Publicity

Thailand: Cultures in Cloth

Far East Traveler (January 1993)

On the threshold of time, the First Mother, ancestor of the Mien people, took up her needle. Out of the rolling mist, her mind plucked images that her deft fingers stitched – there, a mountain pushing upward to meet the sky; there, a river ribboning through lush forests; there, in that landscape, birds and animals and human beings. Thus, it was she who created the world.

Legend tells us that hilltribe textiles are as old as the ancestry itself and are an integral part of tribal culture. Thailand’s hilltribe peoples have come from China, Tibet, Myanmar, Laos and/or Vietnam – moving from place to place and seeking new fields every seven years or so. Their craftwork, therefore, isn't invested in buildings that might be left behind, in furnishings too awkward to transport, or in ceramics that may break, but rather in cloth that can be carried easily, worn during hard work, and displayed on days of celebration.

By embellishing their hand-woven cloth with an iconography that is both decorative and spiritually significant, tribal peoples achieve a coherence, providing for the body and the soul at the same time.

Each of northern Thailand’s major hilltribes – the Karen, Hmong (or Meo), Mien (or Yao), Lahu, Lisu, and Akha – has its preferred techniques for decorating cloth, its characteristic way of designing garments. It is by these difference that hilltribe groups are often identified.

For instance, the Blue Hmong are so called because they are the only group to make blue and white batik cloth used in the women’s finely pleated hemp skirts, while the White Hmong wear plain white hemp skirts for ceremonial occasions. The Yellow Karen favor that color along with red (for which the Red Karen are known) in checked patterns on their blouses. The White Lahu (or Lahu Kulao), who sport the most subdued clothing in the hilltribe spectrum, are known for the distinctive undyed white and tan cotton clothing they wear – the result of a shaman’s vision some fifty years ago.

Stylistic differences extend to how the fabric is embellished. The Karen use two unique techniques. For the white shifts worn by unmarried girls, they insert tufts of red yarn into the weft threads, and, on women’s blouses, they sew Jacob’s Tears (a type of seed pod) in geometric patterns.

Lahu women craft small triangles and squares into a patchwork band that edges the side slits of their long tunics, while the Lisu are masters of a technique wherein strips of brightly colored fabric, each less than a half-centimeter wide, are sewn into elaborate curved collars more vivid than rainbows.

Mien women are known for the dense cross stitches, small ant tracks, on their trousers and ends of their turbans. Mien and Lisu cloth, thus finished, has no wrong side, and the workmanship is perfect, front and back.

Traditional costumes retain memories of journeys and migrations, the strongest influence being that of the Chinese. This can be seen in the tunics of the Lahu, with their stand-up collars, diagonal front closures, and deep slits up the sides. It is clear also in the embroidered characters on capes worn by the Mien, who still use the Chinese written alphabet. Patches, which have been appliqued (one material attached to another), adorn the backs of White and Blue Hmong collars – recalling badges worn by high-ranking officials during China’s Yuan (Mongol) dynasty. Furthermore, the Chinese influence appears on the backs of Lisu women, in cascading necklaces where fish and butterflies (both auspicious Chinese motifs) frolic.

Some groups wear their full traditional costumes everyday. Others, like the white Hmong, reserve special clothing for special occasions. New Year festivals in January or February, celebrated by all major hilltribes except the Karen, are great occasions for celebrating, dancing, drinking, visiting other villages, and impressing the neighbors. Lisu and Lahu people spend weeks before this holiday, finishing outfits and bedecking them with silver.

Fashion demands that clothing be studded, strung, and spangled with silver, which hilltribe peoples prefer over gold and precious stones, saying it binds the soul to the body and keeps the wearer safe. The Lahu Nyi women’s blouse features large silver disks as fasteners, while Lisu women’s vests are covered in domed silver studs, the size of gum drops. The dazzling silver-studded headdresses, draped with silver rope, that Akha women wear daily, grow so hot in the bright sun that they must be covered with cloth.

Conspicuous consumption is the rule in jewelry, too. Silver bracelets and neckrings are worn by men, women, and children. Karen women stack as many as 90 silver bracelets up their arms, and Hmong women wear loose stacks of silver neckrings and necklaces, with a characteristic trapezoid shaped pendant, resembling the shape of purses that once were used in Tibet. Lisu women wear elaborate necklaces (collars, really) of silver dangles that transform fashion into an aural, as well as visual, experience.

Clothing and ornament radiate signals about the wearer’s social standing. The wealthier a Hmong woman is, the more silver and skirts she has. The richer a Mien woman is, the more she can afford to embroider her turban, trousers and sleeves in elaborate cross-stitch patterns, using expensive yarn and silver thread.

Particularly for females, changes in costume mark key passages from one stage of life to another. Married Lahu women sport less embroidery and a lot more silver than their unwed sisters. Karen maidens wear white ankle-length dresses tufted in red, but newlyweds switch to dark two-piece dresses, worn with a turban, to signify their wifely status.

Among the Mon Po Akha, four ceremonies mark the gradual transition from girlhood to womanhood. The girls add Job’s Tears, beads, and silver to their caps to create stunning headdresses, and they begin to wear a halter bodice and a sash. Akha women who have passed menopause are honored in an "equality-with-men ceremony," for which they wear white.

Men’s and children’s clothing is no less interesting and only somewhat less ornate. By their attire, men advertise their wealth and virility. The Akha man’s jacket is slit up the back to show his muscles. Blue Hmong men wear a short-waisted jacket, an elaborately embroidered sash that fans out in front to their knees, silver neckrings, and black skullcaps topped with a large red pompom, like a rooster’s comb.

Tribal fashion also has a spiritual function. Red topknots on the caps worn by Hmong, Mien, and Lahu Shi babies are thought to protect them from evil spirits, while eight-pointed stars appliqued onto Hmong baby carriers are an auspicious motif. To aid healing, the White Hmong applique a symbol on back of a sick person’s shirt. And, to guarantee superior weaving and sewing skills, Karen women adorn the backs of their hands with tattoos – a talisman signifying strength and spiritual protection.

Among all the hilltribes, fine weaving and stitching are the skills by which women make their reputations, and by which a young bachelor may judge whether a prospective bride is hardworking and creative. For although each hilltribe has its preferred techniques, choice of pattern and quality of handwork express individual personality.

Mien maidens decorate their bridal veils with a rich pattern of cross-stitches and show off other techniques on traditional items, such as colorful appliqued saddle covers. As part of a Blue Hmong wedding, the bride’s handiwork is displayed at her parent’s house, her skirts prominently featured. Blue Hmong women spend up to two hours of concentrated effort to draw a batik design measuring fifteen square centimeters; takes up to five meters of batik and white hemp, cultivated for its ability to hold fine pleats, to make one skirt.

Needlecraft is taught early on. A Mien girl, for instance, learns sewing from about age four, including a running stitch, unique among the hilltribes. By the time she’s ten, a girl embroiders her own trousers. By the time she’s 20, her needlework skills rival other women’s, and she may take more than a year to embroider a pair of trousers for everyday wear. By the time she’s 40, she may stitch from memory as many as 100 different patterns, with whimsical names like Tiger’s Skin, Swinging Gibbon, Playing Kittens, Hunter’s Blind, Snails, Tiger’s Tracks, Pumpkin Vine, Thorn of the Full-blown Flower. And, she may become quite nearsighted from the strain of close work.

It is the women who keep all the hilltribe peoples clothed, but this is by no means all they do. The average hilltribe wife rises early to haul water to her home, feeds and tends the pigs, chickens and other domestic animals. She also cleans and cooks the rice, prepares meals, serves her husband before herself, cares for her children, cleans house, plants and tends rice and other corps, and harvests in the proper season.

The preparation of the cloth before it is decorated is an incredibly labor intensive enterprise. Most of the hilltribes grow their own cotton and make their own cloth – the notable exception being the Lisu, who purchase the bright blue and green cloth they favor for blouses, and the multicolored cloth they use in collars. In January or thereabouts, before the New Year’s Festival, the cotton is harvested. After it is cleaned, the fibers are spun. Akha women spin the fiber by rolling a spindle on the thigh or shin. Girls can spin by the time they are six, and skilled adults can spin as they walk. Similarly, Mien woman twist their embroidery yarn, with the spindle on their shins or thighs, to make the thread stronger. The Hmong, Karen, and Lahu spin cotton using hand operated spinning wheels.

The most accomplished and prolific weavers among Thai hilltribes are the Karen. Working the fabric "wrong side up," they use a variety of techniques, including continuous supplementary weft for tube skirts, continuous supplementary warp and weft in white and red for the turbans of unmarried maidens, and discontinuous supplementary weft inserted by hand without using a shuttle – to yield a three-dimensional "caterpillar" effect, in which the inserted yarn is hardly visible on the other side of the fabric.

Most weaving is done out of doors, on the ground, or on terraces of bamboo-walled, thatch-roofed houses. Back strap looms—in which one end of the warp threads is attached to the wall of the house and the other end to a strap that circles the weaver’s back as she sits on the floor – are used by the Karen, Lisu and Lahu. A bamboo loom with a foot-treadle is used by the Akha and some Lahu.

After it is woven, the cloth is usually dyed. While commercial dyes have replaced plant dyes in many cases, the hilltribe peoples still use natural indigo to achieve the deep blue-black color preferred by most for clothing. To make indigo dye, women collect the leaves and stalks of the "indigofera" plant and place them in a large pot of water. After three days, these are removed, and limestone powder is added and the mixture stirred until it bubbles. The liquid is poured into huge pot with rice or corn liquor, or an alkaline solution of water and ash, and allowed to stand for as long as ten days. The chemical process is tricky and can fail because of bad luck, uncooperative spirits, or insufficient stirring. When it does fail, one must begin again.

Cloth is soaked in the dye vat, removed, and beaten with a wooden mallet so the dye penetrates evenly, then hung to dry on bamboo frames in the village. Dyeing and drying are repeated more than ten times to achieve the deepest tone.

In their use and in the way they are made and decorated, the textiles of the hilltribes have historically served as bearers of tradition. But change is accelerating. Terrycloth towels are now the fabric of choice for turbans among Lahu women, while some Hmong women, fearing violence and theft, have stopped wearing silver.

As their children begin to attend Thai schools and learn the Thai language, as more tourists and missionaries come, and as more outside influences enter – will hilltribe peoples become more conscious of time's passing and grow impatient with labor-intensive craftwork? Probably so.

For the moment, however, hilltribe peoples maintain the essential character of their textiles, while adapting to new conditions, as perhaps, they have always done.

In Thailand, present day Hmong refugees from Laos, for example, encode a legacy in stitches as their ancestors had done. They sew pictorial story cloths, on which appliqued images tell of homeland and daily village life, of harvests and festivals, of distribution, soldiers, escapes, and hunger – events of a life lost that Hmong needleworkers want their children to remember.

Hmong legend tells of an ancient migration from a warm river valley that some Thai scholars believe to have been Mesopotamia, to a mountainous area between Mongolia and Tibet, where, nearly two millennia ago, they established a Kingdom. In time, their Kingdom was overrun by Chinese Han rulers who called them untamable barbarians ("Meo") rather than "liberated people" ("Hmong") and who forbade their written language.

Legend has it that they encoded their alphabet in cross stitch embroidery – just as, prior to Chinese ideograms coming into use, historic events were recorded using a system of knots. Reassuring their children that one day a great leader would be born who would restore their kingdom, the Hmong people left their land and began a journey that has lasted to this day.

Hilltribe textiles bespeak more than a way of life and skills vanishing in the industrial world. They tell of individual expression, of discipline and devotion, and of a history whose last chapter has yet to be recorded.