Thank you. My journey is to seek tribal wisdom for the modern world. My name, David Mabry Lewis. When are you rich? And when are you poor?
In Indonesia, this man measures his wealth through favors owed him. A wealth of people, not of things. And this young African boy learns the value of giving to a stranger.
These are the stories we were told. Stories from the heart. Stories for a thousand years.
Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Oh, put it under the tree. I've got a better idea.
Let's open the presents tonight. Quickly. I hunted all day for it.
Now you'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day. Give me your watch. I'd like to see what that looks like.
Well, you have to open yours. All right. I know how much you wanted them. They look so beautiful in here. What happened to your hair?
I had to cut my hair so that I could buy her gift. It's alright, it'll grow back. Now give me your watch. I sold my watch for the money to buy the combs. Merry Christmas, my darling.
Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Oh, Henry wrote that story as a commission for a Christmas edition of a newspaper. He knocked it together in three hours, just before the deadline. And it's been a classic ever since. Why?
Because it touches all the bases, presses all the emotional buttons. human beings need human relationships and so gifts to the loved ones the gifts aren't important the loved ones are but outside that circle in the west anyway is a whole complicated system called the marketplace where by and large there aren't too many loved ones just a lot of Strangers, a lot of lawyers, and things have it over people. In tribal societies, relationships are more important than things.
In our society, things have become more important than relationships. Symbols have become more important than what they symbolize. Medium becomes the message.
In religion, that's called idolatry. In a tribal society, you know how many things you want, it's how many things you need. So riches aren't measured in things. But in our society, we know how many things we want, and it's as many things as possible.
And we do measure riches by figures. And the medium with the message, advertising, convinces us that things satisfy our need for relationships. Incidentally, O. Henry's story was called...
The Gifts of the Magi. Three wise men who followed the star. Now this film is the story of wise men from afar.
North, south, east side, west side. I remember as I was growing up, as a child, I was going to grammar school, and I wasn't paying attention to the teacher, or I might have missed my homework. Her remarks to me were, do you want to grow up to be a garbage man? And here I am, a garbage man.
I see people not caring about what they buy. They buy things just for the sake of just saying, I have it. I find that a lot of times, it's not even used. They have it just for show.
It's such a wasteful society that sometimes it just makes me sick when I pick up trash that I can take home and use. And unfortunately, because of the job, it belongs to the city, so I would be stealing from them, you know? I don't know.
What? Buy, buy, buy, spend, spend, spend. But nobody has been teaching anybody to save a living in the interim.
So we're all lost in this madness. I feel like a rich man. I do. I have my health. I have a job.
I have a home to come to. I got a family that I love, and I hope they love me too. My family is the most valuable thing in my life. As long as I can provide for them, if God gives me the strength to provide for them for the rest of my life, I will.
They mean a lot to me. Without them I would probably be one of the homeless. I need to know that I'm dependent on God.
on. And that's what in actuality keeps me going, that I do have somebody depending on me. As far as I'm concerned, that's all the riches that I need. Joe's definition of riches reminds me of a proverb from the Wijewa tribe. I am given love at the price of all else, so I give to be rich.
Joe would feel quite at home on the island of Sumba, 10,000 miles from New York and looking nothing like it. But the value that holds its society together is the same which holds Joe's family together, a debt of love. Joe, a man who moves mountains every day, would probably appreciate the epic to come.
Listen to my words. I am a ritual speaker. My name is Lendi Batu, and I walk among the graves of my ancestors. ...is with purpose. My purpose?
To cut the stone, to lift the stone, to drag the stone. You who cross the ocean as easily as if it were a meadow will want to know the specifications. You always do. The stone weighs 25 tons.
It must move one mile in one day. It will take five trees to lever it from the earth. It will need 400 men like horses to drag it to its situation.
I must do this for my father. I must give him his second burial, his proper burial under the stone. My brother Zahir Odelu will do this with me.
We will give all our worldly goods to those who help. And then we will be rich in people and my father will be honored. I am very happy to be able to speak to you.
I am very happy to be able to speak to you. I'm going to go to the church and pray. I'm going to The logs are cut, levers in place. My brother is nervous. He shouts at the men.
Everybody shouts. I shout, I shout. I tell them, make of the vines one sinew. Make of yourselves one arm and pull and pull. Go, The rock is alive!
In Sumba we say it is hot, hot, with the power of its own! I laugh as if without care but now I must convince these my distant kinfolk to pull the stone tomorrow they think I am a big man but I tell them I am made big by their help. They are my riches. Without them, I am nothing. I am poor.
You have a heavy burden, they say. Heavy, I say. You cannot be alone.
Let us make a pair, they say. You are one, we are the other. The pair, just as the ancestors wish. Then I spoke in ritual couplets, in pairs, as we always do. Spirits feel the drums.
Spirits hear the gongs. Let all our lips be paired. Let our faces be complete.
One for one, we are a part. Together we are one and win. I spoke more on behalf of the generations. We are held in a tension of generations, a web. The children must have exchanges to finish.
They must have debts to bind them, debts to each other. We are held in a tension of generations, a web. The children must have exchanges to finish.
They must have debts to bind them, debts to each other. All night we work to lift the stone from its pit, ready to drag it. It will not move. How will it be ready?
And if it is ready, will enough people come? It is a great stone. My brother is worried. I am the father of two children.
I am the father of three I am a man of faith. Well, we will do this to please my father in his way. No jacks.
We will spend as much as I have for as long as it takes. We will have the people. They will come and the stone will be ready.
We will be like horses. We will do it in our way. We bind our headcloths into a hat, my brother and I, for the hat keeps in the forehead spirit the will and concentration. So we march, swords and hats girded on, like the old days when we did battle, when we hunted the heads of our enemies, fierce as our fathers, like men.
We are Kabanibari, fierce men. Sometimes my brother says he is the wife and I am the man in our pair. But this is his day and we are one.
He dances the fire. We will do this, he says. These are the words of my father. These are the words of my mother.
so it will be done. As to the jacks, I say, get rid of the God-cursed things. I was told in a dream from my father last night this is not the traditional way. So, logs for levers and hands on logs. Take them away.
Cast them out. Jack's gone. Spirit's at bay. My brother takes over.
It is good to see. Once we were not... I came into his house when our father died.
There was resentment. He loved father like a foal loves his sire. I loved father like the wind loves the sun. From afar. But now we are a pair.
He will get this mighty stone and roll it onto the horse. My fierce brother. Guests come with their gifts. It lifts my heart to see this.
My possessions, they say who I am. If I give them in exchange, I give part of me and receive part of you. My cows, my pigs, they have my labor in them, my time, my toil.
Do you see? You cannot sell things. You slaughter, yes, for meat and for exchange.
The blood pays back the earth and the ancestors for the life they have given us. You slaughter, yes, for meat and for exchange. We have to be careful.
It will ride the horse on the tracks of mother, on the tracks of father, past the lord of the meadow, pigeon, past the lord of the field, pheasant. The black horse, the fine horse, the thunder horse is ready. The 400 must have the purpose of one, the strength of 1,000.
We'll sail across the sea. Even over the noise, I heard the scream. Someone trapped under the stone. Don't cry, don't cry, they say to him. His leg is crushed.
Sometimes the stone kills. The government, man. They do not like the old ways. We should sell our animals for money, they say. But money cannot pull the stone.
People are not money. What is the difficulty? Oh, nothing, I say. Just a little accident. Nothing at all.
He believes me. He is as stupid as his hat. A rainstorm. It is not even the rainy season. No one would do a hot thing like this in the rainy season.
That would offend the ancestors. If I do not complete this task, my whole life will be as nothing. I gave him nothing in life. I must give him this in death.
I will be complete then. Let it be. Let it be.
Everyone is fed. I have slaughtered all my animals and given all my possessions. And my wealth is all around me.
I see the moon rise. I see the sun set. And they are different these days.
These modern days. But the words of my father never change. And I must hold to them as well.
There must be exchange of favors. of knowledge, of labor, so that we know each other. Then we are rich. I am in your debt.
You are in my heart. I am in your heart. You are in my debt. The intrusion of the modern world which Lendibatu sees came for most of Indonesia with the Dutch in the late 16th century. For the 85,000 people of the Wijewa tribe, who live and still live on the island of Lendibatu, of Sumba, a quarter the size of Holland.
It came as late as 1906. The Dutch liked the good things and brought them home. The richest society in Europe then. And while the rest of Europe was not free, The Dutch valued freedom of individual worship, thought and action. They valued trade, the very lineaments of a free and tolerant society which we cherish today.
What an irony. Freewheeling individualism and the ability to make yourself rich in the things of this world, to be your own man and not follow the crowd, should itself turn into a new theology. It seems we always overdo it, even tolerance.
Certainly one needs religion, but why not a secular religion? Well, the confirmation of the new theology of individualism was where you'd expect the theology to be, in the church. But he's not living here. When Holland sloughed off the Catholic yoke late in the 16th century, they got away from that notion of religion as a way of life, not just something you do on Sundays. The mild Protestantisms have replaced it.
Couldn't satisfy the seemingly invariant human need for a theology of some sort. Then I saw the clue. The stained glass windows.
No saints or martyrs here. But worthy burghers. Merchants.
Trade as religion. The passage of money as the communion of the faithful. Find the new temple, I thought.
I could sense it. I was near the answer. Where things had become more important than people.
And we became a company of strangers. The heart of the mystery. The bank.
This is the Holy of Holies, the boardroom. Solemn ecclesiastical words like fiduciary and debenture are murmured here. You know you're in the presence of a religious experience by various signs.
The air of reverence, the ritual gestures, the sense of awe as if expecting a miracle. And of course, every religion has to have a deep mystery. I'll come back to the mystery later.
The miracle, the change, took place in our whole way of life. And it happened right here in Holland in the early 1600s. Here are the holy relics, and their story is the story of the change. Once upon a time, B.C., before checks, deals were done face to face. All payment was in silver coin, its value determined by weight.
But we're all humble sinners, I'm afraid, and you see that this coin has been clipped. Nibbled away at the edges, and those nibbles, mixed with a good deal of tin no doubt, made into another coin. The original size, but no longer silver. Voila.
Two coins for the price of one. The first creative accounting. And it was to end this sinning that the Dutch elders essentially created modern banking in 1609. All coins now deposited in the bank, evaluated by the bank, and all deals done face to face at the bank. Fine. But enter the sin of sloth.
Why go to the bank at all when one can send a note? Please pay Jan van der, etc., etc. Note.
It becomes a check. I don't see my money anymore. It's not even there most of the time because the bank has loaned it to strangers. I don't even see people anymore.
I'm a stranger in a company of strangers. And they've got my money. But what makes me one with this company of strangers is their admiration for all the things that money can buy.
Look at me. Look at me. Things had become more important to people. The kingdom of capitalism was at hand. You know, religions talk of the promised land, the New Jerusalem.
And it's surely no accident that for the early Dutch capitalists, the promised land was New Amsterdam, later to be known as New York. Oh, and the mystery at the heart of the new religion? The mystery is why in heaven, or I should say why on earth do we want all of these things anyway? Or most of us do. Isn't that beautiful?
Well, Joe, you gonna buy it or not? What, are you joking me? I'll be working for the rest of my life for this. And then I couldn't afford it.
Come on, let's go. Ah, you got more money than the Catholic Church. Stop it. If I can't afford something, why look at it?
You know, why try to dream? I have to need it before I buy it. But there is one man who knows. knows what we need for he can divine our hearts desire we're selling dreams you've seen camera commercials for you know go out and buy this film and it really isn't to do with what the film is or how clear the pictures are it more or less is to do with the life that's ahead of you if you have this in your hand so it's a dream we're selling All mankind really needs to exist is a cave, a fire, some water, and perhaps a piece of meat. Pizza!
You're right that you're bad The car is... You're joking. We start bouncing off the...
A little pepper on the car. I like Paul's idea. People like...
Tell us how you want it. Make it like you want it. Make it like you want it. it, tell us how you want it, tell us how you like it.
Advertising stimulates the economy in a sort of a cyclical kind of a way. It creates demand, it creates need, it creates desire for a great range of products which keep people, you know, humming along at whatever job it is that they do. It's a great feeling to have. To be able to get people to go out and buy your product and say, hey, wow, look what I did. I did it.
I had the power to move people's emotions. get them in two places, in their head and in their heart, and to really make a difference in the marketplace. We want to do everything quickly. We don't want to hold on to anything, including people.
We don't even want to hold on to people anymore. Body bags, baby, body bags. Ready? Go!
Go! I'll be out of here in a second. Huh?
But I'll be out of here in a second. Take your time. It's hard to survive in this country. Lack of education.
Lack of jobs. Lack of pride. Lack of love. There's something wrong. There's really something wrong with it.
We don't care about the next human being. Temperature rises to 110 degrees. It's called the Badlands by the few whites who ventured there. This man is of the Gabra tribe, a nomadic people of Kenya and Ethiopia who depend for their whole existence on camels.
He's lost his herd in a drought. He's been walking for three days in this terrible place with only a spear and a soror, a gourd which holds a little milk. He is however not afraid. For him, help is all around. It's the Gabra way, as a boy called Boru, our storyteller, is about to learn.
I was making a song of love for a friend who is, well, in love. My friend says that my songs are as smooth as a camel's milk, but my singing is cracked like a camel's voice. You want to go to the forest? To the forest? Yes.
I'll go there and pick you up. Yes. You'll go there?
Yes. I'll go there and pick you up. Why had he come all this way to see my father?
He would not tell me. You, from so far away, ask me what I want. I want only to know what my father knows.
We have all we need in the Ola, the village. We have goat, camels and cattle for milk, for clothes, for when we move. And we always move. Camels for everything.
Some of them are mine. And we have goats of course, and milk for all. You put the kid to the kid and let him sleep behind thorns. It cannot get out to harm and the hyenas cannot get in.
Because it was the new moon, my father, Watu Izako, came back. He always welcomed the moon together. My elder brother, Molu, as is proper, brought the stranger to him. I don't know what to do.
What do you mean? I don't know. What do you mean?
I don't know what to do. What do you mean? I don't know what to do. He placed his spear before the tent, so my mother must give him hospitality.
It's the sign, you see. But Waka, forgive me. I could not stop thinking that if the hyena were let in, he would kill the lamb.
They went into the hut. I could not follow. But, huts are thin and if I sat in a clever place, I could listen. I was told that the hut was not safe. I am a farmer.
I'm sorry. Most of all, they are for giving. This man needs a camel. We should give it. That is the battery, I think.
There are so many ways of giving. My father and my brother know. They know all the animals and their histories. And, and everything.
So the next day, my father and brother went to a town, Kalasha. I thought then, why would they go to that place? I mean, my father says that Gabra ways of giving for friendship and need are being lost in Kalasha.
He says that people trade there, but not for goodwill, for just getting things and for money. But of course my father had a good reason. He was to see an elder about the stranger. We waited all day, the stranger and I. Two kids were born.
We held one each. That was good. But we did not speak much. Hey, Nega! What's up, Tony?
What? Hey, go! What's up? Nega, Nega!
What's up? What's up? Molo told the stranger that my father would decide soon.
I was allowed to hear about this tabarre to the stranger. I'm going to go to the hospital. I'm going to take care of my son. I'm going to take care of him.
I'm going to take care of him. I'm going to take care of him. I'm going to take care of him. I'm going to take care of him. I'm going to take care of him.
I don't make it. I'm going to the river to get some water. The camels.
I began to think that I did not want to give the camel. I was ashamed. I did not tell my father of my thoughts, of course, but he knew. He said that riches...
like a passing cloud here now on the Ngana that our grandfather's fathers gave cattle and camels in the valley and they were never returned never asked for and this is This is what binds the Gabra together. He said that if you are a selfish man and will not give, you will die under a tree. I did not know what he meant. He said you will die alone, with no one to ask help and with no friends.
He said, Boru, a poor man shames us all. That night, my village danced together. We all danced together. It's a camel dance. We dance when we have plenty.
In the morning, I gave the camel, a white female called Baringo, who would soon give birth and who would soon give milk. I gave it to the stranger, my friend the stranger. I started to think of a new song.
Even the milk of our animals belongs not to us. It belongs to all Gabra. Do you like my song?
I will give it to you. There are only 30,000 Gabra in a barren place a little larger than Holland. And they are all the strangers'keepers. There are about three and a half million people in Manitoba.
Manhattan, two miles by twelve, and no one cares for this homeless man on this street. And we were offered a song by a beautiful boy in a desert place. In Manhattan, songs are not for giving, they are for selling. You got the right one, baby!
You got the right one. Essentially, the strategy is if you can't get Diet Pepsi, nothing else will do. Diet Pepsi, you got the right one, baby. We're selling imagery. which really serves no useful function when you come right down to it.
But what it does do, it expresses a sense of who you are, what you're about, and says, hey, this is me. You know, I just love this new Diet Pepsi song, but do you think it's caught on yet? Uh-huh, uh-huh, you got the right one, baby. Uh-huh, uh-huh, Uncontestably tasteful and eminently wonderful.
You got the right one, baby. Uh-huh. So advertising has really, in effect, created demand for a lot of products. We may not truly need, but we want them because we feel they better our lives. We feel they do things for us or say things about us, which we find.
as human beings to be desirable. If people stop buying products, you're going to see more homelessness, not less, because you're going to have more people out of work, out of homes, out of jobs, on the street. When you look at the whole moral issue involved, you wish there was something that could be done to sort of spread the wealth among those, the haves and for the have-nots. But I don't know if...
Advertising can solve that problem. It's a social problem. And while advertising goes a long way in establishing social mores, it really, advertising does not create trends.
Advertising really, in effect, reflects the trends that are actually happening in a given country at that time. Nothing else will produce a more stupefied boredom than talking about the consumer society. And nothing else will produce a more vicious anger than suggesting we change it. Seems to me we can go two ways in the coming century, given the signs, given the needs.
Either care, care for the planet, care for people, people over things, values not toys and so on. I'd like that. Or we can go another way. And not only have things more important than people, but people becoming things.
Everything and everyone a commodity. Already, I am, you are, defined by these. Cards, systems, ratings. I don't like that. It will probably take a real revolution to change something as fundamental as the consumer society.
And someone once said that revolution is the kicking in of a rotten door. I don't know if the door is rotten yet, but one day the many, many strangers may knock on or knock down the rotten door and demand their share. I hope not.
Poverty is no shame for those who have not. Poverty is a shame for those who have. A poor man shames us all.