An American in Mongolia: Part XIX

The Urban Shaman as a Metaphor for Transforming Mongolia
 

      I went to Mongolia because I wanted to have all of my preconceived notions about Mongolia, Central Asia, Soviet Satellite states, Asia, Orientalism, “the exotic other,” my own ethnic identity, “belonging,” Genghis Khan, furry hats, horseback riding, the developing world, the archetypes and stereotypes of being a foreigner, being a tourist, and being a seeker eradicated.  The experience of existing in Mongolia amongst Mongolians and the ensuing process of writing about that experience provided me with just that.  I wrote this essay because I saw an interesting phenomenon, that of the Urban Shaman, that I wanted to explore further, and this investigation had the effect of turning all of my rigidity into fluidity. All and any of my inferences are open-ended and relatively uncertain. If I were to try and come up with conclusive conclusions, I fear I would run the risk of denying the complexity of those who I had the privilege of interacting with in Mongolia. It would be an injustice to the weighty and acute effect that they had upon me.
      That said, all told, of the six self-identifying shamans who I had an opportunity to interview, five fit the Mongolian qualifications of “shaman.” My interviews were split evenly between urban and rural shamans. The urban subject of my first interview, Zorigtbaatar was questionable insofar as fitting these qualifications, so to be safe I will place him within the category of “non-conventional.”  However, the constructed sub-categories traditionally and contemporarily attributed to the different kinds of shamanism can never encompass the smooth variability inherent in its cosmology or practice. Therefore, I would like to propose a new shamanic color identification. Rainbow shamans may be those who have integrated the practices or information from outside of Mongolia, or outside of their own color or ethnic tradition into their practices. Otherwise she might have made her ritual appropriate in a fashionable urban context and deviated from tradition.  She could have no spiritual relationship or be an exploiter of the impoverished, she could be a performer for tourists, or she could have an undefined spiritual relationship and call herself a shaman regardless of the “legitimacy” of that claim.  In short, a rainbow shaman can be whatever she wants.  I think that the rainbow shaman in Ulaanbaatar can serve as a metaphor for transitioning Mongolia today. 
      If Mongolia can reconfigure itself, and by that I mean if Mongolians can organize themselves to play an active role in the amelioration of their own suffering by addressing their own needs: spiritual, political, social, ethical, emotional and economic—with the stabilizing support of rich, inimitable Mongolian tradition, shamans, the politicians, and the help being offered from the outside—then they can ensure their future status within the greater context of the future global landscape. Mongolia has the potential to be whatever its constituency decides it wants to be collectively.  This is a very vulnerable, mutable, and yet propitious position.  If this potentiality is to be manifested in the manner that Mongolians desire and decide, they must re-examine their connections to their ancestors and the land that they have been tied to since the promulgation of their culture in hopes of developing—for themselves—a symbiotic praxis of self-determination.