Rediscovering the Past: A brief history of multiculturalism under Genghis Khan and its impact upon Asia today.
The streets of Beijing where rainy and I sullenly trudged along. My friend, Wendy, was leaping before me her raincoat glistening in the unseasonable weather.
“Ah Ning! Hurry up!” she yelled, I stared back at her sullenly not wanting to drag my feet any further, but her imploring gaze made me speed up and soon as I was striding alongside her. She chattered excitedly in my ear, her blonde hair bouncing in the slight breeze. The colourful shops and faces where hidden behind umbrellas in a futile attempt to keep at least parts of themselves dry. Wendy marched me through Tiananmen Square, tourists flocking through it trying to find a lost reverence, lost in the annals of newspaper and pop culture.
“Wendy, I really don’t have time to go to the Museum today.” I said, I clutched my notebook; I was working on a paper from my World Issues class, I was attempting to disseminate the social intricacies of Beijing and its cultural differences from it to the rest of China. I was endlessly fascinated by western ideals of multiculturalism, often reading up on the American ‘melting pot’ and the Canadian and British concept of a ‘Mosaic’. I liked the mosaic ideal much better, it reflected my Beijing. Though everyone here largely looked Chinese, the immigrant community was thriving and everyone lived in relative peace and tolerance. I think it was because no one here was pure Chinese- if such a concept even existed- there was much more to the Asian faces that mingled here. I myself was actually part Mongolian, my grandmother relentlessly postured about how great the Mongolians were. I usually tuned it out.
“So they have a new exhibit!” said Wendy, pushing up her glasses and interrupting my train of thought.
“Oh?” I said distractedly, flipping through my notebook, having thought of some new points to add to my paper.
“Yes. On Genghis Khan.”
I snapped my book shut, just as we entered the cavernous hallway of the National Museum of China.
“What? Wendy!” I said irritably, “why would I want to see an exhibit on him. He was a murderous scoundrel!”
“Ah,” said Wendy sagely, “but an incredible murderous scoundrel.” She handed the money over to the bored ticket agent who seemed perturbed that we had interrupted her nail filing.
“I hear enough about him from my Grandmother. All she talks about is our forgotten age and how the western scholars have hijacked history.” I tutted, shaking my head sadly.
Wendy only peered at me curiously, “and what you don’t agree with that?”
“I do to an extent- but I have trouble believing that Genghis Khan’s legacy lasted beyond his murdering campaigns and slaughter of innocents.”
Wendy shrugged and simply said, “I think it might help your paper is all. Come on, I’ve already got the tickets.”
Resigning myself, I trudged along after her.
*
We were stood in front of a gilded helmet, a brilliant restored blue plume sticking out gaudily from the top of it. Underneath was written that it was a helmet that the Great Khan had worn into battle. I snorted,
“I find it hard to believe anyone would have taken him seriously if he had worn that.”
Wendy only smiled and snapped picture discreetly on her phone and strode off to peer at other exhibits. I lingered at the helmet though; I did like it in some strange way. There was no rope around it; I could touch it if I wanted too. Cautiously, I lifted my hand and placed my finger near it, that I wasn’t just quite touching it. I had no idea why, but I felt pulled toward it. Instinctively I touched the cool metal, and only felt ancient helmet underneath my hand. Then there was a great rushing sound, the museum disappeared around me and I was somewhere else entirely.
*
I blinked my eyes rapidly, disbelievingly. I stared all around, not recognizing where I was at all. All around me was a bare flat landscape, broken only by a pithy stream and great mountains in the distance. I had a distinct feeling that I knew where I was but couldn’t quite place it. However, I was mostly startled at my own lack of panic at having been seemingly transported to an entirely different world. I turned around and screamed.
I saw the helmet again, but it was being worn by a man. The blue plume wasn’t there anymore, it had two great big feathers protruding out of it and they were billowing in the wind. I jumped back stammering, but the man’s eyes passed right over me as if I wasn’t there. I paused and frowned.
“Hello?”
I clapped my hands over my mouth; I felt my mouth moving but no sound was coming out. I also realized I wasn’t wearing my usual clothes- it looked like the clothes I wore to see my grandmother, but more rustic. Mongolian clothing.
I stared at the man before me who carried on as though a young lady hadn’t just popped into existence before his very eyes. He was swathed in rich fabrics, I large sword on his hip. He had an overwhelming presence, one not only of austerity but of great power. I felt intimidated.
He barked out an order, to a young Mongolian man who was standing upright before him.
“Today we destroy Shah Ala-ad din Muhammad.” He growled, “Today Jochi, Jenge and the Chinggis Khan take what is ours and erase the Kwarezmian Dynasty- for they insult us by existing.”
My mouth hung open; it didn’t even register in my head as the man, whom I know knew to be Chinngis Khan, to walk right through me as though I was a ghost.
My first instinct was too really panic, but then it didn’t seem I was in any harm. Perhaps it was just a dream? I looked around and decided no- this was definitely no dream. It was far too vivid and real, everything too linear and the smells and sights where all too real. I stared around at whom Chinngis was addressing and my eyes widened. Thousands of men were assembled, standing upright and proud as their leader addressed them. I noticed that they all were heavily armed but unique. Many looked Mongolian and dressed in Mongolian armour. But there were others, Hindus and Muslims, and others in the hodge podge of the army. Though hodge podge is a terrible term for what was clearly a well-organized and formidable army.
Chinngis Khan finished his speech and roared to the heavens, as one his army raised their weapons in unison and the ground began to shake. They were marching forward to destroy the dynasty. As the army encroached, I raised my hands, even though I knew they couldn’t touch me. Just before they marched past me everything went black again.
*
I opened my eyes cautiously, and I was back in the museum, my hand still resting on the helmet. I quickly snatched it away, breathing heavily. I looked around, had anyone noticed I had disappeared? But no, the people were just the same as they were before. Wendy was around, taking pictures of exhibits.
I frowned and walked cautiously to another exhibit, I stood before it. This, like the helmet, wasn’t protected behind glass. It appeared to be a very old pair of dark red rosary beads, though they were simple. I read the small sign underneath- they had belonged to a Sufi saint who was in the presence of Chinggis Khan.
I bit my lip, not sure whether to do it. Not sure if it would work a second time. Regardless I extended my hand and brushed the beads with the tips of my fingertips. Again, blackness and a noise, then-
I found myself draped along a luxurious red carpet; I hastily straightened myself out and sat cross legged. I was in a room with a low hanging ceiling that seemed to entirely consist of brilliantly coloured scarves. I spotted Chinngis again, though he looked much different from how I last saw him. He was dressed, still, in rich clothing. Though there was no militant air around him. He sat, kneeling, his head unadorned- black hair scraped back from his sharply featured face.
He was conversing with a large man with a luxuriously soft and long white beard, atop whose head sat an ornately wrapped turban. In his left hand he ran his hands through a string or red beads. The red beads in the museum- though far less tarnished now- this man must have been the Sufi scholar. I paused, wondering what Chinggis Khan could have wanted from a Sufi saint, and listened in with rapt attention.
My eyes grew rounder as the Sufi began regaling Chinggis with Islamic, Hindu and even some Jewish beliefs. On and on he drowned, the sweet scent of incense perfuming his words with greater poetry. Chinggis merely sat and listened, nodding his head and staring pensively off to the side. The interaction was pretty incredible to me; I hadn’t a clue that Chinggis even followed any religious tradition. But from the sound of it, it appeared that he was taking it all in. Listening with rapt attention and not only that but he seemed receptive to any religious discourse. What must have subjects thought of their leader? I wondered. To have a leader that took in so many beliefs.
Presently, the Sufi’s discourse subsided and Chinngis rose from his position and inclined his head. The Sufi bowed back respectfully as he exited the room. My eyes felt heavy from the deep level of conversation as well as the heady scent of incense. I closed my eyes, slipping into a deep sleep-
Only to wake up with a start in the museum, I withdrew my hand carefully from the beads and let out a great big sigh. My mind was itching with ideas, there was no denying Chinggis Khan’s cruel takeover, yet there was something more. The hand that was clutching my notebook twitched as I began to think of ideas.
Slowly I scanned the room again and my eyes fell upon one final exhibit. Well, it wasn’t really an artefact so much as it was a huge map that spanned one wall. I stepped toward it and pressed my fingers against it. Once more I was taken back.
*
My first impression was that of chaos. People ran all around me and through me, fires were lit and panic was evident. The wide eyed faces that were opened in terror belonged mostly to women, children and old people. With a horrifying realization, I knew that their men had been at war- and had lost. My mind sped back to my first encounter with Chinggis. He had been planning on invading the Islamic states under the Shah.
My mind raced back to my history lessons- what happened when a ruler from a different nation over took another? Specifically, what happened to the people? They would kill them or force them to convert to their religion. No wonder that there was panic, these people feared for their lives and souls. I wanted to help but I was only a ghost visiting a past event.
In the distance the relentless beat of horses hooves where heard and as one the panic subsided into a quiet, stationary fear. I saw the Khan ride up, regal and impressive as ever. Behind him was a younger man who looked much like him and had the same proud bearing, his son Ogedai. The eventual successor. Behind them where a hundred or so men dispersing among the crowd of frightened villagers. Khan opened his mouth, perhaps to issue a death sentence. I closed my eyes not wanting to see this. Until-
“People of Sindh!” he roared, his voice cracked a little with age, “You’re shah and his son are no more your leaders. I am.”
Silence reverberated all around.
“You live your lives as you did before, but know that I am your leader and your ruler.”
There were tentative whispers, the Khan continued.
“What remains of your men will return. Live as you did before, but you are under my Empire now.”
With a flick of his horses’ tail, he and his men moved on through the village. The villagers left unscathed; as one they turned to stare at the back of the forward marching Khan. The great plumes on his helmet swaying in the wind. I too stared back, as women began to call out to each other. A few reciting words from their holy books, out of a sense of relief or perhaps blessings for their new ruler that let them be.
I chewed on my lip deep in thought, I stepped forward wanting to move after the Khan but again the blackness came and I groaned. I didn’t want to go back to reality yet- not when things were finally getting interesting.
I found myself back in midstride at the museum, and nearly headed into a wall, until I felt a familiar tug on the back of my jacket. Wendy pulled me back and stared at me curiously.
“Have you seen enough of the exhibits?” she inquired.
“Oh yes.” I replied, a smile steadily growing along my face.
*
As we exited the museum, Wendy happily sorting through the shots she had managed to capture on her phone, I began talking.
“I think I’ve changed my mind about Chinggis.”
“You mean Genghis and how?”
“No the proper pronunciation is Chinggis, Wendy. And I think- well I get your point. I can see how he can help me on my assignment.”
Wendy peered at me, a little confused. I only smiled and shrugged. My notebook in hand.
*
What is multiculturalism? Today it means the flourishing of cultures in any space, the acceptance of said cultures and religious traditions and the celebration of it. In China being an ‘other’ means things in different places. Beijing, and even Hong Kong, however remains different in their acceptance. Perhaps it is our history that allows us to be more open. But what of the rest of Asia? The territories once marked by a great Mongol ruler?
Chinggis Khan’s impact upon multi-culturalism is a profound one. By no means was he a merciful or beneficent man. He was a military leader- and one that unified the Mongol tribes and Asia, as we see it today. The spirit of Chinggis Khan still lives today; he allowed those under his rule to live as they chose and for that time, that notion was revolutionary. Perhaps the Mongolian empire lasted so long was because individuals were allowed to prosper, and that in turn has given rise to a unique and unconquerable spirit of the Khan. He unified an army through a language still spoken today, Urdu. Perhaps, China needs to revisit this ignored legacy. To remember what it is to be a nation, to not separate but unify in diversity. The Khan is still calling, and he is roaring for a new age.
- Ao Zhen Ning.
-Zainab Asadullah, 5:00 pm.
Blog Entry # 3
I found that the articles assigned for this week had a lot of carry over from last weeks article, really it was just extrapolating the notion of last weeks article of the influence greater regions have over smaller and localized cultures.
Liu outlines the impact that the Yuezhi-Kushan clans had on the outlying regions. Being a stationary culture, their impact was stronger. Liu demonstrates the proliferation of the Y-K clans through the variations in art form through the centuries.
The important question that arises from this, however, is that because of the amalgamation of culture and religions in central Asia at the time, it is almost impossible to find a ‘true’ culture. Liu gives the example of how no one really knows what Mongol culture is truly like. So to the question at hand, how do we seperate cultures from each other?
Perhaps we should then ask ourselves, is the seperation of culture into equalized and pure groups important in understanding the culture? Or, is it more important to understand how these cultures have intermixed to appreciate the larger scope in which these cultures came at play in? Ok, in more coherent terms what I’m trying to say is:
The amalgamation of the Yuezhi-Kushan clans among nomadic tribes of Central Asia has given the region a diverse and mixed variations of cultures, tribes and even religion.
Does seperating culture from each other help us gain a higher apprecation of it? Or do all these ‘mixed cultures’ give us a historically accurate model of what types of cultures, religions and languages were prevalent in the area?
Are smaller traditions and clans remembered through their assimilation in larger cultures?
Food for thought.
![Blog Entry # 2
Yesterday, I found out that I am not in fact Pakistani as I had previously thought, but that I am half Indian too. At first I was hugely surprised and, to be honest, a little excited. To the average person, however, this doesn’t seem any cause for concern and not altogether as revelatory as my brother and I found it.
But it was important, we were still Punjabi- but not as Pakistani as we had previously thougt. What’s the big difference, a friend of mine asked. I thought about it. I came up with a satisfactory answer upon reading Hintsch’s article wherein he quotes Barth who postulates,
“[an] ethnic group is a social organization where members share common cultural traits they think were inherited from past generations.”
and Hintch too adds that cultural identity is not as immutable as popular opinion holds that it is in fact, ‘fluid, arbitrary and constructed’.
‘Ethnically’ there is really no difference, in my mind, between Pakistan and India in that we share the same myriad of ethnic backgrounds, our myths are often similar, we shar ethe same media. We are, raelly, the same. But we are different as well; we have made distinctions in our class systems and our alleged cultural traits. A Pakistani Punjabi is, somehow, not the same as an Indian Punjabi.
Similarly in Myths, the same mentality is at play here. Hintsch demonstrates the correlation and the attempts made by ethnic Chinese to unify China in a single cohesive ancestry, by using mythical and religious elements of groups that refuse this ‘Chineseness’ in order to tie them to their own cultural history. Yet, the attempt remains futile. The concept of the other and us still remains prevalent to this day. Though Hintsch says that the power of myth constructs identity, it also separates too. The myth of a unified cultural China was indeed perpetuated by these very myths, and is what has (in my opinion) created the ‘psychological gap’ between the different areas of China.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lahwgacjFp1qdg4xzo1_500.jpg)
Blog Entry # 2
Yesterday, I found out that I am not in fact Pakistani as I had previously thought, but that I am half Indian too. At first I was hugely surprised and, to be honest, a little excited. To the average person, however, this doesn’t seem any cause for concern and not altogether as revelatory as my brother and I found it.
But it was important, we were still Punjabi- but not as Pakistani as we had previously thougt. What’s the big difference, a friend of mine asked. I thought about it. I came up with a satisfactory answer upon reading Hintsch’s article wherein he quotes Barth who postulates,
“[an] ethnic group is a social organization where members share common cultural traits they think were inherited from past generations.”
and Hintch too adds that cultural identity is not as immutable as popular opinion holds that it is in fact, ‘fluid, arbitrary and constructed’.
‘Ethnically’ there is really no difference, in my mind, between Pakistan and India in that we share the same myriad of ethnic backgrounds, our myths are often similar, we shar ethe same media. We are, raelly, the same. But we are different as well; we have made distinctions in our class systems and our alleged cultural traits. A Pakistani Punjabi is, somehow, not the same as an Indian Punjabi.
Similarly in Myths, the same mentality is at play here. Hintsch demonstrates the correlation and the attempts made by ethnic Chinese to unify China in a single cohesive ancestry, by using mythical and religious elements of groups that refuse this ‘Chineseness’ in order to tie them to their own cultural history. Yet, the attempt remains futile. The concept of the other and us still remains prevalent to this day. Though Hintsch says that the power of myth constructs identity, it also separates too. The myth of a unified cultural China was indeed perpetuated by these very myths, and is what has (in my opinion) created the ‘psychological gap’ between the different areas of China.
Blog Entry # 1.
Religion is tied up in culture and language, and for some, both cannot be removed from religion. I don’t think, exactly, that it can be separated from language or a lack of language. Almost all religion has some degree of reliance of an original text written in some sacred language. However, the separation of culture and religion is interesting. Levinson and Ember attempt to disentangle both religion and culture but find it to be a tricky process; though religion is often tied up in the foundation of culture it can, seemingly, coexist by itself and across cultural boundaries.
One commonality between religion, language and culture is that all these things have the ability to transcend the boundary of peoples and countries. Crystal demonstrates how all languages are not truly unique in and of themselves, some are unexplained, but overall human beings have borrowed from each other and that language can be sorted in a few large categories. Similarly, culture has several small sects and variations within larger groups (an example being the Pathans in Northern India). Ember and Levinson also demonstrate how all religion, though varying in practices and texts, all have a a few key elements that coincide with each other. Yet religion doesn’t have a wide tradition of diverse mixing. They keep largely independent, operating in very fixed groups. For example, the Abrahamic faiths are very self contained. I’m not entirely sure, my own knowledge on this is limited and I’d be happy to be proved wrong.
However, unlike language and culture, the relationship with peoples and religion is difference as in there is no cross-over. Either you take on the religion or a large aspect of it, but you do not ‘mix’ it with a preexisting religion. I think, by contrasting language/culture and religion, I can appreciate the difficulty in placing religion in a historical context of the Silk Road. Unlike language and culture which is largely fluid, religion is almost like self-contained unit that only allows for little change if at all.
Hello.
Asalaamulaykum Class~
