The Last Whalers: The Life of an Endangered Tribe in a Land Left Behind

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Previously, they harpoon-hunted whales on their tana (a boat with about 8-10 rowers and a harpooner), usually several at the same time, so they wound the whale and keep him by several dispersed boats, so it is unable to capsize any and run away. This made them one of the most communal cultures – only a group can hunt and deliver the whale and only whales have enough meat/fat to sustain the community in the quiet season. Seasonal work, drag-nets to catch smaller fish, including tuna, which is valued say in Japan and gives ways to improve living standards, but abandon the traditional cultures, destroys them very fast. On a volcanic island in the Savu Sea so remote that other Indonesians call it "The Land Left Behind" live the Lamalerans: a tribe of 1,500 hunter-gatherers who are the world's last subsistence whalers. They have survived for half a millennium by hunting whales with bamboo harpoons and handmade wooden boats powered by sails of woven palm fronds. But now, under assault from the rapacious fores of the modern era and a global economy, their way of life teeters on the brink of collapse. Like a first-rate novel, too, “The Last Whalers” has an abiding but unforced theme. It’s about the flood of modernity, in the form of outboard motors and cellphones and televised soap operas, as seen from the perspective of a curious but wary society that fears losing itself in the deluge. stars. As an Indonesian, I am glad this book is written. There are not many books out there about Indonesia's marine communities and culture, let alone the Lamalerans in Lembata Island, East Nusa Tenggara Province. First of all, I like that the narrative is using the POVs of Lamalerans. They could be very, very detailed, from constructing the tenas (the whaling boats) to household duties. I enjoy being immersed like that. There are many types of POVs: Jon the aspiring lamafa (main harpooner), Ika his sister (I love her parts about the traditional market and bartering practice), Ignatius the old harpooner, Frans the shaman & shipwright, Bena the Katy Perry fan girl, and many more. As someone who grew up in the concrete jungle of Jakarta and part of one ethnic minority group, I feel like there are still so many facets and types of lives in my own country that are completely different from mine and considering the fact that we have more than 300 ethnic groups and 700++ languages, my own life experience is basically nothing. Writing isn’t brain surgery, but it’s rare when someone adept at the latter is also so accomplished at the former. Searching for meaning and purpose in his life, Kalanithi pursued a doctorate in literature and had felt certain that he wouldn’t enter the field of medicine, in which his father and other members of his family excelled. “But I couldn’t let go of the question,” he writes, after realizing that his goals “didn’t quite fit in an English department.” “Where did biology, morality, literature and philosophy intersect?” So he decided to set aside his doctoral dissertation and belatedly prepare for medical school, which “would allow me a chance to find answers that are not in books, to find a different sort of sublime, to forge relationships with the suffering, and to keep following the question of what makes human life meaningful, even in the face of death and decay.” The author’s empathy undoubtedly made him an exceptional doctor, and the precision of his prose—as well as the moral purpose underscoring it—suggests that he could have written a good book on any subject he chose. Part of what makes this book so essential is the fact that it was written under a death sentence following the diagnosis that upended his life, just as he was preparing to end his residency and attract offers at the top of his profession. Kalanithi learned he might have 10 years to live or perhaps five. Should he return to neurosurgery (he could and did), or should he write (he also did)? Should he and his wife have a baby? They did, eight months before he died, which was less than two years after the original diagnosis. “The fact of death is unsettling,” he understates. “Yet there is no other way to live.”

The Last Whalers is marvelous because readers come to know these people intimately. A young man dreams of becoming a harpooner, the most honored position in their society, yet also dreams of life in the city. A young woman receives an education but committed to care for her elders must return to the village. The elders must preserve the old ways and knowledge while accepting that change is inevitable. To leave the village is to also leave the unity of one family, one heart, one action, one goal. It is hard to walk away from the strength of community to live in isolation with only yourself to depend upon. Amazing. Before reading The Last Whalers, I didn't know of the Lamalerans, how (in)famous they were & how controversial their way of living. I have so many thoughts, many of which I want to share when I've organized it all in my head much better.And what hope, then, do these whalers have of resisting the onslaught? “There is a saying in Lamalera,” Clark tells us. “ Preme ki, ‘Hope, but not too much,’ reflecting the belief that the whales would never come if the people demanded them.” A fascinating debut...Accessible and empathetic...Clark creates a thoughtful look at the precariousness of cultural values and the lure of modernization in the developing world."-- Publishers Weekly A moving meditation on mortality by a gifted writer whose dual perspectives of physician and patient provide a singular clarity.

Over three years, Clark spent a year living with the Lamalerans, participating as a community member, even eating manta ray brains. As subsistence whalers, their life is deeply entwined with the natural world, and the rhythms of that world. The description of the hunt, what an honor it is to be the harpooner of the whales, and the knowledge and skills needed to be successful, is compelling. The bravery of the crews, who hunt whales using traditional iron and bamboo harpoons to capture huge sperm whales, is astonishing. For someone from the Western world who is completely separated from the hunter/gatherer society its a brilliant picture of a different way of life.The loss of a culture is as permanent as the loss of a life, but rather than one star darkening, it is a whole constellation burning out. It is the disappearance of every soul that has constituted it. It is the end of a past and a future. On a volcanic island in the Savu Sea so remote that other Indonesians call it "The Land Left Behind" live the Lamalerans: a tribe of 1,500 hunter-gatherers who are the world's last subsistence whalers. They have survived for half a millennium by hunting whales with bamboo harpoons and handmade wooden boats powered by sails of woven palm fronds. But now, under assault from the rapacious forces of the modern era and a global economy, their way of life teeters on the brink of collapse. Journalist Clark's carefully researched and often dramatic first book follows the residents of a small village on a remote Indonesian island as they engage in the tradition of hunting whales and adjust to the incursions of the outside world. Lembata, in Southeast Asia, is home to the Lamalerans who arrived there 500 years ago. They settled on the beach under a cliff, surviving by fishing for sperm whale and Manta ray and flying fish. Those who are successful in the hunt share with aging family members and community members. They are one of the few hunter-gatherer societies left in the world. But industrialized society is crowding in on them. Their children are enticed to the cities for education and jobs. Some remain for the air conditioning and running water. Outboard motors and smaller boats are replacing the handcrafted boats propelled by oar and the young carry cell phones.