Documentation of cultures and traditions at the Fiji Museum was primarily done with audio recording devices. However, video production was introduced in the mid-90s to explore the power of both audio and visual for communication. Fiji Museum's first video was titled "The Art of Mat Weaving." The choice of mat weaving as a subject for documentation signifies the importance of this art form for the Indigenous Fijians or iTaukei and for most of the ethnic communities in the Pacific region. Mat weaving is predominantly a female domain and one that measures the yau, or wealth, of a family. Mats are widely used by the iTaukei for homes and cultural exchanges. The art of mat weaving is still alive in traditional rural communities, but is slowly diminishing in urban centers. With fewer skilled mat weavers around and the high demand for the commodity, prices for mats have continued to rise. It has become an important source of income for skilled mat weavers.In Fiji, there are two main resources in making mats, Pandanus Caricous, locally known as voivoi and kuta. Voivoi is an important raw material used in making mats, especially for communities living in the maritime and coastal areas. Meanwhile, kuta, a special reed, is used among inland tribes in larger volcanic islands.\n\nThis video explores both the traditional and commercial aspect of mat weaving. However, one of the main challenges in this tradition is the availability of raw materials that are being affected by agricultural activities.\n\nRelated Collection can be found at shorturl.at/apuxR

Simple in design but rich in cultural significance, the Lakadou is a traditional musical instrument made entirely from bamboo, found in various rural communities of Timor-Leste. Often carved from a single stalk, it stands as a testament to the ingenuity of ancestral craftsmanship—an instrument that produces sound not with strings or metal, but with tensioned strips of its own body.\n\nThe process of making a Lakadou begins with selecting the right kind of bamboo—neither too young nor too old—so that it is flexible yet strong. Using only a knife or a small carving tool, the outer layer of the bamboo is partially sliced into thin, horizontal strips along the stalk, which remain attached at both ends. These strips act as the instrument’s “strings.” Small wooden pegs or bridges are then inserted beneath them to lift the strips slightly, allowing them to vibrate when plucked.\n\nWhen played, the Lakadou emits a warm, buzzing resonance that can be heard clearly in quiet, open-air settings. The tones are soft yet sharp, melodic yet earthy—reflecting both the material and the environment from which it is made. Each Lakadou has its own pitch and personality, depending on the size of the bamboo and the placement of the tuning pegs.\n\nTraditionally, the Lakadou was played during rituals, agricultural festivals, and informal gatherings. It could accompany dance, storytelling, or simply be enjoyed as a solo instrument under the shade of a tree. It was sometimes played to express emotions—joy, longing, or sorrow—or to pass the time during communal labor in the fields.\n\nWhat makes the Lakadou especially significant is its status as a self-contained instrument. It does not require any additional materials beyond the bamboo itself—no strings, no nails, no external fasteners—just natural design and human skill. This reflects a traditional ethos of sustainability and resourcefulness, values still highly regarded in rural Timorese life.\n\nWhile the instrument is still known in some communities today, its presence is fading. Younger generations are more familiar with modern instruments, and the skill of crafting Lakadou is no longer widely practiced or passed down. In some places, only a handful of elders remember how to make and play it, and the sound of the Lakadou has become rare in daily village life.\n\nEfforts to preserve the Lakadou are growing, however. Cultural festivals, school workshops, and local storytelling events have begun reintroducing the instrument as a piece of Timor-Leste’s musical heritage. Some artisans are even experimenting with new forms, adapting traditional techniques to contemporary performances.\n\nAs a musical tool, the Lakadou is humble. But as an expression of cultural identity, it speaks volumes. In its structure, sound, and spirit, it tells the story of a people who shaped their art from the land around them—and who, with care, may yet continue to do so for generations to come.

▶ Play Video 5. Ang mga Banal na Krus ng Mayo\nThis episode was first aired on Filipino television on June 6, 1996. This episode has been modified from its original format.\n\nConsidered to be the largest of the Filipino ethnic groups, the Tagalog are concentrated in the metropolitan area of Manila and spread out as the major population of nearby provinces, such as Rizal, Laguna, Cavite, Batangas, Bulacan, and Nueva Ecija. This is a highly urbanized group occupying the very well-developed regions of the country, where the centers of national government are located.\n\nThe national language is actually being built around Tagalog, which is now understood and spoken in other parts of the country. One of the oldest forms of the spoken language is called sinaunang tagalog, and used to be spoken in the municipality of Tanay, Rizal. During the introduction of the Malayo-Polynesian branch of the Austronesian family of anguages, it was pushed northeastward to the areas around the Zambales mountain ranges. Only a small group of Negrito at the foot of Mt. Pinatubo speak the language today.\n\nThe Tagalog are associated with all kinds of agricultural production, usually monocropping with rice as the main crop, silviculture, animal husbandry, and industrial production. They are also engaged in international marketing, politics, and foreign relations. They are equally adept at fish culture--both marine and freshwater--in man-made ponds and cages in waterways.\n\nThe kinship structure is essentially bilateral, with offspring considered linked equally to both parents, and inheritance following the same pattern, although in practice, it takes on a more cognatic nature. In the urban areas and where large properties are concerned, there is a tendency for a lineal distribution of wealth and property in the manner of corporations. Members of the group are involved in all sectors of government practice and in private institutions at the national and international levels. Such an advantage is reflected in the development of the Tagalog in contrast with other ethnic groups. Presently, however, with the development of infrastructure throughout the country, a larger portion of the population is now part of mainstream culture. The index of culture has leveled out within the group such that the subgroups are indistinguishable from one another, except in terms of spoken language.\n\nThe Tagalog are highly Christianized, with the majority belonging to the Roman Catholic Church and the rest dispersed in various homegrown sects, such as the nationalistic Aglipay and the Iglesia ni Cristo. Thus, much of the festivities are founded on Christian liturgy and belief systems.

Tara-Bandu is one of Timor-Leste’s most enduring systems of customary law—an ancestral method for maintaining harmony between humans, nature, and the spirit world. Practiced across many municipalities, this tradition involves the collective setting of social and environmental rules by the community, enforced not by police or government, but by deep-rooted respect for customary authority and ancestral belief.\n\nThe term “tara-bandu” itself means “to suspend” or “to declare a prohibition.” At its core, it is a communal agreement to protect certain aspects of life—be it sacred forests, clean water sources, agricultural land, or interpersonal relationships. Violating a tara-bandu is believed to bring not just social disapproval, but also spiritual misfortune, such as illness, crop failure, or even death.\n\nThe process of establishing a tara-bandu involves an elaborate ceremonial act led by lia-nain (customary custodians), elders, spiritual leaders, and village chiefs. At the heart of the ritual is the symbolic installation of the prohibition. This may take the form of hanging a tree branch, an animal skull, or even a bound bundle of leaves at the boundary of a protected area. These symbols serve as visible markers that the space or behavior they refer to is off-limits.\n\nEach tara-bandu is tailored to local needs. In some communities, it may prohibit cutting down trees from a specific forest. In others, it may regulate marriage customs, resolve conflicts, or prevent theft and violence. The process is highly participatory: villagers gather in large open-air meetings to discuss the rules, agree on penalties, and publicly reaffirm their commitment to uphold the communal values.\n\nThe ceremony itself often includes the sacrifice of an animal—commonly a pig, goat, or chicken—as an offering to the ancestral spirits. A traditional oath is spoken, and traditional liquor (tua sabu) is sometimes poured on the earth as a gesture of sealing the agreement. These rituals symbolize not only human consensus but a spiritual pact between the living and the unseen world.\n\nBeyond its legal implications, tara-bandu has an environmental and ethical function. It teaches respect for natural resources, encourages collective responsibility, and reinforces peaceful coexistence. It also represents an indigenous system of governance, reminding the Timorese people that long before modern institutions, their ancestors had mechanisms to resolve disputes and protect what mattered most.\n\nIn the years following independence, tara-bandu experienced a significant revival. Communities, NGOs, and government bodies alike have recognized its value—not as a relic of the past, but as a living, adaptable tool for building resilient societies. It is now being integrated into conservation projects, natural resource management plans, and even civic education programs in schools.\n\nStill, its continued vitality depends on intergenerational transmission. Elders must be supported in sharing their knowledge, and younger generations must be empowered to see the relevance of tara-bandu in today’s context. As both law and ritual, tara-bandu is a shining example of how intangible cultural heritage can guide communities in shaping a sustainable, respectful, and united future.

Cultural Space of Gong in Central Highlands covers all the fertility red soil in the territory of 5 provinces including Kông Tum, Gia Lai, Đắc Lắc, Đắc Nông, and Lâm Đồng. \nIt is the place where the Ba Na, the Gia Rai, the Ê Đê, the Xê Đăng, the Jẻ Triêng, the Mạ, the M’Nông, the Cơ Ho, the Brâu, the Rơ Măm,… have been residing for a long time. These ethnic groups live in small villages named pơ lây, buôn, bon and living mainly by agricultural cultivation, animal husbandry and benefitial resources of the nature.\n

Rooted in the ancestral traditions of the Fatumea and Fohorem communities in Covalima Municipality, Tebe Otas-Uluk is more than a dance—it is a collective act of memory, identity, and reverence. The name itself combines “tebe” (a traditional line dance) with Otas (ancestor) and Uluk (first or origin), signaling a ritual expression dedicated to those who came before.\n\nTraditionally performed by the elders of the community, this dance takes place during important communal gatherings such as ceremonies of healing, protection, thanksgiving, or agricultural celebration. Participants often wear traditional attire and move in side-by-side formations, linked by hands or shoulders, stepping rhythmically in unison to the beat of local drums, gongs, or the babadok (a hand-held percussion instrument). The dance circle forms a symbolic space where the living and the spirits of the ancestors meet.\n\nWhat sets Tebe Otas-Uluk apart is its solemn and purposeful character. The movement vocabulary is simple yet powerful: synchronized steps, grounded footwork, and fluid arm gestures that flow with the communal rhythm. Songs are chanted throughout the dance in the Tetun-Terik language, often carrying metaphorical meanings related to the land, family, and the ancestors’ wisdom. The lyrics function as oral archives, preserving knowledge and history that is not written but remembered through voice and motion.\n\nBecause of its deep spiritual roots, this dance is only performed on specific occasions, often after traditional leaders conduct consultations with spiritual entities or conduct rituals to prepare the ground. Each gesture, each chant, is believed to activate a connection to the ancestral realm—inviting blessings, healing, or protection for the community.\n\nIn recent years, however, the practice has become increasingly rare, with fewer young people learning the movements or understanding the embedded meanings. Despite this, dedicated elders continue to lead and teach the dance, ensuring its survival as a living heritage. For them, Tebe Otas-Uluk is not simply a performance—it is a prayer in motion, a ceremony that anchors the community to its origins and affirms its cultural continuity.

The sonteul (hand net) marsh clam fishery, which takes place in the brackish water zone of the river’s estuary, is Korea’s representative traditional inland fishery that continues even today. This traditional fishery is of significant historical and rarity value in that it is a unique fishery knowledge system created through a prolonged collective experience of the river’s residents. In recognition of such value as agricultural heritage, the fishery was designated a part of the Korea Important Fisheries Heritage Systems (KIFHS).

The tug-of-war is widely spread throughout the world, especially in agricultural communities. The Gijisi Tug-of-War Festival is highly regarded. Held on the second weekend in April, it has a five-hundred-year history. The event, which is based on agriculture, fishery, and merchant traditions, is held to wish for prosperity and good luck for the coming year. The tug-of-war represents the agricultural, rural, and social characteristics of the region. The rope used for the event is two hundred meters long and one meter thick, so it is truly a community event. Similar tug-of-war games are also held in other nations. After creating a museum for Gijisi tug-of-war, members discovered that it could be a symbol of the region, so the local government invested into the museum. After building the museum, we wanted to expand our knowledge of tug-of-war events in other countries. In the past, there wasn’t much communication among the different communities celebrating tug-of-war festivities. However, after building the museum, we had the opportunity to invite other countries as a sort of network that allows research into other types of tug-of-war in the Asia-Pacific region. As Gijisi tug-of-war is well known, we thought that having a festival to display other cultures’ traditional tug-of-war through a networked festival. \n\nTug-of-war (juldarigi in Korean) is an intangible heritage that is commonly found in various regions across the world. In particular, it is a popular activity that takes place with the aim to foster harmony and solidarity among communities in rice-farming regions across Korea, Japan,and various Southeast Asian countries.

Sau-Batar is one of Timor-Leste’s most cherished agricultural ceremonies, marking the successful harvesting of corn—batar, the staple crop that lies at the heart of both sustenance and spiritual life for many communities. Far more than an agricultural routine, this ritual reflects a worldview where nature, ancestors, and community are deeply intertwined.\n\nThe ceremony typically begins with a symbolic act called “taking out the old corn and bringing in the new.” This signifies a transition between agricultural cycles and expresses gratitude to the spirits of the land for their blessings. Families gather at their sacred houses (uma lulik), bringing both harvested corn and cooked rice to share in a ritual meal that reaffirms communal bonds.\n\nCentral to the ritual is the lia-nain—a customary elder responsible for oral tradition and ritual practice—who recites prayers, chants, and invocations handed down through generations. These words are not merely spoken; they are believed to activate ancestral protection and ensure future abundance. The corn offered during the ceremony becomes sacred, often preserved in specially designated granaries or placed on altars within the sacred house as a gesture of respect to the ancestors.\n\nMusic and dance are vital parts of Sau-Batar. Performances of Tebe Lilin (Candle Dance) and other local dances transform the occasion into a festive gathering, where movement and rhythm mirror the unity and joy of a successful harvest. The babadok drum keeps the beat as men and women, elders and children, participate in a shared expression of thanks and renewal.\n\nThe ceremony also involves the symbolic sharing of corn among relatives and neighbors, emphasizing that harvest is not an individual achievement but a collective gift. In some cases, leftover corn from the previous season is burned or ceremonially discarded to make room for the new yield, representing a fresh start and spiritual cleansing.\n\nBeyond its religious and social meanings, Sau-Batar also serves as a moment of informal education. It is during this event that younger generations hear the stories of how rituals are performed, why they matter, and what each gesture or offering means. Through active participation, children and youth absorb the knowledge of land stewardship, spiritual ethics, and cultural identity.\n\nIn recent years, as commercial farming methods expand and traditional schedules shift, Sau-Batar has faced challenges. Yet in many rural areas, the ceremony continues to be practiced with dedication, often with support from local schools and cultural preservation initiatives.\n\nFor the communities that uphold it, Sau-Batar remains a vital link between past and present, the visible and the invisible, and the land and its people. It is a ceremony not just of harvest, but of harmony—a living tradition that continues to nourish both body and spirit.

Yam (kehp) is the pride of men on Pohnpei Island, Micronesia. Men put more labor to prestigious goods for feasts, especially yams, pigs, and sakau (kava), among which yams have the highest value to attain social status than other daily food crops. In addition to hereditary quality, achievements, especially contributions during the feasts, are an important factor for a man to gain prestige and higher hierarchical chiefly titles in Pohnpeian society. \n\nBringing agricultural products.\nBanana, coconut, taro, and other agricultural products are brought to display on the main platform in the community assembly house before they are redistributed while men prepare pigs for cooking.