Recently, I heard a fellow scientist discuss the purpose of rain dances, a tradition found in different societies around the world. Contrary to what many of us might think, he said, their purpose is not to beg the gods to end the drought. The true function of a rain dance is to prevent conflict within a community that is facing economic hardship or anticipates future difficulties.
During prolonged dry spells, it’s not just people who become thirsty; crops crave water too. Harvests often fail, and if this year’s yield isn’t good, the next year probably won’t be either — dry seeds simply don’t grow.
In such times, it becomes hard to share what little food and water remains. People tend to hoard, keeping resources for their own children, their closest friends, themselves.
(In the Netherlands, where I live, this was painfully clear during the COVID lockdowns, when, out of precaution, half of the population stockpiled toilet paper and fresh vegetables from the shelves of the other half.)
It’s a natural human instinct to protect oneself first, but not a very practical one for successful survival of the species and communal living.
Dancing away the scarcity-mindset
Scarcity breeds conflict; scarcity-minded thinking does too.
That’s where the rain dance comes in.
Participating in a collective movement helps remind dancers and spectators alike that they share concerns and shortages; that they are in the same boat.
It also evokes memories of previous years when rain dances were performed in their community — by generations of villagers who endured months without rain and, somehow, managed to survive again and again.
Together.
When I recently saw images of tens of thousands of demonstrators, I was reminded of the narrative about the rain dance. The demonstrators expressed their grief, worries, and frustration about wars and genocides through singing, shouting, and drumming together.
In the broader context of conflict and suffering, their banners may seem insignificant. Perhaps they are, if I am being really honest — wars are often resolved behind closed doors through political and economic deals, not on the streets where ordinary people shout for peace.
But perhaps the primary purpose of joining in a demonstration for peace, is not to achieve peace.
Surviving together
Maybe we gather in the streets to forge a sense of unity — even if only for the hours we walk side by side through the city, calling out that we want “peace, now!”
Protesting is an act of demonstrating that we can survive together in a world that makes it hard to want to live.
I remember a sunny winter day when I participated in such a demonstration myself. Earlier that day, I had watched a young boy on television scream for his life in a hospital, and that image haunted me — replaying in my mind whether I was cooking or trying to read. At some point, my young daughter asked why I was crying. I told her something about fighting and hurting each other, but I left out the real reason I felt so incredibly sad: I had realized that this world can be so dark and ugly, that it completely overshadows the beautiful moments of a human life. Perhaps her life wouldn’t be worth it. Perhaps I shouldn’t have birthed her into this grim life.
My partner gently asked if I could try to think of something else, since we still had the day ahead — her to the playground, the neighbors coming over for a glass of wine.
I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t shake the images from the TV. My heart pounded faster than usual, I kept blinking my eyes, I did not hear the questions the neighbors asked me.
Later, I biked as fast as I could, the horrific scenes still in my mind’s rearview, heading toward the square where I had heard others would gather for a peace walk.
There were far more people than I expected — hundreds, perhaps thousands — and they all looked like me: red eyes, tight lips, carrying the images I had seen, or variations thereof.
And in that shared sorrow, I finally found calm.
If so many people felt such profound grief in response to this suffering, perhaps this world was still worth living in. Perhaps, even if wars and genocides continued to exist, there would also be this: empathy, kindness, concern about strangers suffering.
The rain dance doesn’t necessarily bring rain.
A demonstration probably doesn’t bring peace.
But by coming together — whether it is through walking or shouting or singing or dancing side by side — we reaffirm for ourselves that it has always existed, and always will: humanity.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Richard Burlton On Unsplash
