Basque ethnography at a glance

Amagoia Gezuraga.

The local parish would, in former times, be a common and reliable channel for folks to keep abreast of significant social life events in villages, towns and cities, far more than rumours and hearsay. Church attendance being a fundamental religious practice for the vast majority, especially on Sundays, due announcement would be made of impending marriages, the so-called banns, making the most of the occasion; the names of recently departed parishioners were likewise announced, and the day and time when masses were to be offered for them; and believe it or not, moral assessment of all films screened in community venues and cinemas was posted on the church door.

Our patterns have changed profoundly over the years. On account of reasons which I should not come now to expose nor analyse, parishes are no longer the official, and not even the unofficial, means to transmit such news.

Death notices or obituaries are published in newspapers and often displayed on what I call ‘funerary columns’: places of frequent passage, such as access walls to busy bakeries, bar entrances, and other popular meeting points.

The foregoing becomes all the more relevant today given that this dreadful coronavirus pandemic is taking the lives of fellow seniors, yet news of their death does not reach us, unless we are family or close friends. Social distance and confinement have us isolated as never before and often unaware of the latest developments. There are no words to describe the drama of folks passing away without counting on support and loving from their own at the end of their lives, without being allowed to say the last goodbye to their loved ones.

Although it really comes as a secondary message, I should also like to point out, in case we are not sufficiently aware, that with them goes an important part of our culture. What they have passed onto us stays, but they shall tell us no more.

They have been vital informants in our data gathering efforts as ethnographers, chief transmitters of knowledge and skills which would otherwise risk being lost. They have been our central reserve, a bottomless source of information, a never-ending means of discovering new aspects of age-old lifestyles and traditions. They would dazzle us again and again with their understanding of our country’s heritage, so rich but hidden, for they never boasted nor bragged.

I do realize that the term ‘reserve’ might sound ambiguous, regarding its different meanings. Reserves and reservists are individuals who abandon working life, and as if it were, are withheld from society; a reserve can also be a reservation for an indigenous people; and the finest wines and liquors, aged and ennobled in oak casks, bear the designation of reserve or grand reserve.

There is much to learn and take in from our elders. All that valuable experience and wisdom accumulated throughout their lives! What a great shame that so many members of the older generation are slipping away, and not enough can be done to prevent it! Seniors are highly respected and listened to in countries like Japan or China, and among Amerindian peoples, to mention some examples. In certain civilizations the senate —term that comes from Latin senātus, which in turn comes from senex ‘old man’— proved to be an essential consultative body of wise men whose judgements were heard with attention and fervour. Indeed, the Senātus Populusque Rōmānus (SPQR) ensured the sovereignty of the ancient Roman Republic.

To finish off, a quote from Norberto Bobbio’s De senectute [Old age], as translated by Allan Cameron: “An old person encapsulates a community’s cultural heritage more fully than any of its other members”.

Segundo Oar-Arteta – Labayru Fundazioa

Translated by Jaione Bilbao – Ethnography Department – Labayru Fundazioa