speakers. Escape the billboards.”

  If I write my dissertation, Euromamo society will be harmed in exactly the way the Leader identified. At first, a few adventurous journalists will get curious about the novelty of the group and come here to get a story. Pharmaceutical companies will get here pronto after they learn of the Euromamos’ plant-based medicines. Merchants will follow with a flood of advertising for all kinds of items. Some academics will trickle in. Maybe a few wealthy adventurers—Teddy Roosevelt types—will come. All will be intrusive and disruptive from the Euromamo point of view. Soon, the Euromamo wouldn’t be able to control which elements of outside culture to adopt and which to reject. Their careful picking and choosing would be a thing of the past. After they became generally known, they could no longer go to La Puerta and other places anonymously.

  I owe it to the Leader and the other Euromamo, to think through their concerns carefully. Why couldn’t I be a journalist? Then I could say that the Euromamo allowed me to research them on an understanding of confidentiality and I couldn’t violate that understanding. That’s close enough to the truth in my case and it’d resolve everything. I’m in the wrong profession, I guess.

  ….

  The Euromamo live deep in the rain forest. What could possibly happen to their privacy if I let the world know they exist? Sure, there might be some intrusion, but how much? It was hard as hell for me to get up river to their valley. Who’s going to go through that just to see a bunch of light-skinned, English-speaking rain forest people? But I’m travelling on the Euromamo system right now and it’s not that difficult. It’s pleasant even. The Euromamos’ good system of transportation to and from the coast would be a problem for them if their privacy were breached. Outsiders could use it to get to them more easily, and the system is being improved constantly. Added to that, outside society is improving other ways to get through the rain forest: seaplanes, speedboats, helicopters, and the like. Even roadways.

  The Euromamo may take a hit but the world would benefit from knowing how they live. They’ve addressed issues thoughtfully, better than outside society, I think. Advertising. Bellowing, intrusive advertising: hell, get rid of it. Consumption: thoughtfully pick and choose items. Pursuit of individual wealth: live simply and build social wealth. Religion: make it up to benefit society. Marriage: leave it to individuals to decide their marital arrangements. Warfare: decide differences non-violently by paint darts. Nationalism: remain open to learning from others. Pursuit of pleasure: don’t let it take over your life. These and other ways of living, developed in this valley, people need to know about. So just write the damn dissertation and let everybody learn from the Euromamo. And remember: no dissertation, no degree. Diminished future. Give that up for one group’s privacy? Doesn’t make sense.

  ….

  Is there any other way out of this? Could I write giving a different name to the Euromamo, disguising them, and where they live? I’m getting close to a novel here. Of course, I could do a fictionalized account from memory. I wouldn’t even need my notes. In fact, if I tossed my notes overboard right now, there wouldn’t be a written record of my findings, no evidence that the Euromamo are a real group. They could continue living in privacy as they wish. As far as anyone would know, I came up empty in my anthropological research efforts. Of course, I wouldn’t survive two seconds before the Committee. Back to the no-degree problem, and that’s a whopper. Besides, I like social science based on accurate, objecti
ve facts. The Church of Science is right about facts. Fictionalizing what I’ve researched would be crap. Novels are made up like religious belief. They’re big elaborate lies, page after page of them, with the only constraints being style and internal consistency.

  I’m not ready to toss my notes until I’ve thought this through better. I can always destroy them later if I decide I should. It’s a dilemma.

  Rick zipped up his bag with his notes inside.

  CHAPTER 34

  La Puerta Revisited

  “I made it out of the rain forest!” Rick exclaimed as the boat cleared the mouth of the La Cuerda.

  At the back of the boat, Neville heard him and smiled. Rick scanned the horizon, relishing the long view over open water after months of short views blocked by vegetation. He took his survival knife off his belt and stowed it in his backpack as he no longer needed it. While he was in his backpack, he pulled out a fresh shirt, the best he had, notwithstanding a small tear from a rain forest thorn. La Puerta was only half a day away.

  That afternoon, as the boat entered the La Puerta harbor, Rick welcomed the sight of the wharves after a year’s absence. Neville steered the boat in a smooth controlled arc, pulling beside the same wharf where Raul had moored his boat. That was fortunate because Rick needed to find Raul before he left to pick him up. Several people were working on nearby boats, but Raul was not among them. When Rick looked up and down the wharf, he couldn’t see if Raul’s boat was docked there because other boats blocked his view. Right away, wharf hands walked over, welcoming Neville. They quickly secured the boat and began unloading the stainless steel kegs of plant-based medicines. As soon as one dolly was loaded and rolled away, another was moved in place, with a practiced smoothness, to take the next keg. As the workers wheeled the kegs off, Rick noticed they had no markings that would identify their origins as the Euromamo village, only code numbers on a plain label. The workers stored the kegs in a small building, about ten feet square, on the shore near the wharf. When the unloading was completed, a worker thoughtfully helped Rick get his backpack onto the wharf.